“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.“Theduke?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.Thedukeis 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.”
