Chapter Seven #2
After moving to the door to request a tea tray with biscuits, he returned to his desk. Her laughter had at least cured his need to hide. Now he got right to the point. “You seem remarkably well-versed in etiquette for a maid.”
She clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap. “I told you—a London household…”
“Yes, well. I see no reason to ignore it. I’d like you to help me…” He still didn’t know her name. “Uh, Miss—? What is your name, please?”
“Al—Mullens. Evie Mullens,” she said, looking more nervous than before.
“Miss Mullens. Perhaps I could borrow you from your other duties for an hour or two a day?”
She bit her lip, one corner of her mouth tilting up.
Realizing his error, he tried for a firmer tone. “Perhaps I shall borrow you from your duties. When I need you.”
She nodded then winked. “Certainly, Your Grace. And better.”
Blazes. How was he going to avoid a cockstand during meetings with her?
She was exactly the type of saucy wench he’d always pursued for bedsport.
With the ugly maid uniform obscuring her features, he could ignore the attraction if it were only physical.
But her sauciness and wit lured him to quiet her mouth with his own.
And now he’d gone and set them up to spend hours together in solitude every day.
* * * *
The dinner with the dukes had been surprisingly less taxing and more comfortable than Xander had anticipated, and he was not yet ready to return to solitary suppers.
However, he had not yet convinced Munroe to join him for his evening repast, and after having company, the dining room felt particularly empty.
The village had a pub though, and he was far more comfortable with that fare than the fancy meals the ducal kitchen prepared. With a grimace, he recalled Miss Mullen’s agitation about informing the staff of changes and told the footman he’d be dining in the village when he requested his coat.
The man blinked, the strongest reaction Xander had gotten from him, so he surmised the village would be a tad surprised as well. Glancing down at himself, he recalled his stepfather’s lecture about presenting himself properly and turned to the stairs, calling for his valet.
Frazer was panting as he met Xander at his bedroom door and looked far more excited than the circumstances called for.
“I need one of those infernal cravats, Frazer. And, I dunno, a waistcoat and jacket, I suppose. What does a duke wear to a public house?”
“A pub—” Frazer swallowed the rest of his exclamation. “Your Grace, would you like me to arrange for a private room there?”
“What? Why? God sakes, man, if I wanted to eat alone, I could do that here.”
The valet gulped as he tied Xander’s neckcloth. “Surely you don’t mean to eat—”
“—with the riffraff?” He narrowed his gaze at the servant. “Careful. I was one of the riffraff a few months ago.”
“Your Grace, I’d never have said that.”
When Frazer looked uncomfortable but did not finish his sentence, Xander lifted his chin and said, “Tell me.”
“’Tis just that the village folks might react a bit funny to having a duke in their midst. They go there to relax, but as they don’t know you like we do here at the house, they will be on their best behavior for you.”
“Hang it, I cannot even enjoy a good pub meal and an ale without others feeling the need to bow and scrape?” Xander’s hands went to his cravat to rip his valet’s hard work apart.
“If I may, Your Grace.” Frazer’s hands hovered over his, not quite daring to physically stop him.
“There is only one way to get past this. Go, and keep going, until it becomes the norm for them. Maybe stay off in a corner and don’t watch folks.
If you leave them alone, they’ll leave you alone and become accustomed to you—”
“—lurking.” Xander laughed. “I like the way you think, Frazer. You have my gratitude. I shall try it.”
He rode his favorite horse, a gelding that was easy and calm, as he had walked more than rode in his previous life.
But he could not see dragging out the stablehands and the carriage driver as well as the vehicle itself for the few miles to town, and he didn’t know the area well enough to walk.
Cranbrook and Hollibrook had also warned him to be more careful now, as a duke’s purse or even a duke himself were targets for bandits.
As he pulled up to the public house, an idea formed. Handing his mount to the stablehand, he ducked around the back of the building to the kitchen door where deliveries were sent.
There, he knocked. A red-faced cook opened it, took one look at him, and said with a head toss, “Wrong door, gov’nor. Go ’round front wid ya.”
“I need to speak to the manager, please.”
“Oh, ya do, do ya?” The man’s tone became mocking. “Who shall I say is calling?”
“Xander Whitcomb.”
The cook blinked. “The duke? Oi, come in, Your Grace. Unless you’d rather wait there?” He made an aborted attempt at a bow, then gestured, clearly at a loss. “’Tis rather warm in here.”
“I don’t wish to interrupt any more than I have.”
“’Tis no matter. Hang on a second.” The man turned and bellowed as he held the door for Xander to step in. “Banks, get your arse back here. The duke is asking for ya.”
Xander sighed. So much for staying out of the public eye to allow villagers some peace.
The kitchen noise stopped. No pots banged, knives chopped, voices called to each other. The staff were statues, faces turned to him.
He gave a single nod. “Evening.”
“Evening, sir.”
“Please, don’t mind me. I used to work in a place like this, as I’m sure you’ve heard.”
They nodded, still nonplussed, until the manager came banging through the door from the front. “What are you yelling about, Fletcher?”
Following him were two serving girls, asking about food orders. The two cooks and the dishwasher went back to their tasks, albeit with more subdued movements.
“Sir.” Fletcher had lost his words and gestured between Xander and the manager several times.
“Xander Whitcomb.” Xander nodded. “I recently moved here. I wonder if I might borrow you for a few minutes. I can wait if it is busy out there.”
“Your Grace. I am honored. Please, why are you back here? I have a private room available for you,” Banks said, wringing his hands.
Xander waved a hand in a circular motion, trying to entice the man to step into the alley.
His brows pinched in confusion, he followed Xander and closed the door on the curious looks.
“What is your name, my good man?”
“Oliver Banks. Most call me Banks.”
“Well, Banks, as I was telling your staff in there, until recently, I worked in a pub like this one, for my brother. So, I have a proposition for you.”
The man’s brows rose.
“I am quite sure the town knows my story. To elaborate, I’d be far more comfortable doing what you’re doing and wearing what you’re wearing than I am in this costume.” He waved a hand down himself.
Banks smiled. “Yes, I suppose I can see that.”
“I’m not complaining, mind you. I know I should count my blessings, and I do.
However, the transition is…perhaps not painful, but tedious.
Onerous. Once in a while, I want nothing more than to carry a few kegs, pour a few drinks, and eat a nice simple pub meal.
” He leaned in. “Please don’t tell my chef that, she works very hard. ”
The manager grinned and nodded at his last words. “How can I help, Your Grace? I mean, we have plenty of work here, but I think you might give some folks apoplexy if you waited on them.”
Thinking of his valet’s words, he said, “I have an idea, if you’d care to hear it, and I welcome your thoughts on how to implement it.”