Page 49 of The Major's Mistake
The smart phaetonrolled up the entrance drive, but before Sykes announced his presence at the main house, he had one errand to attend to. He drew the matched grays to a halt in front of the barn and took up the wooden box on the seat beside him. Pushing open the door to the tack room, he spied the two grooms at work cleaning the cart harness.
Angus turned around at the sound of footsteps. Even in the muted light, his blackened eye was quite noticeable, along with several other marks of Julian’s prowess with his fists. At the sight of the marquess’s valet, he gave a slight nod.
Sykes returned the acknowledgement with a cheerful greeting. “Morning, Dagleish.” A slow grin spread over his face as he regarded the other man’s appearance with obvious interest. “Hmmm.” He stroked his chin. “Tis hard to choose.”
There was a twitch of Angus’s lips. “What is?”
“Which of you looks the worse for it.” He seemed to consider the matter for a bit longer before adding, “But seeing as it is themarquess who’s suffering the broken ribs, I must assume it is you who came out on top.”
Angus rubbed at a brass buckle for several moments. “If he hadn’t slipped, I’d not have cared to bet on the outcome,” he said gruffly. “Your man fights fair. He ain’t lacking in bottom, either.”
“No,” agreed Sykes. “Come to think of it, I’ve never found him lacking in any meaningful regard.”
The other man gave a low grunt. “Except maybe the sense to recognize a bald-faced lie when he hears one.”
The valet’s brows drew together at the enigmatic comment, but he let it pass. Instead, he placed the wooden box on the rough hewn work table with a thump. “Compliments of His Lordship. He says as your choice of piss would sicken a horse with regular use, he begs you allow him to add this to your stock.” As he lofted one of the bottles of fine French brandy up for inspection, he gave a broad wink. “I assure you, this is most definitelynothorse piss.”
That finally brought a real smile to the groom’s lips.
Sykes tipped his cap. “Well, I best be off and try to convey the guv home with a minimum of jostling to his battered bones.” With that, he turned and started towards the door.
“Sykes.”
The valet looked around.
“Give him … my thanks.”
“Aye. I shall be happy to.”
Julian wincedas the light carriage hit another rut. “Would you prefer that I take over the ribbons? Or have I displeased you in some way recently, that you are seeking to take a suitable revenge?” he drawled.
“Sorry, sir,” muttered Sykes, trying to avoid a large stone. “These country roads are devilishly rough going.” He shot asideways glance at the marquess and noted with some concern that his features were pale beneath the bruises and that his jaw was set in a clench. “I take it you’re feeling poorly.”
“I am feeling as if some hulking giant planted his fist in my gut!”
The valet tried to suppress a chuckle. Julian’s lips twitched as well, then both of them started to laugh.
An instant later, Julian’s mirth was cut off by a sharp intake of breath as the horses veered around a curve. “Damnation,” he muttered as he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“Nearly there.” Sykes urged the team into a faster pace as the way became smoother. “Well, at least you haven’t lost your sense of humor, guv.”
The Marquess made some sort of sound in his throat. “I suppose it had some elements of the absurd, but rest assured I was hardly in the mood for laughter last night.”
Sykes cocked an eyebrow and waited expectantly. But instead of going on, Julian lapsed into a moody silence for the rest of the journey. A groom rushed to lead away the lathered team while the marquess’s butler whipped open the front door before a knock could be sounded, his craggy face betraying nary a hint of surprise at seeing the bedragged appearance of his employer. The sympathetic clucking of the housekeeper was cut short by a glare from Sykes as he assisted Julian up the winding staircase and on to his bedchamber.
Julian sunk down on the edge of his immense four-poster bed and allowed the other man to strip off his soiled garments and wrap a heavy silk dressing gown around his shoulders.
“I imagine you’d not be adverse to a long, hot soak before sliding between the sheets.” Sykes gestured to the screen set up in the corner of the room. “So I took the liberty of ordering up a hot bath.”
“That,” murmured the Marquess, “more than earns you forgiveness for the torture inflicted on me earlier. You are a man of many talents, but driving is not one of them.”
Leaning heavily on Sykes’s shoulder, he limped over to the tub. With a long sigh of relief, he slid into the hot, sudsy water and his eyes fell closed. Sykes quietly moved away, rearranging the items on the inlaid dressing table, then pausing to inspect the buckskin breeches and tailored riding coat for any permanent damage. After a time, he returned to the bath with a thick towel in hand and perched himself on the edge of the rim.
“So?”
Julian pried one lid open. “What?” he asked reluctantly, though he was well enough acquainted with his valet to know exactly what was meant.
“It’s still puzzling me what could cause you to end up in a bout of fisticuffs with your aunt’s groom. Care to fill me in on what the devil happened last night?”
