Lavender Lady by Carola Dunn

name.
    Briefly, he considered admitting to his rank but quickly dismissed the idea. He did not analyse his reasons. In fact, he was afraid that the Godrics’ attitude toward him would change inexorably, that their delightfully open friendship would become the sort of toad-eating he so often met with. He had never before felt any real distaste for such sycophantic behaviour; it was too commonplace. Now the possibility was so distressing that he would not even examine it.
    He decided to write to his lawyer, who could inform his two households of his safety. Mr. Barnabas Rugby, of Rugby, Rugby, Jones, and Rugby, Solicitors, in the City of London, was an old friend of Lord Alton. He had been with him at Harrow, and they had gone on together to Balliol. Upon his accession to the title, David Fairfax had put his business unreservedly into Mr. Rugby’s hands to the displeasure of Messrs. Hancock, Fitch, and Bradbury, who had handled the affairs of the earls of Alton for generations and made a good thing of it.
    The present earl was composing a discreet letter in his head when there was a knock on his door and a shamefaced Jamie entered.
    “Sir,” he began, “I must apologise for Mr. Pettigrew’s conduct. Alice swears she gave him no cause to think . . . to think . . .”
    “And where were you when I needed protection?” demanded Mr. Fairfax, a twinkle in his eye.
    Jamie flushed. “I thought you would not wish me to interfere,” he muttered hurriedly, gazing at his shoes. Then he looked up. “No, that is not true. I . . . I could not face the scene, so I avoided it, in the most cowardly way. I beg your pardon, sir.”
    “Pray do not. You are not a coward, James, and I would not have you think it. Grown men of proven courage have been known to sneak away from scenes fraught with less embarrassment. I remember all too clearly the day I went to visit my current . . . ahem, a lady of whom I was fond. Her butler admitted me and advised me that she was in the salon at the rear of the house. I paused outside the door to flick some dust from my sleeve and heard within the voices of the lady and of a gentleman from whom I won a great deal of money the previous day. She was consoling him for his losses and offering to sell a necklace I had given her to pay his debts. Believe me, Jamie, instead of confronting her with her perfidy, I not only cravenly crept away, but I never could face the cheating jade again.”
    “Have you had many mistresses, sir?” enquired Jamie with shy curiosity.
    “Dash it, I did not mean to broach such a subject with you. My tongue grows as careless as Geoff’s! Your sister will be accusing me of corrupting your morals.”
    “I’ll not tell her. But have you, sir?”
    “Well, if you insist,” sighed Mr. Fairfax, “yes, I have. I’ve no intention of adding Alice to their number, I assure you.”
    “I never thought such a thing. That fool Pettigrew . . .”
    “Fools are not worth wasting words over. Jamie, would you be so good as to bring me pen, ink, paper, and sealing wax? I must write a letter.”
    “Of course. Thank you, sir. I wish you were my father.” Jamie turned bright red and fled.
    Before Mr. Fairfax could recover from this astounding assertion, Robbie arrived with writing materials.
    “Jamie said to bring you these,” he announced. “And Susan has made her first-ever éclairs, and she says would you like one. I had three and they’re good.” A mixture of cream and chocolate lingering on his chin lent support to his words.
    “Thank you, Robbie. You may tell Susan that I should love an éclair with my tea. If there are any left.”
    “I’ll make sure she saves you one. Who are you writing to?”
    “A friend of mine,” answered Mr. Fairfax, amused at the forthright question. “I decided I had better ask him to send me some clothes so that your grandfather may have his nightshirts back.”
    “Oh, he has plenty. What’s your friend’s name? Is he a sailor?’’
    “His name