it’s hardly daylight,” Cuttle muttered, but he pushed the blankets aside and got up, grumbling.
Havergal noticed, while Cuttle was assisting him with his toilette, that his valet’s eyes were bloodshot and his general air unsteady. “That must have been some drinking spree you had last night?”
“The duke left some wine in the stable.”
“That was a pourboire for the servants here at Laurel Hall.”
“We shared a few bottles with the house servants. A rare treat it was for them.”
“I should think so! That was excellent claret! Bring what’s left of it up to my room. We don’t want Miss Beddoes accusing us of debasing her servants. And you especially, Cuttle, ought to lay off the drink. It won’t do your boxing any good. Look at that paunch! Soft!” he said, touching Cuttle’s midriff. His finger sunk into a layer of fat.
“Get me a fight arranged, and I’ll get into shape,” Cuttle retorted.
The valet had attended to his duties before the drinking bout the night before. His master turned out in a style to do him proud, with Hessians gleaming and cravat immaculate. Havergal appeared a perfect tulip of fashion when he joined the ladies at breakfast half an hour later.
Miss FitzSimmons shot a triumphant glance at Lettie. They had exchanged views as to their guest’s probable hour of rising. “Not before noon” was Lettie’s opinion.
“I am happy to see you so much recovered,” Lettie said when Havergal bowed before them. She was unaware of a smile lifting her lips, but she knew that his appearance gave her pleasure. He looked vitally healthy, so handsome and elegant.
“We thought you might keep later hours,” Miss FitzSimmons added with a worried look at Lettie. This was due to the fact that Cook had burned the gammon. They had planned to have a new batch served later.
“I am up with the rooster when in the country.” He smiled. He went to the sideboard to help himself to breakfast.
“I’ll ask the servants to get some fresh gammon and eggs,” Lettie said. “I don’t know what ails Cook today. She never burned the gammon before. I hope the stove is not going on us.”
“This will be fine,” Havergal assured her, and helped himself to some charred meat. The footman who poured his coffee not only slopped the liquid into his saucer, but also made a mess of the table covering.
“I am so dreadfully sorry,” Lettie said two or three times. “I really cannot imagine what has come over them. I wonder if they have caught some flu bug. You were feeling poorly last night, Lord Havergal. Did you have any symptoms other than the headache?”
“No, none, and I feel fine today,” he assured her.
“Well it is very odd,” Miss FitzSimmons said, puzzled. “Let us hope you and I escape it, Lettie, or we shall miss our drive to Canterbury this afternoon.”
The afternoon was taken care of in a manner to please the ladies, but there was a long morning in which Havergal hoped to forward his cause by being agreeable. “I hope you have not forgotten your promise to give my grays a try as well, Miss FitzSimmons,” he reminded her.
“I look forward to it.”
“And you, too, Miss Beddoes,” he said, turning to Lettie. Without Norton there to lead the way, he reverted to the proper mode of address.
“The curricle only holds two, does it not?”
“Two at a time. I thought after Miss FitzSimmons returns, you might like to try a spin.”
“You wanted new gloves for the trip to Canterbury, Lettie,” her companion reminded her. “Ashford is only three miles away. You could drive into Ashford with Lord Havergal.”
It was the last place Havergal wanted to take her. Ashford meant Crymont, possibly not alone. He never leapt his fences till he came to them, however. By the time they were in the carriage, he could talk her around to some different drive.
“What are you thinking of, Violet?” Lettie said. “Lord Havergal will not want to cool his heels while I go shopping.”
“I am
Havergal noticed, while Cuttle was assisting him with his toilette, that his valet’s eyes were bloodshot and his general air unsteady. “That must have been some drinking spree you had last night?”
“The duke left some wine in the stable.”
“That was a pourboire for the servants here at Laurel Hall.”
“We shared a few bottles with the house servants. A rare treat it was for them.”
“I should think so! That was excellent claret! Bring what’s left of it up to my room. We don’t want Miss Beddoes accusing us of debasing her servants. And you especially, Cuttle, ought to lay off the drink. It won’t do your boxing any good. Look at that paunch! Soft!” he said, touching Cuttle’s midriff. His finger sunk into a layer of fat.
“Get me a fight arranged, and I’ll get into shape,” Cuttle retorted.
The valet had attended to his duties before the drinking bout the night before. His master turned out in a style to do him proud, with Hessians gleaming and cravat immaculate. Havergal appeared a perfect tulip of fashion when he joined the ladies at breakfast half an hour later.
Miss FitzSimmons shot a triumphant glance at Lettie. They had exchanged views as to their guest’s probable hour of rising. “Not before noon” was Lettie’s opinion.
“I am happy to see you so much recovered,” Lettie said when Havergal bowed before them. She was unaware of a smile lifting her lips, but she knew that his appearance gave her pleasure. He looked vitally healthy, so handsome and elegant.
“We thought you might keep later hours,” Miss FitzSimmons added with a worried look at Lettie. This was due to the fact that Cook had burned the gammon. They had planned to have a new batch served later.
“I am up with the rooster when in the country.” He smiled. He went to the sideboard to help himself to breakfast.
“I’ll ask the servants to get some fresh gammon and eggs,” Lettie said. “I don’t know what ails Cook today. She never burned the gammon before. I hope the stove is not going on us.”
“This will be fine,” Havergal assured her, and helped himself to some charred meat. The footman who poured his coffee not only slopped the liquid into his saucer, but also made a mess of the table covering.
“I am so dreadfully sorry,” Lettie said two or three times. “I really cannot imagine what has come over them. I wonder if they have caught some flu bug. You were feeling poorly last night, Lord Havergal. Did you have any symptoms other than the headache?”
“No, none, and I feel fine today,” he assured her.
“Well it is very odd,” Miss FitzSimmons said, puzzled. “Let us hope you and I escape it, Lettie, or we shall miss our drive to Canterbury this afternoon.”
The afternoon was taken care of in a manner to please the ladies, but there was a long morning in which Havergal hoped to forward his cause by being agreeable. “I hope you have not forgotten your promise to give my grays a try as well, Miss FitzSimmons,” he reminded her.
“I look forward to it.”
“And you, too, Miss Beddoes,” he said, turning to Lettie. Without Norton there to lead the way, he reverted to the proper mode of address.
“The curricle only holds two, does it not?”
“Two at a time. I thought after Miss FitzSimmons returns, you might like to try a spin.”
“You wanted new gloves for the trip to Canterbury, Lettie,” her companion reminded her. “Ashford is only three miles away. You could drive into Ashford with Lord Havergal.”
It was the last place Havergal wanted to take her. Ashford meant Crymont, possibly not alone. He never leapt his fences till he came to them, however. By the time they were in the carriage, he could talk her around to some different drive.
“What are you thinking of, Violet?” Lettie said. “Lord Havergal will not want to cool his heels while I go shopping.”
“I am
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