He was exceedingly interesting.
THE FOLLOWING MORNINGhad been the usual Nicolet confusion of somehow getting everybody going in the same direction. Grace had been sure to go down early for breakfast. She was rather thrilled to find Viscount Dashlend already there, sitting across from Mrs. Right.
The Viscount rose as she made her way to the chair by Mrs. Right. The housekeeper poured her a cup of tea and said, “I’ve just told Lord Dashlend all about our last butler, as he inquired about the one that awaits us.”
“Poor Mr. Sykes-Wycliff,” Grace said. “We all do hope he’s settled himself in a house that really needs a butler.”
“Might I ask,” Viscount Dashlend said, “is there a particular reason why the duke’s household doesnotrequire a butler?”
Mrs. Right’s teacup came down on her saucer with a quiet clatter. “I’m the reason, Lord Dashlend. I, Mrs. Agnes Right, am the reason the duke does not require a butler.”
“I see, yes of course,” the lord said hurriedly.
Just then, a boy who worked for the inn ran in and said, “Lord Dashlend, this was just delivered by fast messenger.” He handed over a sealed letter.
Lord Dashlend opened it and scanned it. He seemed very pleased with his contents. “My butler is on his way with money and clothes and my carriage. He has already written to a local shipwright. He is pleased that I am alive, as he sent out various search parties looking for me, though it seems they looked in the wrong place—I was much further south than they imagined.”
“That is very good news,” Grace said, though really she had been hoping that there might be a chance the lord would continue relying on the duke’s hospitality.
Lord Dashlend suddenly laughed. “He writes that I did not mention the fate of my valet, but he presumes Moreau is alive as things never do go his way.”
Mrs. Right laughed heartily at the joke. “A clever butler. Now that might be somebody I could tolerate, as opposed to these ridiculous fellows Lady Marchfield sends my way.”
“Really?” Lord Dashlend said.
“No,” Mrs. Right answered.
Valor hurried into the room, dragging her stuffed rabbit behind her. “I made it through the night,” she said, settling on the other side of Mrs. Right.
Lord Dashlend looked at Valor enquiringly.
Valor stared back and said, “From murderers, Lord Dashlend. As you can see with your own eyes, I am not murdered.”
Grace noted a small smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Yes, as anyone can see, you are looking very vital and alive.”
Valor nodded. “Mrs. Wendover woke me twice in the night because of scary noises, but nobody got in.”
“And you woke me up both times to tell me what Mrs. Wendover said, you naughty little mite,” Mrs. Right said.
“She made me wake you up, she said you should be informed,” Valor said, once more throwing Mrs. Wendover to the proverbial wolves.
“Is Mrs. Wendover the governess?” Lord Dashlend asked.
This sent them all into the giggles. Valor held up her ragged stuffed rabbit. “This is Mrs. Wendover.”
Lord Dashlend seemed very surprised to find it out. Grace realized that all along he’d thought Mrs. Wendover was some mysterious lady hidden behind a door somewhere.
The duke strode into the room and said, “Well, here is part of my unfortunate brood, though heaven knows where the rest of them have got off to.”
Grace had reached for a roll to throw at her father’s head, but then put it on her plate. That habit had begun to seem rather childish. At least, while Viscount Dashlend was in view.
The duke noticed and gave her a wink. “Well then, Dashlend, I suppose you’ve sorted yourself out?”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the viscount said. “Your help through this mishap has been very much appreciated.”
“No bother, no bother at all,” the duke said. “Now I suppose you’ll like to come to dinner when you get yourself back to Town.”
Grace noticed the viscount’s eyes widen just a bit before she put her eyes on her toast.
