The Butler Did It by Kasey Michaels

but stumbled down the stairs, stairs he would never otherwise employ, unless in the performance of his duties. “It’s…it’s so good to see you again, my lord.”
    â€œGood to see you as well, Thornley. I know it’s late, nearly ten, isn’t it? I would have been here much earlier, save for this cursed fog. And, by the look on your face, I see I also should have warned you of my arrival. But you’ve always run this pile with such efficiency, Ididn’t think it would matter. Beds aired and ready, I’ll wager?”
    Riley, now that the chicken leg was safely deposited in the sixteenth-century china vase that also held a few large umbrella sticks, had begun to pay attention. Slowly, and with increasing horror, the footman picked up all the bits and pieces of information that had been sent to his brain over the past few moments, and assembled them in something approaching order…to be immediately followed by sheer panic.
    Wycliff had closed the door and kicked the rug back into place to keep out the fog, and was now gathering up his lordship’s things, which left Riley with nothing more to do than hold out his hand, a move his terrified brain would not even entertain. No coin for his troubles, not tonight, and no place to put his head tomorrow night, either, unless it would be on moldy straw, in the local guardhouse.
    He looked to Thornley in mute appeal.
    Thornley was looking at Morgan.
    And Morgan was beginning to think there might be something very wrong.
    â€œThornley? I’m tired, and would like to go to my rooms for a moment. I’ve already asked this boy here—what’s your name again, boy? Riley, was it? I’ve asked him to have Mrs. Timon prepare something and have it ready in the drawing room once I’ve had myself a bit of a wash. I feel as if I’ve brought half the road dirt in here with me. So…?”
    Morgan put out an arm, gesturing at the staircase, which Thornley still stood in front of, his long arms outstretched, one hand pressed against the wall, the other gripping the newel-post. “Thornley? I’d like to go upstairs.”
    Thornley blinked, something he hadn’t done in more than a full minute, and looked to his right and left. “Forgive me, my lord,” he said, dropping his arms to his sides. He should begin attending church again. God was punishing him for his sins of omission, that’s what it was. And for thinking about Daphne Clifford’s knees. “It’s just that it has been so long, my lord. You…you resemble your late father more greatly now. In fact, you…you’ve given me quite a start.”
    â€œâ€™Tis both a start and finish, I’d say,” Riley muttered, backing against the wall in the hope his lordship would forget he was in the grand foyer at all.
    Morgan started toward the staircase.
    â€œIf I may be so bold, my lord,” Thornley said quickly, turning to climb the stairs just behind his lordship, “may I suggest that his lordship goes directly up to his rooms to rest and recover from his long journey. I will see that a bath is prepared in your dressing room, to ease the aches and indignities of travel, and personally bring you a repast of the best Mrs. Timon has in the kitchens.”
    Morgan hesitated at the head of the staircase, casting a look toward the closed doors leading to the main drawing room. “Got the place in dust sheets, do you, Thornley? All right, I understand. Nothing to worry about, I’m an understanding man. I wouldn’t wish to discommode you or any of the staff this late in the evening.”
    He turned down the hallway and headed for the next flight of stairs, calling over his shoulder, “Just some warmed water and towels, Thornley, and that food. And a bottle. I’m so weary I could probably sleep where I am. As it is, I’ll be asleep before my head hits the pillow, and I doubt even a pitched battle outside my