Chapter 2Kit came home with a paper sack of gingerbread and a few other pastries, which Martha, being generous, had thrown in before he could stop her. His townhouse was, depressingly, in Mayfair, though not the most fashionable street. Sam had made him, on the grounds that Kit had the money these days, and also the Preternatural Division of Bow Street needed to be seen as not only reputable but able to stand alongside the upper classes, and even to arrest them, if need be.
Kit had argued. He’d lost. He’d decided, with some dignity, to take a certain sort of vindictive pride in being here: a boy who’d been a nobleman’s bastard and a thief and now a thief-taker, living among dukes. He’d told himself to enjoy it.
He had not decorated for Midwinter, because he generally did not see the poin
