Page 22 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“We’ll take good care of him,” Fenella said. It wasn’t as if a ten-year-old boy required a valet.

“I’m to watch him and return him to school at the end of the summer holidays,” said Wrayle. He spoke as if John was an annoying package that must be hauled around the country.

“We’ll make sure he gets there.”

“He cannot go alone.”

“Naturally not,” said Fenella. “Perhaps I’ll take him myself. John could show me his school.” She glanced at her nephew. His eyes and mouth were wide. His hands were clasped so tightly, they trembled. She turned back to Wrayle. “But I’m afraid we can’t accommodate you here any longer.”

The gaunt man bridled. “You have no choice.”

Fenella’s temper was not easily roused, but this man managed it, and not for the first time. “I think you’ll find that I do,” she said.

“I’m not employed by you. You cannot dismiss me!”

“I’m not dismissing you, Wrayle. I am simply sending you back to my sister.”

Wrayle bared his teeth in a sort of snarling smile. “We’ll see aboutthat.” He turned and charged up the stairs.

“He’ll go to my grandfather,” John said. “Wrayle always toadeats the person highest in rank.”

“Of course he does.” Fenella picked up the skirts of her riding habit. “Go and ask William to come to your grandfather’s chamber,” she told John as she started up the steps.

Simpson the valet hovered in the doorway of her father’s room, a thin, aging figure. “That fellow Wrayle pushed his way in, miss. He shoved me!”

“I’ll speak to him.”

“I amnotaccustomed to such treatment.”

“Of course not. It won’t happen again. I’ll see to it.”

Fenella entered her father’s room, and found Wrayle leaning over the bed. He looked like a great crow poised to peck out an eye. She started to take a position opposite him, and then realized that she didn’t wish to argue with Wrayle across her father’s prostrate form. She stopped beside the door. Wrayle shot her a triumphant glance, as if he imagined he would have vengeance for her treatment of him.

“Mr. Symmes sent me,” the man said to her father. “I answer to him, and no one else.”

Her father looked peevish. Fenella knew he didn’t like dealing with domestic difficulties. He thought such things beneath him. “You can’t dismiss Sherrington’s valet, Fenella,” he said.

“Of course not, Papa.” Before Wrayle’s obvious glee could be expressed, she added, “I’m merely sending him back to Greta’s.”

“You have no right—” the valet began.

“I’m sorry you were bothered, Papa,” she cut in. “But there have been complaints from the housemaids.” This was perfectly true. The younger maids, and particularly the youngest, who was just fourteen, had told the housekeeper that Wrayle looked for opportunities to catch them alone and make lewd remarks. The housekeeper, unsuccessful in her attempts to curb him, had told Fenella just this morning. “You know the sort of thing,” she added.

Her father looked pained.

“You won’t take the word of silly girls,” said Wrayle. He sounded utterly certain.

Fenella decided she would get a letter to her sisterbeforethe man arrived back at her home. Whatever Wrayle might think, Greta wouldn’t tolerate such creeping behavior.

“Have them up here,” Wrayle said grandly. “I’ll soon put their stories to the lie.” He looked as if he enjoyed a good wrangle.

Her father frowned. Wrayle’s attitude was annoying him. As how could it not? Surely it wasn’t so difficult for him to choose between daughter and servant? He waved a pale hand. “Do as you think best, Fenella.”

“Sir!” said Wrayle.

“Go away. All of you.”

“Of course, Papa. You must rest.” Fenella indicated the door with a gesture. Wrayle looked rebellious, but William appeared in the opening just then. The burly footman, who helped lift her father when such services were needed, looked daunting, as Fenella had known he would. She gestured again. Wrayle ground his teeth, but he went.

---