“Lancelot, your grace. As in the Arthurian hero.”
“Lancelot,” the duke chuckled. “What a charming name. Your mother was ever a romantic.”
He continued to chuckle, with occasional amused glances at Mr Chamberlain, until the duchess rose to lead the ladies from the room.
***
Lance was glad to see the ladies withdraw. It had been a long, tedious day, starting at a posting house, which was better than the usual examples of the type, but was still less an uncomfortable place to pass the night, and ending with the discovery of Goodenough’s mischief. And however pleasant the company this evening, if he was to be on his way again tomorrow there was no point getting too involved. Better to keep his distance, however tempting the ladies were.
He had thought that the subject of Goodenough was thoroughly exhausted by now, but he was wrong. The duke’s secretary, the young man who had raced past him in pursuit of Goodenough that afternoon, was determined to continue following the trail.
“You have spent several days travelling with this Goodenough fellow, Mr Chamberlain,” the secretary said. “What was he like? A gentleman?”
Lance shrugged. “He looked like an attorney, not a gentleman.”
“Tall? Short? Colour of hair?”
He pondered that. “Taller than I am. Thin. Hair… he wore a wig, and a thick scarf that covered half his face. If I had taken more notice of him, I might be able to draw him for you, but he did nothing to draw my attention on the few occasions I saw him.”
“Few occasions? But you travelled together!”
“He travelled on the box, not inside the carriage, and at the post houses, he ate in the common room, while I had a private parlour. I saw very little of him, and I doubt I would know him again if I saw him.”
“Hmm.” The secretary twirled his port glass thoughtfully. “If we do not know who is doing this, we may still speculate on why, and I have a modest theory.”
What was his name? Hancock? Haddock? Ham… something. Hammond, that was it. Lance nodded encouragingly.
“We have discovered that Mrs Richard’s grandmother and Mr Payne’s mother… no, nothismother, his sister’s mother… Is that right? Yes, Mrs Richard’s grandmother and Lady Juliet’s mother both… erm, stepped outside the bounds of polite society, so to speak. So they were… black sheep, if I may phrase it that way. I wondered if… perhaps… it may be that…” His words dribbled into nothing, as he perhaps realised the insult implied.
Lance had never been the hot-tempered sort, to rush to be offended by the slightest chance remark. After all, it was a most peculiar occurrence, to have complete strangers turn up on the doorstep at the behest of some fake attorney. He could hardly blame the fellow for trying to make sense of it. So now he merely smiled a little.
“I am very sorry to disappoint you, sir, but none of my ancestors, going back for the several generations of which I havefirm knowledge, has ever stepped outside the bounds of polite society. In fact, I would go so far as to say they have none of them ever done anything remotely interesting.”
Hammond held up his hands in mock surrender. “Then I apologise for asking.”
“No need. It is a reasonable question, but I am sure if you look up my family in the Baronetage, you will see that all my antecedents have lived blameless lives.”
The secretary reddened. “I did indeed look up your family, sir, and found nothing to contradict you.”
“No black sheep, then? A pity, it would have made us more interesting. The heads of the family tend to be conscientious landowners, stern magistrates and pious Christians. The ladies diligently provide aid to the poor. Sons tend to be ordained, and daughters marry clergymen. One of my sisters married an attorney, which was regarded at the time as being dangerously eccentric, but happily he has turned out to be as conventional as the rest. I regret to say this, but there is not a single member of my family who would qualify as even a slightly off-white sheep. They are all excessively normal.”
“Except for you, eh, boy?” the duke said, eyes gleaming with merriment. “Setting yourself up as a portraitist — that is not in the least normal.”
Lance laughed easily. Such jibes, even when spoken with more venom, no longer had the power to wound him. He had chosen his path and found success, and he had Patience to prove that he had been accepted in the upper echelons of society to which he had always aspired. So he simply said, “Indeed, it is not, and everyone was astonished that a Chamberlain of Greencroft House should take so radical a course. However, being the youngest by quite a margin, and moreover one named for a romantic hero, I was, I dare say, somewhat over indulged as a boy. My interest in art was encouraged rather than otherwise,even to the extent of funding a stay in Italy to improve my skills. For which I am very grateful.”
“The youngest, yes,” the duke said thoughtfully. “When I last saw your mother, she was getting past the age when another child might be expected. You must have taken your parents quite by surprise.”
“I believe it was so, sir, but I was never made to feel unwelcome.”
“And you are equally welcome here,” the duke said. “Tomorrow we can talk about what you will need — sittings with Mrs Richard, materials, a room to paint in and so forth.”
“I am to stay?” he said, startled.
“Of course. This Goodenough fellow, whoever he is, has not led us astray yet. Let us see what you can do, eh? You can stay here for as long as you need to, and if I like what you produce, maybe I shall ask you to paint the other ladies of the household.”
Lance’s eyebrows rose, but he said only, “Then, if I am to stay, might I request a suitable space to practice my fencing? My man and I like to maintain such skill as we have.”
“Fencing, eh?” the duke said, with a little smile. “Marble Hall, tomorrow, two o’clock sharp, so I can watch you. Not seen a fencing match for years, so I hope you will keep me entertained. Two o’clock, remember, not a minute after. I cannot abide lateness.”
