Page 7 of Brave New Earl (The Way to a Lord's Heart 1)

“Hmm.”

“Yes, my lord. The head gardener is of the opinion that the boy disguises what he can and can’t do and is devious in bargaining for what he wants.”

“At his age?” Arthur replied. “That would be precocious indeed.”

“The junior kitchen maid believes he is possessed by the devil.”

Arthur laughed. His valet didn’t, but his eyes showed amusement. “It sounds as if he might become a son for a father to be proud of.”

“Lord Furness doesn’t wish to be bothered with the boy,” his valet replied. “Everyone agreed on that. The servants here are expected to manage everything on their own and shoulder the blame for any upsets, while their master shuts himself up in the library. Or goes hurtling across the countryside on a demon of a horse, as the head groom put it.” One who knew Clayton well, which the earl did, could hear a touch of disapproval in his tone.

“Who was that lad with the blanket this morning? The one I told you about.”

Clayton nodded again. “There’s something of a mystery about him, my lord. No one would say much. The cook did allow thatunconventionalpeople had stepped forward to keep Geoffrey out of his father’s way. The housekeeper silenced her with a look.”

“I see. Well, I’ll find out sooner or later. Clearly, my nephew needs a bit of bothering.”

“That sort of decision is not up to the servants,” Clayton said.

“Of course not. So I’ve taken it on.” Or it had taken him on, the earl thought wryly. He hadn’t anticipated Miss Jean Saunders’s impulsive trip to Somerset, or her demand for possession of Geoffrey. When he’d heard of her departure, and her plan, on one of his regular visits to the Phillipsons, he’d had to scramble to catch up. Fortunately, he had better horses. The young lady was more…forceful than he’d realized.

He’d meant to apply some force, Arthur admitted silently. Nothing else he’d tried had lifted Benjamin from his miasma of grief, so sad to see. However, just now, Arthur felt like a swimmer overtaken by a flash flood. His deep sympathy for the four young men he’d gathered at a table at White’s was carrying him into uncharted waters. Speaking of which… “Did you send off those letters I gave you?” he asked Clayton.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Good.”

The valet cleared his throat. Arthur knew the sound of old. “A problem?”

“I observed a stain on Lord Furness’s lapel.” Clayton’s fingers flexed as if he was itching to get his hands on the garment in question.

Arthur hadn’t noticed, but Clayton had a gimlet eye for such things. “My nephew is looking a bit unkempt.” His dress was careless, and he needed a haircut.

“Apparently, his valet left more than a year ago and has not been replaced. Lord Furness is attending himself. A groom is seeing to his boots.”

Here was a situation bound to offend Clayton’s exacting standards, Arthur thought. “I see.”

“Something should be done, my lord.”

“I can’t hire staff in another man’s house.” He had enough on his plate already, Arthur thought.

“I thought I might offer my services. Temporarily.”

“Really, Clayton?” Would Benjamin realize what a favor he was being granted?

“And be on the lookout for someone about the place I could train,” the valet added.

Arthur had a sudden vision of the scene—Benjamin, the immoveable object, wishing to be left to his own untidy devices; Clayton, the irresistible force, insisting on a high degree of polish. This might be another way to jostle Benjamin out of his prolonged funk. “That’s very kind of you, Clayton.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

• • •

In a bedchamber a few doors away, Jean looked down at the only evening gown she’d brought with her, a serviceable coral muslin, now wrinkled from the valise. In this moment, it was a distinct disappointment. She would have liked to sweep downstairs looking stunning, she realized, and she was sorry she hadn’t brought a prettier dress. Which was doltish. She’d packed for a daring rescue, not a country house visit. This was not an occasion for dipping necklines and flattering drapery. Even so, a scene flashed through Jean’s mind—she in her amber silk, floating down the staircase, while the powerful master of this house gazed up at her, dazzled. His blue-gray eyes startled, his lips parted in astonished admiration.

A lock of brown hair sprang out over her brow, dissipating this silly vision. She pushed it back with another hairpin. Her thick, curly locks were difficult to manage. They always seemed to have a mind of their own, which did not include smoothly demure styling. Jean hadn’t brought her maid on this brief journey, and she missed Sarah now. The housekeeper had been cordial but firm. She had no one to spare to help Jean dress. The kitchen maid, who had answered the door when their unexpected visitors arrived, was needed by the cook. Indeed, everyone was run off their feet. Jean had gotten the impression of a household teetering on the brink of collapse, barely held together by the housekeeper’s skill and loyalty.

Jean bit her lower lip. She mustn’t get distracted; the state of Furness Hall wasn’t her concern. Her present hosts expected her back to help them with their extensive entertainments during the London season. She was as appreciated there as she was uninvited and unwelcome here. Also, it wasn’t proper to stay without a hostess in residence. She had to fulfill her mission and depart soon.

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