“Aside from hosting this dinner tonight, when I was told by your daughters that it was to be held on the morrow, I received this missive from Mr. Button.”
She waved the letter back and forth threateningly.
“That woman has finally gone too far,” Lady Marchfield said.
Who that woman was, Miles had not the first idea. Until he recalled that the duke’s housekeeper had been dead set against having a butler in the house.
“Hand it over,” the duke said. “Let me see what you’ve got yourself in a lather over.”
Lady Marchfield practically threw it at the duke. He swept it up from the table and scanned it.
Then, inconceivably, the duke read it aloud.
Dear Lady Marchfield,
It is with deep regret and trepidation that I must communicate some very uncomfortable developments. Mrs. Right has taken to accusing me of improprieties. She refers to herself as an innocent maiden and trumps up wild accusations out of nowhere and always in front of the staff. She seems to have them all fairly bewitched, as they believe these outlandish claims.
I am not at all certain that this situation is tenable. I am not certain I can continue on in a household dominated by an aging matron who can convince the staff that I, or anybody, frankly, has designs on her. Personally, I have never had designs on any lady and if I did ever have designs, those designs would not be directed at Mrs. Right!
With all due respect,
Harold Button
The duke laid the letter on the table and heaved with laughter. He turned to the footmen. “Well? Has Mr. Button been making eyes at our Mrs. Right?”
One of the footmen shrugged and said, “That’s what it looked like to us, Your Grace.”
The other footman was biting his lip, had gone red in the face, and pinched his leg.
The duke’s daughters attempted a bit more decorum, but as most of them had napkins firmly pressed over their mouths and shoulders shaking, he could guess they found the situation equally amusing.
“Designs on my housekeeper, Mr. Button?” the duke asked facetiously.
The youngest, Lady Valor, piped up from under the table. “What are designs?”
Lady Marchfield glared toward the area of the table that question had emanated from, seeming to just have comprehended that the empty chair had so recently been occupied by the youngest and that youngest had dived under the table at her approach.
Of all of them, Stratton seemed entirely unsurprised by this unusual scene.
The duke attempted to speak several times, but he could not manage it between gasps of laughter.
“Mr. Button,” Lady Marchfield said gravely, “I had hoped that my brother would, for any better phrase for it, grow up. I had hoped he would finally become cognizant of his standing as a duke and the outrageousness of his housekeeper. That clearly is not to be. I cannot in good conscience leave you in this house. You will pack your things—I happen to know of a very good situation that has just come up and I will see that you get it! I will await you in my carriage.”
With that, Lady Marchfield turned on her heel and stormed out.
Mr. Button, who had lingered by the sideboard appearing unsure where the whole thing was going, suddenly puffed his chest out.
“Your Grace,” he said, looking down his nose, “I give my resignation, effective this minute. Furthermore, you can tell that old harridan downstairs that neither I, nor anybody else in the world, will ever have designs on her. She can very safely leave her door unlocked for the rest of her days!”
Mr. Button strode from the room, head held high.
The duke finally caught his breath. “Au revoir, Mr. Button!” he called after the departing butler. He beamed round the table. “I suppose the moral of this story is one never knows where entertainment might come from.”
Lady Margaret, who had been taking everything in, said, “Those two people seem very high-strung.”
The duke nodded. “My sister is strung like a bow and ready to snap at any and all moments. She does not comprehend that I am beholden to nobody, including herself, and I am free to run my household as I see fit. That misconception provides for hours of amusement.”
Lady Margaret nodded, as if this was an accepted fact. She pulled up the tablecloth and peered underneath it. “Come child, there is no cause to be hiding under there. The monsters are gone.”
