Page 13 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

Arthur found his nephew still in his bedchamber, engaged in a battle of wills with Clayton. Benjamin could not know—yet—the futility of opposition. “Good morning,” Arthur offered.

“It might be, if I was allowed to dress in peace,” growled Benjamin. He reached for a coat hung on the bedpost.

“Not that one, my lord,” said the valet.

“One coat is as good as another,” Benjamin replied impatiently.

Clayton’s impassivity wavered momentarily at this heresy. “There is a small stain on that one, which I will be happy to—”

“No, there isn’t.”

The valet silently indicated the stain. It was hardly noticeable, Arthur thought. Until one’s attention was drawn to it.

Benjamin sighed. “Very well.” He tossed the coat on the bed and turned toward the wardrobe. Clayton was there before him, opening the doors. “Don’t get in there,” protested Arthur’s nephew. “Ah, you are in.”

After a rapid, expert inventory, Clayton chose a coat from those in the wardrobe and brought it over to help Benjamin put it on. “If you will let me have your boots this evening, I’ll see what I can do.” He averted his eyes from Benjamin’s footgear as if the sight pained him.

“Isn’t that rather beneath your touch?” Benjamin asked.

Arthur was glad to hear amusement in his tone this time. A feud between his nephew and his valet would be awkward. “Clayton has a special formula for top boots,” he said. “Mine are the envy of the fashionable world.”

Clayton didn’t show satisfaction, though Arthur knew he felt it. His expression stiffened when Benjamin glanced at Arthur’s boots and said, “Nice gloss.”

“I would also be happy to cut your hair, my lord.” The valet got his own back through a dry, critical tone.

Benjamin ran his hand through his undeniably shaggy locks. “Deuce take it. I hate haircuts.”

The earl had rarely seen Clayton at a loss, but this pronouncement clearly astonished him. “Hate them, my lord?”

“All that fussing about my head. With sharp blades.” Benjamin made a throwaway gesture. “You’ll have to content yourself with my boots.”

Gathering up the stained coat, Clayton bowed himself out, dissatisfaction in every line of his immaculate form.

“Your valet is a petty tyrant,” Benjamin said when he was gone.

“There’s nothing petty about Clayton,” Arthur replied.

Benjamin turned from the cheval glass, gathering his floating thoughts. They’d been dominated by a pair of sparkling brown eyes for the last little while. Some earlier musings returned to his mind, centering on the nature of coincidence. “Tell me again how you became acquainted with Miss Saunders.”

“It was at a rout party, I believe. We were talking of our families and discovered they were connected. I came to see if you’re ready to talk to Geoffrey.”

An uncomfortable combination of annoyance and guilt distracted Benjamin. “He is my son. I require noreadiness.”

“Precisely. Shall we go and find him?”

He went out before Benjamin could reply, much less object. And by the time he caught up, he found Miss Saunders with his uncle, the two of them waiting at the foot of the stairs like sentinels. He walked between them, without wishing his other self-invited houseguest good morning, and started up. “Let’s get this over with.”

The nursery at Furness Hall lay in a wing that jutted from the back of the main block, putting it quite a distance from the public rooms. A large space on the third floor, painted a faded blue, it was an irregular chamber of peaked ceilings and dormer window nooks. When Benjamin entered, the books on the shelves, the long table with mismatched chairs at one end, the slightly shabby cushions, and boxes of toys were instantly familiar. The cone-shaped tent made of draped blankets was new, as was the clutter of dry branches, leather scraps, and pebbles on the floor nearby.

The nursery maid sitting by the fire jumped to her feet when they entered, dropping her mending. She appeared to be alone. “Where is Geoffrey?” asked Benjamin.

The makeshift tent shuddered. Tom crawled through a flap and stood. Geoffrey emerged behind him. At least he was dressed this time and clean, Benjamin thought. “Ah, there you are.”

“Have you made a blanket castle to play in?” asked Miss Saunders. Her tone was all sweetness, nothing like the way she habitually spoke to Benjamin.

“It’s a tepee,” replied Geoffrey, his tone and expression contemptuous.

“A…” She looked bewildered.

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