by Diana Ballew
“I am to rescue this puling boy?” Alex looked at them, mockingly incredulous as he hooked his thumb in the fob pocket of his bright yellow vest.
“Come now, it won’t be the first time you’ve extricated one of us from a mess.” Whit grinned. “Remember Eton and that caning we never got?”
Rafe recalled the time Alex had dreamed up a clever plot to get them out of a caning by the headmaster at Eton. What was amazing was that it had actually worked.
Of course, it had also been one of Alex’s schemes that had gotten them in the soup to begin with.
“Well, true, I am a genius,” Alex said.
While the other two bantered, recalling the boyhood escapade, the duke pondered women. Women had no integrity, that was their problem. It took integrity to enter into an obligation like marriage.
Now, Rafe could certainly appreciate a woman who wanted to flit from man to man. But, if ladies swear before God and kin that they will cleave only to that particular man, then they had bloody well better do it. Just because men had the right to seek pleasure outside the marriage, didn’t mean a woman could. Why have to doubt if your heir is truly your heir? Rafe’s head throbbed as the thoughts scurried around. Of course, he hoped he would marry a woman he could trust. But the more he encountered the gender, the more he seriously doubted it.
“Will you both be still? I’ve a headache.” Rafe scowled into his drink. “She thought that, upon her confession, I would be willing to run away with her.” He looked up at his two confidantes. “Can you believe such nonsense? She thought I’d just toss away everything, because she had supposedly fallen in love with me. Didn’t she even think about what would happen? That we’d both be completely ostracized by society should have come into her tiny little mind. And just what the blazes did she think her poor husband would have to say? ‘Oh, well. Better luck next time. So my political career is over and I’m the laughing stock of Europe’?” He set down the untouched refill. “Faithless, I tell you, gentlemen. And, now, because of some silly notion she has, I am in quite a rough spot!”
Whit shrugged and Alex studied his fingernails.
“Well? Don’t either of you have any ideas on what I’m supposed to do about it?”
“I thought you wanted us to shut up.” Whit replied, an amused smile hovering about his mouth.
“Yes, you appear to want to do all the lamenting by yourself.” Alex didn’t look up from his well-manicured hands but couldn’t suppress his grin.
Rafe sighed. He fervently wished he’d never laid eyes on the lovely Melanie. But, of course, that did absolutely no good. “Useless thoughts are wasted thoughts”, his dear father had often said. It was a shame he’d died eighteen months ago and wasn’t here to get a good chuckle from his son’s misdeeds. Father certainly had his share of affairs, goodness knows. His father had probably gotten himself into a similar situation in his youth.
“All right, then,” Alex slowly sat up in his chair and laid his palms on his velvet-clothed knees.
Rafe saw the gleam in his friend’s eyes, and knew the earl was formulating a plan. He leaned forward and noticed Whit, who had settled himself in the other chair, also watching Alex. All three were silent for several minutes.
“You’ve got to go to ground for a while.” Alex spoke finally, then paused, obviously still working out his plot to free Rafe from Melanie and scandal. “Yes, you’ve got to hide out until this can be defused. But it has to be where no-one knows you and no-one will know to look for you.”
“Good luck, there.” Whit leaned back in the chair. “Where is Rafe supposed to go? Du Champs will look everywhere when he learns of this. He’ll even look to our properties, Alex. He knows how close we are.”
Whit was right. Rafe would be hard pressed to find a place where no-one knew him, not only due to his birthright, but also because his father had been a hero and admired by all Englishmen for his part in saving the king from an assassination attempt some years ago. And Rafe was the spitting image of his sire – from his thick black hair and cobalt blue eyes, to his impressive height.
“True, boy-o. He would be known within a hundred miles of any of our properties. But, if we sent him to, say, me plain country cousin’s estate in North Bindlefork, and if he don’t go as himself . . .” Alex was still turning over details in his quick-witted head. “Yes, he shall have to impersonate someone else.”
“And, pray tell, just whom am I supposed to impersonate?”
Just then, there was another knock at the library door and Tilbot once again stuck in his hairless head.
“Your Grace, there is a gentleman from the drapier here to see your valet but he is out attending other business. Shall I send him away to lament on his own or shall I see to it, You Grace?”
Rafe waved at his servant. “See to it, Tilbot.”
The door had just clicked shut when Alex shot out of his chair. It always surprised Rafe that such a huge man could move with such speed and grace.
“That’s it, old man!”
“Good God, what’s ‘it’?” Whit asked in alarm. “He’s not to pose as a drapier?”
Alex leaned down and peered into Rafe’s face, his fisted hands planted on his hips. “You’ll be me cousin’s new butler.” At the shocked expression of his younger friend, the earl laughed heartily, his head thrown back.
“A butler?” Whit, mouth gaping, looked from Rafe to the giant in hysterics. “Rafe, a butler?” He shook his head, a disbelieving frown settling on his face. “A pity to go mad so young in life.”
“Really, it’s perfect.” Alex choked back his laughter. “Shut your mouth, dear boy. It will only be for a few weeks, at best a month. Who will be looking for a butler in North Bindlefork?” He crossed his arms over his massive chest, grinning like a lunatic at Rafe.
“Good Lord, you’re serious, aren’t you?” Rafe was dumbfounded.
“Of course I am.” Alex sat back down, quite pleased with himself, by the smug expression on his face.
“How the in blazes am I supposed to play a butler? I don’t know the slightest thing about being a servant!” Rafe thought this the most absurd idea Alex had ever come up with. “Couldn’t I simply go stay with your cousin, and perhaps pretend to be some distant relative from Ireland?”
“No.”
“But why a bloody butler? I could be a horse trainer. Now there’s something I know a bit about.” A butler? Bloody hell!
“She don’t need one of those.” Alex replied before picking up his glass from the desk and draining the contents. “Besides” he said, “she is an heiress in her own right. Her family was granted their land and title from William the Conqueror himself. The plain little lady is quite orphaned and has no mamma or papa to interfere.”
Rafe looked at Whit, who was obviously as perplexed as he at this idea.
“Look, Alex, how is Rafe here, privileged to his very toes, supposed to pass himself off as a servant?”
“Really, Alex, it’s absurd. Why don’t I just go to France for a few months?”
“Du Champs would find you in a heartbeat, in France or Ireland or Scotland, and you know it, you sod. You’d have to fight a duel and you’d die.”
Alex spoke calmly now, but Rafe could see the concern in his brown eyes. They all knew du Champs well, and anything the baron considered his, he would guard with his life – and that definitely included his new, beautiful wife. Rafe was again furious with himself for not realizing why the lady had looked so familiar. Of course, he had only met her that one time and hadn’t seen her since. Still, he felt quite the fool.
“Why is it you assume I would be the one to die?” Rafe asked defensively, annoyed at what he saw as his friend’s lack of loyalty.
“Come now, Rafe,” Whit replied for Alex. “You may be tough to beat in the ring, but you’re only a passable marksman and you can’t fence for beans.”
Rafe scowled.
Whit’s response was to shrug before continuing. “Now is not the time to forget that du Champs is
a superior swordsman and shooter.” He turned to their big friend. “But, what is Rafe supposed to do – hide forever?”
“I object to hiding at all, truth be known,” Rafe grumbled, not used to avoiding confrontations. He liked to meet a task head on. His life was banal enough with the restrictions society tried to impose on a man of such standing that he hated the thought of turning tail and running from a challenge in any guise.
“While you are, shall we say, being inconspicuous, Whit and I will endeavor to change lovely Melanie’s devious little mind about the whole affair and tamp down any nasty gossip she may have started.”
“We will? And how will we?”
“Leave that to me, puppy. I have a strategy.” Alex waggled a finger in the air, emphasizing his point.
“I’m doomed,” Rafe groaned and allowed his head to again drop to the desktop, further smudging it, no doubt.
“Nonsense, dear boy. Your fate is in these paws, and they’re much too large to let even the smallest detail slip through.”
Chapter 2
The letter lay in her lap, already creased from repeated readings - and not only by her but, undoubtedly, also by every staff member of the manor. The message was easy enough to understand, yet there seemed to be some other implication to the words. It quite puzzled her.
* * *
Dearest Cousin Isabella,
I have found a perfect solution to the dilemma at hand. Within two days of receiving this note, there shall arrive at Kirkwood a young man whom I propose to you as a temporary candidate for your butler. Although not yet fully trained, I believe him quite capable of pulling this off.
Do show him any errors in his ways, but do not fault him his haughty airs, as he is headstrong and young.
Me thanks to you in advance, as I remember your sweetness and kindness from our younger days. Hopefully, circumstances will improve here and he will not be required to remain overly long in your employ.
* * *
Your Grateful Cousin,
Alexander Fitzhugh
* * *
Isabella Fitzhugh, Baroness Kirkwood, shook her head as she read the note again. Whatever did her cousin mean by his odd words? Alex had always been strange, touting his great intellect and making outlandish jokes. Isabella supposed she should just attribute it to his nature.
She frowned at his crisp writing. Being a city man, he knew nothing of country life and what a hardship a haughty servant could cause a relatively self-contained estate. Why on earth would the fellow be coming way out here for only a temporary situation? Isabella needed a permanent replacement, and it would be a bother to have to go through the training of several men. She sighed and rose from the dainty desk situated beneath the windows in her small day room, overlooking the rose garden. She was briskly shaking the wrinkles from her pale lavender day dress when there was a knock at the door.
“Enter, Mrs. Combs.”
The small, plump, gray-haired woman entered and curtseyed.
“My Lady,” Mrs. Combs smiled. “It is time for your ride, my lady. Alice is busy in the laundry. I shall assist you in dressing.”
They walked to Isabella’s room just down the wide, mahogany-paneled hallway. Mrs. Combs, who had been housekeeper for the Fitzhugh family for more than thirty years, quickly moved to the armoire and took out a dark green riding outfit with matching boots and hat. “Would you wear this, my lady?”
“Oh, yes, that’s fine.” Isabella absently changed, all the while speculating on the young man who was to be her new butler. Cousin Alex had not even mentioned the fellow’s name!
As Isabella strode to the stables, now dressed in the forest green riding habit, she thought about old Bent. It was indeed a shame he had been forced to retire to Bath to seek relief from his gout some months ago. He had been with her family for more years than any could remember and had served them very well indeed. He had always anticipated the master’s needs and had been the epitome of diplomacy. How could some pompous young boy be expected to fill such shoes?
Isabella greeted the head stable lad as he led out her mount and cooed to the horse in some secret language.
“Good day, Harry. How is Dilly today?” She smiled as her horse whinnied to her.
“Full o’ fire today, m’lady!” The young boy patted the horse’s neck. “Ain’t you, m’sweet pet?” The mare tossed her head in response.
Isabella mounted easily by herself. She was as comfortable in the saddle as she was behind her desk. “I shall be back within the hour, as we are expecting the new butler today.”
“Aye, m’lady.” Harry removed the woolen cap from his pale brown hair and scratched his head. “We is all mighty curious ‘bout ‘im, m’lady.”
“So am I, Harry.” She shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “We shall see what we shall see, I suppose.”
It was a perfect day for a ride, and Isabella decided to visit the small lake on the north side of her vast estate. She loved the land surrounding quaint Kirkwood Manor. It was lush and fertile, and extremely prosperous for her and her tenants. She was a lucky girl, no doubt, even if she was an orphan. Thank you, William The Conquorer, once again for bequeathing the title to our family!
When Isabella returned home from her ride, Harry was practically hopping about, he appeared so excited.
“Harry, whatever is the matter?” Isabella slid from Dilly’s back and handed the groom the reins. “Don’t tell me Cook threatened to roast Petunia again!”
Petunia, the estate’s pet goose had a fondness for radish greens and was forever stealing into Cook’s garden to uproot the vegetables. Cook could oft be heard shouting how he would roast the offensive fowl.
“It’s ‘im, m’ lady! The new butler just arrived an’ on a fine lookin’ steed!”
“Ah, finally.” Isabella calmly removed her riding gloves. “What do you think, Harry? Will he do for North Bindlefork and Kirkwood Manor?”
Harry snorted. “He acts like a bloomin’ gent, beggin’ yer forgiveness at me crude tongue, m’lady.”
“Hmm, a ‘blooming gent.’ Interesting.” She smiled at the boy and walked quickly across the yard, up the wide stone steps and through the massive doors held open by a footman. As soon as she was inside the spacious entry, Mrs. Combs was at her elbow.
“He’s in the study, my lady.”
The usually unflustered Mrs. Combs was quite flushed.
“Is he?” Isabella removed her hat and handed it and her gloves to her housekeeper. “Well, am I presentable, as such?” She absently ran a hand over her thick hair, tucking in a few loose tendrils.
“Quite, my lady. You look lovely as the day itself.”
Isabella chuckled as she made her way to the study. Lovely indeed! She paused but a moment at the door, realizing she hadn’t asked Mrs. Combs what name the fellow had given. She shrugged, assumed her haughty mistress-of-the-manor demeanor and marched into the room. Even as she moved behind the desk, she began speaking in her most brisk tone.
“I am Lady Kirkwood. You undoubtedly are familiar with -” She could only look at the man who had just risen from the chair before her desk. Good heavens, he was breathtaking! His hair was black as sin and his face strong and arrogant. And his eyes! They shone with intelligence and she thought more than a hint of wicked amusement. Those incredibly blue eyes locked with her own green and she could not look away.
Get a hold of yourself, Bella! She shook her head, then promptly sat. She thought she heard him chuckle. She struggled to regain her composure. It wasn’t easy, but she managed. Still, her heart seemed to be beating awfully fast.
“As I was saying, you are familiar with my cousin, the Earl of Stapleton, I take it?"
“Yes, my lady.”
His voice was deep and smooth, reminding her of the taste of fine brandy. Gooseflesh rippled over her arms.
“He has written to me recommending I employ you as butler here.” She looked up at him, annoyed to find he was smiling. My, but he was sinfully handsome, with broad should
ers and a lean body. He had a firm chin and generous lips. Oh, dear. “I regret that he did not think to supply your name.”
“I am Woodrow Easton, my lady.”
“Easton, I understand that you are still something of an apprentice butler?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Well, you’ll find things here are not overly taxing, even if your skills are still being developed. I assure you the other staff members will be quite willing and able to assist you, should you have any questions as to specific duties. Mrs. Combs is the housekeeper and she has been with my family for a number of years. You can direct any questions to her.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“We don’t receive many callers here at Kirkwood Manor, as you can imagine being so far from any large city.” She leaned back in her chair, which squeaked with age. “When callers do arrive, I prefer to greet them in the front parlor.” For the first time, she noticed he was wearing the clothes of a proper gentleman, not a servant. The jacket was navy blue, the trousers a shade darker and his shirt whiter than the star on Dilly’s nose. He really should have presented himself in uniform. Mind you, he looked quite nice in those gentleman’s clothes.
“Do you have a uniform?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Goodness, was that all he could say? He certainly wasn’t a conversationalist – but then, it wouldn’t have spoken well of him if he had attempted to engage in idle chatter.
“Easton, do you have any questions?”
“No, my lady.”
“Well, then,” she said, rising and signaling an end to the brief interview. She nearly gasped seeing how tall he was. Goodness! She was 5 foot, 4 inches, whereas he must be well over 6 feet tall.
“Thank you, my lady.” He bowed to her. “I shall go and find Mrs. Combs now, my lady.”
“Yes, that will be fine, Easton.” Those cobalt eyes locked with hers again as he straightened, and she saw merriment sparkling in them.