“Mon Dieu, why did Moreau think the captain of the ship would be sure? I drink the last of the ale, as it may be the last I ever drink! What an ending for Moreau! Drinking terrible English ale instead of superior French wine! Une injustice!”
Miles did not answer but found those ideas rather rich. He was slowly dying for lack of anything to drink as his valet had drunk most of the ale already. If Moreau thought it was so terrible he might have left more of it in the cask.
They approached ever closer to the waves. They were large rollers that did not break early, which worked in his favor. With any luck, the sloop would coast into shore until the keel scraped the bottom.
Moreau finished the last of the ale and staggered to the port side of the boat. “Moreau abandons this cursed vessel and swims to shore! He does not go down with the ship!”
With that, his valet went over the side and disappeared into the waves.
Miles had no time to look behind him to see what his drunken valet was doing. He kept the tiller steady and steeredThe Marquessaup and down the rollers. On the last trough, he felt the familiar scraping under his keel that slowed the boat. As the sloop ran aground, he abandoned ship himself as the boat would soon go over.
He jumped off the starboard side and swam under the mast just as it slapped down on the water. The waves pushed him clear of it. He crawled his way out of the water, the surf mercilessly hammering him on the head, and stood up on the rocky shore.
Moreau came tumbling in and lay like a banked fish gasping for air.The Marquessawas on its side and being pushed back and forth by the waves as they came in and then receded.
The sun was out though. He was alive, his drunken valet was also mysteriously alive. All in all, things could have been worse.
The boat had come in very close to shore and Miles waded out for the bowline. There was no pier to secure it to, but he would make do by looping it round a boulder on the beach.
Once that operation was completed, with no help from his valet whatsoever, Miles began to think about which direction they ought to walk to find civilization.
*
MRS.RIGHT HADbeen the duke’s housekeeper for these past twenty years, ever since her husband had breathed his last and she was forced to sell their little shop and find a way to sustain herself. She had been determined to tuck away the money from the sale of the shop to fund her retirement. She was young and she was a strong specimen of a woman—she would work while she was able.
As a matron who was well used to running a household, she was hired on in the duke’s house. She was meant to be what the duke had named a second in charge, deferring to the current housekeeper at that time, Mrs. Kendall.
That lady suffered from some sort of nervous condition and was often not able to attend to her duties.
Mrs. Kendall was too much affected by the duke’s original way of going on, combined with the lonely remoteness of the house. She was forever taking to her bed on account of it. One day, a cousin came and collected her, as he had become concerned over the letters she wrote hinting about wandering out to the moors to be lost forever. Mrs. Right was speedily promoted and had run the house ever since.
Acting as housekeeper was a pleasant way to maintain oneself. She quickly fell to adoring the duke’s children as they came on the scene and she had respected the duchess, who let her get on with her work. She even developed a soft spot for the duke, despite his eccentricities. When the duchess died, Mrs. Right had become the children’s de facto mother, the person they ran to with any and all difficulties. Her loyalty to her girls and the duke ran deep, and heaven help the mistaken person who inconvenienced any one of them.
The only thing not so comfortable in the whole situation was being bossed about by a butler.
She’d managed that problem though. Mr. Herring had been driven out years ago and there had never been a replacement hired.
Then last season, Lady Marchfield had been determined that a duke must have a butler in his London house and had installed Mr. Sykes-Wycliff. She’d driven him out too, and in the process nearly driven Lady Marchfield mad.
Mrs. Right had been certain Lady Marchfield would have learned her lesson.
She had miscalculated, though. She had been informed that a certain Mr. Harold Button was already installed in the house in Grosvenor Square.
Well, Mr. Button was on the verge of learning a thing or two about tangling with Mrs. Agnes Right. Like those before him, he would rue the day he thought to boss her about. In fact, like one of those before him, she might enact what she’d privately named the “Herring Gambit.” It had worked marvelously on that very first butler and it would work again.
As the carriage jostled along a lonely road on its way to London, Valor said, “Mrs. Right, you will convince Mr. Button that he ought not be our butler? The last butler was scary—he was mad all the time.”
“Do not you worry, you dear little mite. Mr. Button is about to be convinced right down to his shoes.”
Chapter Two
GRACE HAD SOfar enjoyed their travels as they headed toward London. They were a regular caravan of carriages, two of their own and the rest rented. Her own carriage carried herself, Serenity, Valor, and Mrs. Right. Another carriage held Winsome, Patience, and Verity, and she supposed the arguments in that coach went on all day. Verity would pose some new fact that was likely not a fact, Winsome would challenge it, and Patience would toe-tap over the tediousness. Her papa was ensconced in his own carriage with the two footmen and his valet, Reynolds.
Lady Marchfield had last year pointed out that a duke should not be riding with his footmen and his valet, but the duke had inquired who he was to talk to if they were shunted off elsewhere. Lady Marchfield had suggested herself so that they might discuss plans for the season. The duke had marched her to another carriage and shouted, “Not on your life!”
Just now they traveled down a rather narrow bit of road and Grace felt as if they were taking a very roundabout way to Town. However, the duke had told them he had a reason for it, he was to show them something special. She wondered if they were getting close to it as she could not see why else they had left the wider and better maintained roads.
She did feel they had traveled into a county they had never been through. The air smelled somehow different. It was not unpleasant, but it was less grass and hay and more… she could not even come up with a word for it. It was very fresh and invigorating.
