Chapter Two #3
If you are reading this, I can safely assume you have installed yourself in the house.
Several things to note: I have stocked the wine cellar and a grocery order will be put in as soon as the porter has received you into the house.
(Yes, I realize your butler will be offended at not choosing the wines himself and your cook will be apoplectic and disdainful of a grocery order he did not compose himself, but that’s your problem, not mine!)
I have also arranged for the rooms over the stables to be kitted out and plentiful ale delivered so your coachman and grooms don’t stage a revolt.
The house staff will find several bottles of hock in the servants’ hall to smooth their transition to Town.
If they complain after all that then I do not understand what sort of people you employ!
We will have a family dinner on the thirteenth.
High time you met your cousins and I have an astounding supply of them.
The once removeds are growing too and will make a brief appearance.
Though he is not family, bring Ledderbey if you’ve dragged that fellow to Town.
I am well aware that he does not hold a high opinion of me, but I never do care what other people think. We dine at eight.
Pelham
Lord Ledderbey had read the missive over his shoulder. “He is a case all his own,” the lord said.
Weston nodded in agreement. Though, he was rather admiring of the duke’s care for his staff.
He’d not expected that. He was not certain what he had expected, but the duke sparing a thought for those below him had not occurred to him.
He expected the staff would be at least somewhat mollified.
“You will come to this dinner, will you not?” he asked Lord Ledderbey. “You will not send me there on my own?”
“I will most certainly come. I would like to get a look at this duke.”
“And his endless supply of daughters.”
Lord Ledderbey nodded. “Six of them, maybe seven, I’ve lost track.”
“I wonder if Lady Marchfield will turn up,” Weston said. He did not know his aunt well, but she was in the habit of sending a card over Christmas, which was more than the duke had ever done.
“Hard to say,” Lord Ledderbey said. “I am told by my sister that the duke and Lady Marchfield do not care for each other in another one of her letters full of gossip I did not ask for.”
Weston looked around. Now that he was here, he did feel a bit fish out of water. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? He did not know anybody here.
The porter came into the room. “My lords, here is the correspondence that has arrived to the house since I was employed.”
Weston looked at the tall stack of letters the porter carried. “Correspondence? From who?”
“Invitations, likely,” Lord Ledderbey said.
“Invitations from who and to what?” Weston asked. “I do not know anybody.”
Lord Ledderbey laughed. “That does not matter. You are the heir presumptive to a dukedom and it seems that word has gotten out that you are here. Mamas all over Town will wish you on their guest list.”
People he did not know wished for him to turn up at their house, all because he might someday become a duke. It seemed extraordinary.
“Prepare yourself, my boy,” Lord Ledderbey said. “You are on the verge of having every young lady in Town thrown in your direction. Careful who you catch.”
“What a situation,” Weston muttered.
Both he and Lord Ledderbey retired to the drawing room while the staff got their rooms ready.
There had been some question as to which rooms would suit, but neither of them cared about it.
Weston’s opinion was a bed was a bed. Lord Ledderbey claimed he’d be comfortable in a closet, as long as he had an interesting book and a decent glass of claret.
They’d left it up to Stockton’s good sense to sort it out.
Stockton did use his good sense. Both gentlemen had rooms overlooking the square and its greenery. If one squinted, one could almost imagine oneself back in the countryside.
Weston flipped through the stack of letters. “I’ve got to reply to all of these. How am I supposed to choose where I will go? How am I to keep track of where I am supposed to be?”
Lord Ledderbey considered the matter. “You’ll need a diary to keep your calendar. Perhaps you ought to hire a secretary to manage it. It might be beneficial to write to your aunt and ask for her assistance. I’d say ask the duke, but well…”
Weston smiled. Lord Ledderbey would trust the duke with nothing, not even a party invitation. He had a good idea, though, about writing to Lady Marchfield. “You do not suppose Stockton could do it? Act as my secretary?”
Lord Ledderbey snorted. “Stockton arranging your musical evening or attendance at a card party? I do not think he would thank you for it.”
“Musical evening? Good God, what is that?”
“Young ladies display their musical talent, everybody rises up in applause even if they are dreadful, and then outrageous compliments are handed out to those same ladies at a small reception. I seem to remember they are tedious but somehow necessary.”
“Tedious? It sounds tortuous,” Weston said.
“Is it similar to what we experienced when we got bamboozled into attending Lord Waterstone?” Waterstone was not five miles off but rarely at home.
Last year, he had been at home and had brought his niece, Miss Bing.
After dinner, they’d been forced to sit for an hour while Miss Bing banged determinedly on the pianoforte.
“Imagine ten Miss Bings, all at the ready to delight your ears,” Lord Ledderbey said with a snort.
One Miss Bing had been quite sufficient.
Weston rummaged through a desk for some writing things.
He must contact Lady Marchfield and hope the lady was amenable to helping him sort through this pile of invitations he’d not asked for.
And would help him avoid any musical evenings that were included in the stack.
Though, he supposed the pile of invitations did answer the question of what he was supposed to do with himself while he was stuck here.