your attention, though scarcely worthy of it. She indicated that I was, insofar as possible, to relieve you of the more trivial.”
‘Lord Rand sighed. “Such as?”
“Your valet, My Lord.”
“Don’t want a valet. Can’t stand someone poking about my things.”
“Quite so, My Lord. Therefore I have screened the applicants in advance and reduced their number to three, in hopes of sparing you some trouble in seeking one worthy of your employ.”
“Didn’t I just tell you I don’t want a valet?”
“Yes, indeed, My Lord. So I will explain to the man you select.”
“I don’t want to select anybody, damn it. I can dress myself. I ain’t a baby.”
“Very good, My Lord.” The secretary stared dolefully at his master’s scuffed boots. “I suppose, then, one of the lower servants will attend to your footwear? In that case, I will ask Mr. Gidgeon whether such a person might be spared from the present staff.”
Lord Rand fought back a wild urge to bash either his own or his secretary’s head against the door frame. “Where are these prodigies? I suppose they are here or you wouldn’t be badgering me about it.”
“In the hall outside your lordship’s study. If you will be so kind as to ring when you’re prepared, I shall send the first candidate in.”
“No,” snapped the employer as he stormed down the hall. “I’ll see ‘em all at once.”
Half an hour later, the disagreeable task was done, the viscount having quickly settled on the one candidate whose serene countenance promised intermittent relief from the lugubrious Hill. Lord Rand was further heartened some hours later when Blackwood (for such was the name of this gentleman’s gentleman), having accompanied his master to the tatter’s private chambers, volunteered the information that he’d recently been invalided home.
“A soldier,” said Lord Rand, breaking into a smile for the first time since he’d entered the house. “Where?”
“Peninsula, My Lord. I caught a ball in my leg, and being of no further military use, had to take up my old work.”
So it happened that amid the exchange of stories, the one talking of the Old World and the other of the New, Lord Rand forgot most of his objections to having someone poking about his belongings and gave utterance to only one mild oath when the valet laid out dinner clothes.
“Confound it,” his lordship muttered. “I’d almost forgotten the kind of rigour I’d be stuffed into for dinner. With the Old Man, no less. You could stand a regiment on his neckcloth and the blasted thing wouldn’t so much as crease. Wouldn’t dare.”
“Likes everything in order, does he, My Lord?” the valet asked as he gathered up his employer’s scattered belongings.
“And can’t for the life of him figure out how he sired such a disorderly brute of a son.”
“If you’ll pardon my free speech, My Lord, I must disagree with that assessment. It’s a pleasure to a man of simple tastes like myself to attend to a gentleman who wants neither padding nor corsets nor any sort of artifice to look as he should.”
Chapter Five
That he looked as he should, and better than he had ever done in his life before, was of small comfort to the Viscount Rand some time later when he endured his mother’s effusive welcome and his father’s frigid greeting.
Lord Rand’s neckcloth began to grow rather snug, in fact, as the dinner conversation turned to his domestic responsibilities and, in particular, his need for a wife.
“Lady Julia is very sweet,” his mother told him. “Raleforth’s youngest girl, you know.”
“Simpers,” said Lord St. Denys.
“Miss Millbanke does not simper, Frederick. Very clever, too, they say.”
“Blue-stocking. Worse, she’s a prig. From what I hear, the family wants to shackle her to that one with the bad foot that fancies himself a poet.”
Lord Rand fought down his annoyance, though he could not keep the challenge from his tone when he spoke. “I daresay,
‘Lord Rand sighed. “Such as?”
“Your valet, My Lord.”
“Don’t want a valet. Can’t stand someone poking about my things.”
“Quite so, My Lord. Therefore I have screened the applicants in advance and reduced their number to three, in hopes of sparing you some trouble in seeking one worthy of your employ.”
“Didn’t I just tell you I don’t want a valet?”
“Yes, indeed, My Lord. So I will explain to the man you select.”
“I don’t want to select anybody, damn it. I can dress myself. I ain’t a baby.”
“Very good, My Lord.” The secretary stared dolefully at his master’s scuffed boots. “I suppose, then, one of the lower servants will attend to your footwear? In that case, I will ask Mr. Gidgeon whether such a person might be spared from the present staff.”
Lord Rand fought back a wild urge to bash either his own or his secretary’s head against the door frame. “Where are these prodigies? I suppose they are here or you wouldn’t be badgering me about it.”
“In the hall outside your lordship’s study. If you will be so kind as to ring when you’re prepared, I shall send the first candidate in.”
“No,” snapped the employer as he stormed down the hall. “I’ll see ‘em all at once.”
Half an hour later, the disagreeable task was done, the viscount having quickly settled on the one candidate whose serene countenance promised intermittent relief from the lugubrious Hill. Lord Rand was further heartened some hours later when Blackwood (for such was the name of this gentleman’s gentleman), having accompanied his master to the tatter’s private chambers, volunteered the information that he’d recently been invalided home.
“A soldier,” said Lord Rand, breaking into a smile for the first time since he’d entered the house. “Where?”
“Peninsula, My Lord. I caught a ball in my leg, and being of no further military use, had to take up my old work.”
So it happened that amid the exchange of stories, the one talking of the Old World and the other of the New, Lord Rand forgot most of his objections to having someone poking about his belongings and gave utterance to only one mild oath when the valet laid out dinner clothes.
“Confound it,” his lordship muttered. “I’d almost forgotten the kind of rigour I’d be stuffed into for dinner. With the Old Man, no less. You could stand a regiment on his neckcloth and the blasted thing wouldn’t so much as crease. Wouldn’t dare.”
“Likes everything in order, does he, My Lord?” the valet asked as he gathered up his employer’s scattered belongings.
“And can’t for the life of him figure out how he sired such a disorderly brute of a son.”
“If you’ll pardon my free speech, My Lord, I must disagree with that assessment. It’s a pleasure to a man of simple tastes like myself to attend to a gentleman who wants neither padding nor corsets nor any sort of artifice to look as he should.”
Chapter Five
That he looked as he should, and better than he had ever done in his life before, was of small comfort to the Viscount Rand some time later when he endured his mother’s effusive welcome and his father’s frigid greeting.
Lord Rand’s neckcloth began to grow rather snug, in fact, as the dinner conversation turned to his domestic responsibilities and, in particular, his need for a wife.
“Lady Julia is very sweet,” his mother told him. “Raleforth’s youngest girl, you know.”
“Simpers,” said Lord St. Denys.
“Miss Millbanke does not simper, Frederick. Very clever, too, they say.”
“Blue-stocking. Worse, she’s a prig. From what I hear, the family wants to shackle her to that one with the bad foot that fancies himself a poet.”
Lord Rand fought down his annoyance, though he could not keep the challenge from his tone when he spoke. “I daresay,
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