Chapter 8 #2
He knew without being told exactly what she meant.
Moving Peaches was first, probably impossible, and second, definitely inadvisable.
If there was someone in the house who had the boldness to house an invited guest in the worst of servants’ quarters, there was no telling what else that someone might be willing to do.
Stephen wasn’t going to credit anyone from Kenneworth House with the stomach to perpetrate nefarious deeds, but he could certainly think of a rather caustic sister of the current lord who might take a bit of pleasure in the discomfort of another.
There were also other things he would see to, things of a less life-changing but no less important nature.
He inclined his head slightly. “Of course, Your Grace.”
Her expression didn’t change. “You do realize, Stephen darling, that my son will take credit for whatever you do. As long as it suits him, of course.”
Stephen shrugged with a casualness he wasn’t feeling at the moment. “Your son may have all of the credit he likes.”
Raphaela smiled. “You are indeed your mother’s son.”
“And my father’s.”
“Which means that you have lovely manners, but no love for either my late husband or my son.” She lifted her eyebrows briefly. “And I am not a Preston by birth, which leaves me with a bit of distance from their most pressing concerns.”
Stephen smiled in spite of himself. “Are you preparing to tell me what those concerns might be, or am I left to rummage about the library in search of clues?”
“I think you might be shot if you do any rummaging, love, so I suggest you leave rumors and innuendo alone.”
“I don’t know,” Stephen said thoughtfully. “Having a few details about what has gone on between our families over the years might reduce my loathing of the current duke.”
Raphaela laughed again, a light, lovely sound that was refreshingly free of anything but sunshine. “Stephen, darling, I don’t think anything would reduce that, for I think he is pursuing something you want very much.” She looked at him sideways. “Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Sometimes things that are wanted don’t want to be wanted.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes, Your Grace, that is so.”
She patted his arm. “You need sleep.”
He had to agree that sleep might be the best thing for him. Better that than wondering just who in the hell it had been to insult Peaches so thoroughly.
She looked at the dress hanging over her arm, then at him. “I’ll dispose of this, shall I?”
“I would appreciate it.”
She nodded, bid him a final good night, then walked up the stairs. Stephen waited until she’d disappeared before he turned to Humphreys.
“You had to divulge details?” he grumbled.
“It was bound to be divulged eventually, my lord,” Humphreys said reasonably. “I thought it best to come from you.”
Stephen pursed his lips. “I believe she knew already, so you were right to confirm it.” He looked about him, then back at his valet. “We’re less likely to be eavesdropped on here, so let’s make our plans. Where do you suggest we begin?”
“A new maid is critical,” Humphreys said without hesitation. “The care of the gown is highly questionable.”
“I’m not sure I want the details on that, if it’s all the same to you.”
“I won’t seek them out. And I’ll have my sister come stay with Miss Alexander for the weekend.”
Stephen looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t realized Humphreys had a sister, much less one who attended to more pedestrian affairs. “Is your sister a lady’s maid?”
“In her current incarnation,” Humphreys conceded. “She’ll watch after Miss Alexander properly.”
Stephen leaned against the newel post. That solved the first problem. “She’ll need new clothes—”
“I have a list of dress shops in the area, my lord.”
Of course he did. “And shoes?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Stephen looked at his, well, to call him a valet was an insult. To label him merely a social secretary was to deny his other gifts. The man was a wonder.
“Humphreys, you never cease to amaze.”
“I endeavor to perform satisfactorily, my lord.”
“Too much Wodehouse, I think, tucked behind your romances.”
Humphreys only smiled faintly. “One must have one’s heroes, my lord, even if they are fictional.”
“I’m quite sure Sir Pelham found corporeal inspiration somewhere,” Stephen said dryly. “Very well, let’s see if we can’t determine sizes.”
“If you would permit me, my lord, I think I can hazard a guess or two.”
Stephen decided he would leave the man to it only because Humphreys had been minding him since he’d graduated Eton and a goodly part of his better instincts came from him.
A widower with a large brood of grandchildren, he had been particularly adept at managing a headstrong young man.
And Stephen didn’t doubt Humphreys would manage to find Peaches outfits that fit.
“Any suggestions on a wardrobe,” Stephen asked, “or haven’t you gotten that far?”
Humphreys didn’t hesitate. “Hunting clothes for tomorrow morning, then perhaps tailored trousers, a silk blouse, and cashmere for about the house in the afternoon. Dinner will be rather formal, so she’ll want proper evening dress.
A new gown for the ball is essential, though I’m still mulling the color. ”
“White,” Stephen said without hesitation.
Humphreys looked startled. “But, my lord—”
“Do you have any ideas for design?”
Humphreys sighed a little. “I’ve already emailed you a selection, my lord. Choose your preferred gown and it will be delivered by Saturday afternoon.”
Stephen imagined it would be. He nodded, then walked up the stairs with Humphreys. He considered quite a few things as he readied himself for bed, then paused and looked at his valet before he retired.
“I’m not comfortable leaving her alone.”
“That has already been seen to, my lord.”
Stephen knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he was. “Here in the midst of enemy territory? How did you manage it?”
“An extremely hefty bribe to one of the less well-heeled but undeniably muscular footmen.”
“And you trust this man?” Stephen asked incredulously.
“You are considering offering him employment, if he does his job well.”
“How generous of me.”
“He thought so,” Humphreys said with a straight face. “He has dreams of the sea.”
“How convenient I know someone with a castle on the coast.”
“He agreed that was most fortuitous.”
Stephen shook his head in wonder. He honestly didn’t know how the man managed to always have the right answer or the perfect solution.
He just knew he was damned grateful to have Humphreys on his side.
David Preston, if he’d had any sense, would have been quite nervous to have Humphreys in his house.
And if the licentious Duke of Kenneworth knew what was good for him, he would keep his hands in his pockets and his sister on a leash.
Stephen bid his valet a good night, then turned off the light.
The hunting wasn’t starting overly early, but Stephen didn’t want to be anything but alert.
And at the moment, he was terribly tempted to see if he could spend the morning in the library, looking for interesting tidbits about the Preston family.
Though if the choice was between that and potentially getting shot by his host, he thought the latter might be the safer possibility.