There was the smallest flicker of revolt on his aunt’s features. She was tolerant of his bull mastiff, but she had never been one to have dogs in her own house. Finally, she nodded and said, “Of course he must come.”
“Excellent. I’ll write my steward how he is to carry on until I feel it is safe to depart and leave you to supervise Miss Upton on your own.”
“I knew I could depend upon you, Richard,” Lady Easton said, the relief on her features apparent. “The girl comes to me here on Wednesday and then we will proceed to Brighton on Thursday. Lord Easton will ride ahead and he, Bramley, and Mrs. Wooton will do whatever they can to ready the house. I propose we travel to Crawley and stay atThe George, and then proceed onto Brighton.”
Richard nodded. He had been to that hotel many times to attend various pugilistic matches. He enjoyed the sport and dabbled in it himself to keep himself fit. He had even, he thought, got rather good.
“As well,” Lady Easton went on, “the ladies from the society will all come to Brighton at some point too. As reinforcements.”
Richard frowned. “I cannot say how much help they will be. I would have counted on Lady Heathway, but we’ve seen what went on with Miss Yardley this season. And her butler for that matter—who ever thought to allow that nervous fellow anywhere near a fowling piece?”
Lady Easton sniffed in agreement.
“I suppose we can depend upon the duchess, at least,” Richard said. “Her duke is a sensible fellow too.”
“That’s just what we need,” Lady Easton said, “We must bring all of our sensible ideas to the case. I really do not see how we get through it any other way.”
Richard slowly nodded. “Then count on me,” he said.
After all, if Richard Camden, Earl of Bertridge, was anything at all, he was eminently sensible.
*
Augustus Bramley pridedhimself that he worked for such a family as Lord and Lady Easton. The lady wished the house to run like a clock, he wished the house to run like a clock, and so they set the clock together. Of course, his prior employment before coming to them twelve years ago had not been nearly as comfortable. A viscount and his lady had once employed him, but their habits were not to be borne.
There were no regular times set for anything. There were no set procedures. There was no regular place for things—a letter opener might be in the desk, or it might be on the windowsill. The footmen spent half their lives looking for things. There were all manner of upsets and changes of mind. Was breakfast at seven or eight or nine? They would dine in, until the last minute when they would go out. They went through housekeepers like they went through laundry. There were maids who left before he’d even committed their names to memory. The whole household, including its master and mistress, were flighty people and he was relieved when the viscount had bankrupted himself and could no longer afford to pay him.
He’d had the idea that he would be very careful in choosing his next position, and itwashis purview to choose. He was an exemplary butler, perhaps the very best in England, and any family would be lucky to have him. He’d turned down two offers from two households who seemed rather unorganized and unsure of how they meant to go on. But then, he’d been examined, quizzed, questioned, and interrogated by Lady Easton.
She had a strict list of requirements. She had a schedule that was not to be toyed with. There was a place for everything and everything in its place. She had a set seasonal menu and set times for meals. Her housekeeper, Mrs. Wooton, had been there for ten years and was a steady sort of lady who brooked no nonsense from the maids. Her cook was a reliable Englishman who made reliable English food and did not go in for experimenting with unknown spices from the East, newly minted French concoctions, or stewed tomatoes. The cook, for reasons nobody understood, was entirely against stewed tomatoes.
Augustus, himself, did not have strong opinions on stewed tomatoes but he appreciated a fellow who knew his own mind on a thing and did not vacillate this way and that way. The lack of stewed tomatoes in the house was a small price to pay for such decisiveness and surety of purpose.
Lady Easton and her household were the antithesis of topsy-turvy and willy-nilly, therefore it was Lady Easton who had been chosen.
Things had gone on most satisfactory until now. Nothing was a surprise, nothing was unusual, and nothing was untoward. Year after year, he knew in what location they would be, on what day, and what they would be doing. His footmen understood what was expected of them and any fellow showing a hint of cheekiness was quickly shown the door. He knew Mrs. Wooton would sail through the house and keep the maids sailing in the same direction. He knew the cook would provide a roasted beef on Wednesdays and the leftover beef would go into a soup on Thursdays.
He was of course aware of The Society of Sponsoring Ladies and also aware that one season or another, Lady Easton would take the lead and sponsor a girl. He’d quite looked forward to it, secure in the knowledge that his mistress would choose a young lady who could seamlessly assimilate into the household and that young lady would be so expertly managed as to bring acclaim to the house. Lady Easton would show the other ladies of her circle how it was meant to be done.
Now though, Lord Easton had upset the apple cart. Thelordhad decided upon the girl and thelordhad decided they were all to go to Brighton.
Brighton. A veritable den of iniquity, according to Lady Easton. They were to go to a house he had never set foot in and he was somehow to manage it all. What were the schedules? Lady Easton did not know. What were to be the entertainments? Who was the wine merchant? Who were the grocers? What was the at-home day? Lady Easton did not know.
They were both drowning in a sea of questions and they had not an answer to any of them. All because Lord Easton had suddenly decided to have an idea.
Mrs. Wooton turned out to be little help in this matter. That good lady kept assuring him that they’dfigure it out when they got there.
Figure it out when they got there. It was like they were a traveling caravan of itinerants, happy to ride down unknown roads with not a care for where they ended up.
As the carriage rumbled ever nearer to their unwanted destination, Bramley glanced sideways at the master of the house. Lord Easton snored softly with his head resting against a pillow propped against the window, just as he always comported himself on long journeys. He did not seem materially changed by this unwelcome notion of having ideas and opinions.
As for Bramley, he found himself very against Lord Easton having original thoughts. If Cook felt a violence toward stewed tomatoes, he felt equally strong against Lord Easton’s new way of going on in the world. It was highly inconvenient.
*
Caroline listened tothe comforting clip-clop of horses’ hooves as the carriage made its way to Portland Place. She had long since resigned herself to going to Lady Easton and was in fact now looking forward to it. She very well knew she was on the verge of being more hemmed in than she’d ever been in her life, as Lady Easton sounded like a bit of a dragon. Or as her father had said, “If there’s a way to do a thing right, Lady Easton will know what it is and insist upon it.” Still, she might meet some handsome devil along the way.
Caroline’s mother was amenable to the idea of the trip, though she claimed the house would feel empty without her eldest there. Caroline thought she’d been fairly successful in convincing Lady Dunn that the house would not seem as empty as she feared, as there were eight other souls making the most possible noise at all hours of the day and night.
