Page 16 of The Butler and the Bluestocking
Kentigern was closing the parlor door as Bess approached.
“You need not exert yourself, Lady Elizabeth,” he said. “You’ve had a very long day, and I can easily clear up this small problem.”
She beamed at him with what she called her social smile—the expression that had been the only armor permitted her during that horrid London Season—then handed him her cloak. She wasn’t about to permit him to clear up what she was certain was no misunderstanding. In the time they’d been in York, she’d come to rely on Kentigern for more than his butler services. Often, when she worked late, they would share a cup of tea and discuss the nuances of translating hieroglyphics. She’d nearly forgotten her early suspicions of him. Though, she’d always believed he was no butler. Unless she was very mistaken, the Earl of Strathnaver could provide answers to questions about who exactly Kentigern was.
“Nonsense, I am not in the least tired.” She was exhausted. “It would be rude if the family did not greet such an august personage as the Earl of Strathnaver. Please assist Mrs. Crewe with the refreshments.”
Forehead wrinkled, he looked from her to where the earl stood frowning back at her butler.
“You may go, Kentigern.”
“Yes, my lady.” Clearly not happy to be dismissed, he gave a nod and departed.
She walked over to the earl and held out her hand to him. He bowed over it.
“I am Lady Elizabeth Bigglesworth, but I prefer Lady Bess. Please be seated, my lord.” She gestured to one of a pair of settees that flanked a low table then settled herself onto its opposite.” What has caused you to honor us with this visit?”
Yes, those tawny, caramel eyes were exactly the same shape as Kentigern’s, though perhaps a shade more orange. More like a tiger than a sweet. She knew from news reports and the gossip her sisters brought home from their calls that the Earl was not a man one crossed without serious consequences. It was entirely possible that Kentigern had good reason to be nervous of the man. She grew more certain than ever that Kentigern was no more a butler than she was Empress of Egypt. The Earl studied her with a narrowed gaze as she waited in polite silence for him to reply. The squint he’d acquired indicated he might be wondering how to proceed.
Then his expression cleared. “Several days ago, I was in London, when I received a letter from my brother Malcolm asking me to visit him at this address in York and to bring any available friends with me.”
“Interesting. Why this address, and where are your friends?”
“Lord Du Grace and Sir Vernon Melbarrow are obtaining rooms at the Bull and Horn, as I did not wish to impose three strangers on the household without notice. This house is my godmother’s. Malcolm had intended to visit with her while attending some sort of antiquarian meeting. But it seems that Mrs. St. Aubyn is not at home. Perhaps Mal forgot to inform me correctly when he wrote.”
“Absence of mind is a common problem among scholars. What is your brother’s area of expertise?”
“He has always been fascinated by the civilizations that thrived in and around what is now Egypt.”
The light dawned, and along with it, ice-cold fury possessed her. “The Strathnaver family name is Marr, is it not?”
“Yes.” The earl nodded.
In all her imaginings she’d not considered that Kentigern—no, it was the Honorable Malcolm Marr, respected scholar and noted expert in Egyptology—might be a scion of one of Scotland’s oldest and proudest families.High in the instepapplied to lesser beings outside the rarified stratosphere of the noblesse oblige exemplified by Clan Marr and the Earl, its head. She suppressed a shudder and along with it her ire. That she would save for the man masquerading as her butler. No wonder Kentigern knew so much about the work she did—the lying cur.
“Then your brother must be Professor Marr from Edinburgh University. He is a speaker at the York Antiquarian Society’s annual seminars which begin next week.”
“That would be my brother.”
“Would Professor Marr’s middle name be Kentigern?”
The earl studied her a long while before responding with a solitary, “Yes.”
“Is it not interesting that Kentigern is the name of the man working in this house as a butler?”
Another pause, shorter this time. “That is, indeed, interesting.”
“Even more interesting to me, your lordship, is that our butler resembles you so closely. You could easily be brothers,” remarked Bess.
“Ahem. Well as to that. You are an astute woman, Lady Bess. I’ll not pretend any longer that I did not recognize my brother Malcolm the moment he entered the corridor. I kept silent because I’d no notion what reason he might have for such a masquerade.”
“Neither have I, my lord. You must ask him when he brings the tea.”
“Indeed. I think it best if you begin the questioning. You will lose a butler when the truth is revealed. And I would prefer to observe his behavior when he is confronted with his deception.”
She stood unable to sit calmly. If she saw Kentigern once more, she might not succeed in resisting the urge to hit him in the nose. But the lying lout was not here, so she must deal with the Marr who was.
“Please accept my apologies, but I would prefer not to be present when you speak with Kenti—ah, Professor Marr. In fact, I would be quite happy never to set eyes on him again.”
