Never Doubt I Love by Patricia Veryan Page B

Julia, that my friends are distressed by creatures. Dare I hope that no more members of your menagerie are lurking about?”
    Lady Julia sighed. “I know of only one of your friends who is distressed by my pets, Clara, and he is not here today.”
    â€œWere he able to be more comfortable in this house, I might more often have the pleasure of his company. Oh, I know what you are thinking, and I will admit that August is not good ton. But while I would not endanger our reputation by inviting him to a formal occasion, I hope I am not so proud as to deny him when out of the public eye.”
    â€œBut of course you would not, Clara.”
    It seemed to Zoe that there was a touch of irony in Lady Julia’s quiet words, but her sister inclined her head in the manner of one accepting her just due, then said, “One of your tasks, Miss Grainger, will be to keep Lady Julia’s beasts confined to her quarters. Meanwhile,” she gestured to a hovering footman, “you shall be shown to your own chamber so that you may prepare yourself for dinner. A word with you, Julia…”
    Lady Julia went off with her, saying meekly, “How nice your hair looks, Clara. I am so glad you have discarded that silly wig…”
    Grateful to have escaped, Zoe followed the footman upstairs.
    *   *   *
    â€œMy apologies.” Sir Owen Furlong restored the valet’s feet to the floor and kicked the front door shut behind him. “The fact is,” he explained with a gleam of his disarming smile, “I’ve spent long enough in the rain this afternoon without being kept standing in it on my own doorstep.”
    The valet, a small fussy individual, was not appeased. Ignoring his spluttering incoherencies, Sir Owen upended his tricorne and poured a stream of rainwater from the brim into the large milk can that served as an umbrella stand. “My name is Furlong,” he went on, thrusting his wet cloak and tricorne into the valet’s unwilling hands. “I suppose you will be Captain Rossiter’s new man.” He started to the stairs, adding over his shoulder, “No need to announce me, but be a good fellow and send someone round to the stables with my mare, will you?”
    Quivering with outrage, Ephraim Lewis glared after him. So this was the owner of the residence. His lip curled. In the short time he had served Captain Gideon Rossiter he’d formed some firm and inflammatory opinions regarding the gentlemen who frequented this house. They were, he’d informed his sister, as wild and radical a group of aristocratic young lunatics as he’d ever had the misfortune to encounter. The house itself, tall and narrow, was cursed with three flights of stairs and had been intended as a bachelor establishment. It was entirely unsuitable for a young married couple whose circle of friends was as wide as it was unconventional. Especially since those friends had the habit of dropping in at all hours and both expecting and being expected to make themselves completely at home. Poor Cook never knew whether to prepare dinner for two or twelve, and one was no longer surprised to come down in the morning and find some left-over guest asleep on the sofa or under the table.
    Mr. Lewis had known when he applied for the position that, despite its agreeable location on Bond Street, this house would not suit him. He’d stayed only because Captain Gideon Rossiter and his bride had borrowed the house intending their occupation to be temporary. Very soon now they would be dividing their time between the large property in the Weald known as Emerald Farm, and the apartment now being readied for them in Rossiter Court, the splendid family mansion on Curzon Street. Neither residence could fail to add to the consequence of a London valet. The prospect of spending part of the year in the country did not appeal, however, and he was not displeased that such a threat may now have been