Chapter Seven
That outrageous maid had again witnessed his shame; in fact, she’d come near to upbraiding him for it. Xander shook his head. The housekeeper had blinked several times at his apology before murmuring, “Quite all right, Your Grace. If you’ll excuse me.”
Despite his embarrassment, when she’d turned for the stairs, he’d spun to watch the receding and lovely backside of the cheeky maid. A vision rose of him calling her in front of him to reprimand her and offering some creative ways as penance for chastising him.
His cock stirred in his trousers, and he reluctantly turned away. He had two nobs to deal with. The thought was enough to wither even the most enthusiastic cockstand.
Two hours later, his head was spinning again.
The duke and marquess had invited Munroe to join them and had offered to point out where the greatest risks of charlatans and swindlers, both male and female, might be.
With his acceptance, they’d systematically gone through an overview of his holdings—estates, investments, and staff.
Well, not servants such as the maid with the heart-shaped bouncy bottom, but solicitors, secretaries, and stewards.
They’d helped him further prioritize what to learn and address, praising Munroe for his efforts.
When they turned to the pitfalls of being a duke, Xander raised a hand to stop them. “First, I’ve already gotten this lecture from my stepfather.”
The Duke of Cranbrook chuckled, nodding, as he’d mentioned to Xander that he had a passing acquaintance with North.
“I’ve already had to release three members of my staff due to inappropriate behavior.
Also, if I hear any more things to worry about, I might walk out.
And, no offense intended”—he gulped a breath—“but whilst I hate most of my new duties, no duke should be allowed to complain about his lot in life. I should know, I’ve seen the other side. ”
He wasn’t sure he could hold himself to that, but he’d made his point. Both of the older men dipped their heads in acknowledgement.
The Duke of Cranbrook said, “Understood. However, just in case you should encounter trouble, we have created a support group of sorts. The Wayward Dukes Alliance. To that end, there remains one last order of business.”
The younger man produced a signet ring. An emblem was set behind a dark red stone.
When it was proffered, Xander took it. Peering, he thought he saw an elaborate “WD.”
He tried to hand it back, but both men shook their heads.
The Duke of Cranbrook said, “All members wear this or have it. If you see someone with it on, you know they will help you in any way they can. If you need help yourself but cannot get to one of us in person, send the ring and we’ll know ’tis urgent. Try it on.”
Xander attempted to slide it on to his fourth finger, but it did not make it to the second knuckle.
It fit onto his fifth, but there was no way he was wearing a ring there.
He’d be afraid to lose the thing. And that finger was for fops and dandies, far too pretentious for him.
Of course, a duke’s ring would be designed for slimmer hands than his.
They’d never had to haul kegs, shovel snow, or any other of the myriad tasks which had been his life.
He passed it back, not sure how to word his reluctance.
He needn’t bother. Hollibrook produced another ring, identical to the first except in circumference. That one was a tight fit, but he shoved it onto his fourth finger, willing to force it in order to pacify these new allies. As it slid home, he grunted and muttered, “There.”
“Excellent. Why don’t we enjoy the evening? We shall check in with you before we depart tomorrow.”
Munroe chimed in, “You’re leaving tomorrow?”
Catching his alarmed glance at his steward, the Duke of Cranbrook chuckled and explained.
“When people travel for multiple days to reach a destination, they prefer to enjoy their visit for a few days. However, we suspected you’d be overwhelmed, and as I said in the letter, we came because we live close—only a few hours ride. ”
Xander nodded and caught a movement at the door. The pretty maid—his curiosity about the color of her hair under her mobcap had only increased—was gesturing at him. He frowned.
She mimed pouring a drink in a glass then bringing it to her mouth.
Ohh. This whole drinking during the day thing was a nobs’ benefit he could get behind.
If he could only remember it. She seemed to know things the other servants did not.
Or perhaps they all knew protocols but only she dared point his failings out.
Regardless, he didn’t care as long as her wisdom could benefit him.
He inclined his head and turned to his guests. “Shall we adjourn to the parlor and have a drink before supper, then?”
Their smiles told him she’d saved him from embarrassment. Well, that was a pleasant change from her discovering it. Perhaps he ought to ask her for lessons.
* * * *
After a surprisingly relaxed supper, there were more drinks and cigars—for the two older men, anyway—in the parlor.
Xander had been relieved to see a veritable feast laid out, with several options of grilled fish and meats, and four courses. He hoped the servants hadn’t ended up with bread and cheese as a result and made a mental note to talk to Cook on the morrow.
Another impressive buffet was set out for breakfast, and his visitors rose earlier than he’d expected, based on his limited knowledge of aristocrats and London hours.
Country hours must be different even for entitled—er, titled—lords.
He was still on tavern hours, but he’d instructed his valet to wake him at the first sign of his visitors stirring.
The poor man almost skipped in eagerness. To date, Xander had barred him from his room other than to coordinate baths and collect his laundry. Given the valet’s reaction, he surmised Frazer must be nervous for his job and decided to review staffing soon and reassure servants wherever possible.
This morning, he needed Frazer’s help knotting a cravat without strangling himself. North had helped him for the journey here, and he hadn’t bothered with one in the house. But needs must for guests.
After breakfast, he made all the appropriate noises as Cranbrook and Hollibrook donned their outerwear.
“Your Grace, Lord Hollibrook, I very much appreciate your assistance and guidance. I have more work to do to learn everything I need, but I look forward to seeing you again.” He actually meant that, too, much to his surprise.
Even so, the back of their carriage was still visible through the front window as he stood in the main hall and tugged at the neckcloth.
“There’s a pin, Your Grace,” the pretty maid murmured to him, trailing her duster along a side table.
He looked around for a mirror, his hands still clenched in the folds of white linen.
“Shall I help?”
His brows rose. Any other servant would ask timidly. She suggested it, as bold as could be. Frankly, it was a refreshing change. And what could it hurt? He’d already surmised she could help him with a good many aspects of this new life, filling in the gaps that Munroe could not.
“Please.” His tone was gruff as he dropped his hands and raised his chin to get out of her way.
She sidled closer, tilting her head to peer at the mess he’d made.
“Hold this.” She held out the feather duster.
He took it without thinking, then caught the footman’s owlish look. His eyes were so wide that Xander pictured them possibly rolling out of his face. A quiet snort escaped him.
“My lo—Your Grace?” The maid turned her doe eyes, dark brown and huge in her face, up to meet his.
He whispered, barely moving his lips, although why he was concerned about embarrassing her, he didn’t know, “The footman yon seems very concerned that I am holding your duster.”
Her gaze slid to the side. Glancing back at him, she snorted, too. “My apologies, Your Grace. It seemed the most expedient way to stop you from strangling yourself.”
Impudent wench. He fell a degree more in lust with her at that moment, gazing down at her ivory skin, full lips in the palest of pinks, and delicately arched brows.
In his old life, he’d kiss the impudence right out of her, then find a quiet corner in which to tup her—a desk, bar, keg of ale, whatever was at hand.
His cock woke and stretched. Taking a deep breath, he willed his body back to sleep.
“There,” she said with a firm nod. His cravat slid around the back of his neck and he tore his gaze away from her face.
Ah, she held his cravat pin—who knew?—in one hand and was tugging the cloth off him with the other.
Presenting them to him with a flourish, hands held high, she grinned and said, “Shall we trade?”
“What? Oh,” he said, confused until he remembered the duster in his hand. Returning it to her, he asked, “May I have a word with you in my office?”
She leaned in and said in a low tone, “You don’t need to ask, Your Grace. I am at your command.”
He swallowed. His cock was not going to take that image lying down. Turning away from her quickly, he walked to the stair banister first, draping the cravat over it and securing the pin in one end, before gesturing, “Come, then.”
Gulping again at his poor choice of wording, he moved into his office to hover behind his desk, where the worst of his sins would be hidden. Gesturing her to a chair, he sat. “Tea?”
She laughed at him. Mouth open, no quiet titter, she full out cackled.
“I have always been courteous to my employees—” he twisted his mouth, recalling one or two laggards—and Lisa if he was honest—who would not agree. “—and see no reason to stop now.”
She blinked. “I beg your pardon, my lord, that was not well done of me.” Shrugging a shoulder, she added, “Why not?”