“Rather,” Harry said drily.
“Live and learn,” Ben said, shaking his head.
Harry thought him an odd little creature, but what could one expect from a nine-year-old who had nobody to manage him? He determined to put Ben in the stables as a new hand. If there were anybody who could keep him walking in straight lines, it was Jakes. His coachman was a barrel-chested beast of a man with a voice that could carry to China. He did not brook nonsense.
Harry’s last words to Ben were, “If you dare steal fromme, I will be inclined to beat you senseless. I will not have to though, as Jakes would have already done it.”
Ben had nodded gravely and said, “So that’s the lay of the land.”
“Yes, that’s the lay of the land. If you are smart, you will work hard and work your way up. You could end up a coachman yourself in some years’ time.Ifyou work at it.”
“I ain’t afraid of work,” Ben said, his tone carrying a hint of defiance. “It ain’t easy stealing, you know. That is hard work, I don’t mind sayin’ it.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
Now, having dispensed with Ben’s future, Harry had finally gone up to dress for the Remblys’ ball.
“Whatever you judge as the best of my new dress coats, I’ll wear that,” Harry said to his valet.
“The dark blue ordered from Mr. Weston has come in. Miss Rightstone will be in transports,” Smith said drily.
“If she would transport herself back to the countryside, that would be very convenient. Though not likely.”
“But why are you going? Do not tell me that confounded duchess has pushed you into it.”
“She has, but not for the reasons she thinks,” Harry said with a smile. “The duchess has possession of something I want.”
Smith frowned. “Do be sure you do not accidentally wed Miss Rightstone in the midst of playing confound-the-duchess chess. Your staff would decamp en masse before serving such a harridan. We all saw how she spoke to Mr. Gregory that day when she and her mama called here last season.”
Harry nodded. He had been in some disbelief himself. Gregory was an experienced and dignified sort of butler and Miss Rightstone had spoken to him as if he were a young and unseasoned footman. In front of the actual young footmen he employed.
It had been a testament to her lack of manners and lack of care for other people.
To soothe his butler, and himself, Gregory had been given strict instructions that if those two people darkened his door again, he was not at home. Further, the butler had been directed that he might employ his loftiest and most condescending tone while he relayed that disappointing news.
“Yesterday,” Harry said, “the duchess informed me that she had decided I ought to marry Miss Rightstone.Iinformed the duchess that her decision is lunacy having nothing to do with me and she’d best look in another direction.”
“Does she believe you, though? Does she even care what your opinion is, as it does not align with her own?”
“She may not give a farthing for my thoughts, but she has been informed of them and may ignore them at her peril.”
“I see. Dare I inquire what the duchess has that you want, as it is not Miss Rightstone?” Smith asked.
He smiled to himself. Smithalwaysdared to inquire and Harry had his reasons for not minding it much. Neither his grandfather nor his father had bothered with society. His father rarely came to Town and only to do business.
Harry had decided to change their mode of going on. He wished his future sons and daughters to be able to walk down every path in life. However, he’d not been at all acquainted with the habits of thetonoutside the few families of his neighborhood. Smith had been, though, and he’d had the good luck to hire him.
His valet had guided him through that first season, dodging all sorts of mistakes he might have made and ensuring his clothes were appropriate for every occasion. Smith subscribed to the Brummel mode—unstudied and subtle, but very fine fabric that was very precisely cut.
He and Smith had never really had a master and servant relationship. It had begun as tutor and student and was now rather more like friends.
“Her name is Lady Isabel Beaufort, she has no intention of having anything to do with a lowly and newly-acquired barony, and I am struck by her.”
“Struck? You? I see the plot thickens,” Smith said. “Yes, Mr. Weston’s blue coat will do very well.”
*
The duchess chatteredaway as the carriage trotted down the darkened streets in the direction of Lady Rembly’s ball. Her tiara was firmly on her head and she seemed to think no more of its temporary disappearance.
