It was a crumbling mess.
The duchess had at least thought, since she was expected, that there would be somebody coming out to greet her.
As it was, she was forced to have her groom knock on the door and then waited for some minutes for somebody to come.
The somebody who came was a bent over and ancient fellow in a rather frayed suit of clothes. He had stared at her in an uncomprehending manner. Finally, she said, “I am the Duchess of Stanbury.”
He’d nodded and said, “I am Rogers, the butler.”
She had not the first idea why she was to know it.
Seeming to recall what a butler was supposed to do, he led her down the corridor in slow shuffling footsteps. The duchess was beginning to think it might take them a good half-hour to make it to the drawing room.
That was, until the old fellow sat himself down on a bench halfway there. He rubbed his knees and pointed down the hall. “That way.”
The duchess looked down upon him in some surprise. “I am to continue on my own?” she asked.
“If you plan on getting there,” the butler answered.
In such a manner, she proceeded to the doors that had been pointed out and let herself into the drawing room.
She found the earl and his daughter sitting complacently at a table. Lady Isabel leapt up and curtsied.
The earl rose and said, “Duchess.Her. Yes?”
“Yes, Lord Somerdon,” the duchess said. “Excuse me for showing myself in, but your butler seemed rather under the weather.”
“Rogers. Very old, don’t you know. Very slow,” the earl said nodding.
“Your Grace, my father thought it best that we remain in here to greet you, rather than going out to meet your carriage,” Lady Isabel said pointedly.
The duchess assumed she was being told that so she would understand that her untoward mode of arrival had not been the girl’s idea. She was glad of it, as it was a particularly bizarre idea, especially when one’s butler could not make it down the corridor.
The earl waved his hands at his daughter’s explanation as to why the duchess had been left to find them herself. “Me on the drive?No. Too eager, don’t you know,” he said, as if that made the slightest bit of sense.
“I see,” the duchess said. Noting no tea service apparent, and heaven help them if they were to wait for poor Rogers to go get it, and feeling as if there was no rational conversation to be had with the earl, she said, “My dear Lady Isabel, are you packed? Shall we proceed to London forthwith?”
Lady Isabel nodded and looked exceedingly grateful that her departure would not be played out in any fashion.
“I have already brought my bags down,” Lady Isabel said. “I can put them in the carriage myself as it might take Rogers…a bit of time.”
Or until the end of time, the duchess thought. “Nonsense,” she said. “My groom can see to it. Earl, your daughter is now under my protection. I will write from time to time to tell you how she gets on.”
“Letters.Short, don’t you know. A few,” the earl said enigmatically.
“Come, Lady Isabel,” the duchess said. “Kiss your father and we will be off.”
Lady Isabel did as she was bid. The earl only said, “Very careful!Rogues.Goodbye.”
With those interesting parting words, they left the earl and his crumbling butler to their own devices.
*
Balthazar Carlson hadbeen the duchess’ butler for some years. He had begun his rather storied career as the butler for a baronet. So many men of his ilk would have been satisfied with the position and consider themselves having reached the pinnacle of their careers.
Mr. Carlson shot higher, thank you very much. He was determined to serve in the most elevated houses—even the palace had not been considered out of reach.
But how to get there? How to distinguish himself?
