Chapter One
A Remote Estate in the Yorkshire Dales, 1804
Patience Nicolet stared at her father as he read the latest missive from her aunt. Though these letters were unwanted, and the lady had been told so many times, they dependably arrived like homing pigeons.
“Papa,” Patience said, “it cannot be true that Lady Marchfield would try to force a butler on us.Again.”
Her aunt was determined that the duke must have a butler while he was in Town. The problem was, they did not want a butler. Mrs. Right, their dear friend, protector, and housekeeper, ran the duke’s household.
Both of the last of Lady Marchfield’s butlers had been driven off with very little trouble.
The first, Mr. Sykes-Wycliff, had experienced a mental collapse after hearing various stories of the duke’s habits. He’d been told of the duke knocking on doors late at night only to clobber anybody foolish enough to answer. Then he’d been informed of the annual servants’ hunt, in which the staff scattered on the hills and valleys and the duke hunted them down with a fowling piece. That butler had been entirely gullible regarding these stories and his departure had been wildly entertaining.
The second attempt, Mr. Button, had left on account of everybody blaming him for making roguish eyes at Mrs. Right, which he certainly had not. Still, with Mrs. Right fanning herself, pulling her shawl close, and claiming she would lock her bedchamber door at night and prop a chair against it, what was he to do? The idea of Mr. Button as a leering lothario had been preposterous, but with all the staff in on it, Mr. Button could not argue his way out of it. There had been a denouement at dinner and that fellow was out the door too.
Why on earth would Lady Marchfield make a run at installing a third butler?
“My sister glories in being a nuisance to everybody,” the duke said, as if he could hear Patience’s thoughts. He laid down Lady Marchfield’s letter. “She explains that Mr. Grimsby has served as a captain in the army and gone on to butler for a brigadier general and his nine ill-behaved children. Nothing, Lady Misery says, will shock this fine man. He is a stalwart and resolute soldier and will not be frightened by our housekeeper.”
The two footmen turned their heads to hide their laughter. Valor, the youngest of the duke’s daughters, said, “But he should be frightened of our Mrs. Right, Papa. Should he not?”
“He certainly should be,” the duke said. “If my sister thinks a stint in the army will stand up to our housekeeper, he’s in for a surprise. Well! I’ll not trouble myself over this fellow. I rely on Mrs. Right to send him packing.”
“And we are packed too, Papa,” Winsome said. “We leave in two days’ time.”
“So we will,” the duke said. “The ponies left three days ago and should be there when we arrive.”
Patience nodded in approval. That had been her idea. Riding round the park in a carriage the last two seasons had been dreary and slow. In the Dales, they were accustomed to taking out their fine local-bred horses and gallop like mad across the moors. No horse but a Dales pony was as surefooted and brave in that terrain. Four of the ponies were sent ahead to Town, with only Valor’s left behind, as she never rode faster than a walk anyway. Nobody was certain whether Tulip’s slow going was on account of Valor, or if Tulip just did not like to hurry.
Patience, Serenity, Winsome, and Verity planned to fly across the park at every opportunity.
“Serenity, are you certain you will not make your debut with Patience?” Winsome asked.
Patience glanced at her sister. It was true that they were twins, but it was also true that they had little in common. Serenity was forever weeping over something or other, and causing no end of delays while she was doing it.
Serenity shook her head. “Patience would make me too nervous, rushing this way and that, and toe-tapping all the time.”
“I was the first to be born, by eleven minutes,” Patience pointed out. “It’s in my nature to avoid dilly-dallying. I intend to go into the season with a practical eye and settle things in good time.”
“I find I prefer to examine and appreciate things, rather than rush past them to my destination,” Serenity said. “For instance, did anybody see the sunrise this morning? It was entirely magical.”
“It was entirely usual, Serenity,” Verity said. “It is a very common thing for the sun to rise.”
The duke snorted. “I should hope so.”
Nelson, their lovely little dog, was surreptitiously making his way round the table for scraps. At least, Patience supposed hewouldbe surreptitious if he had four working legs and two working eyes. As it was, he was down one leg and blind in one eye and so banged into things on the regular. Fortunately, the duke was rather fond of him, though he called him an ill-bred cur.
Patience handed Nelson a bit of beef. In his enthusiasm, he took it, lost his balance, and rolled under the table.
“Papa,” Winsome said, “shall we travel to the sea on our way to London as we did last year? We might find another shipwrecked gentleman.”
“No, my girl, this year we will be all efficiency. We will make record time to Town.”
Patience noticed everybody smiling and nodding at their father, though nobody could be convinced of it. Had it been only her and the duke, they might very well be efficient. However, if there were one thing her sisters excelled at, it was causing a delay.
It drove Patience mad at times. Could they not see the fastest way between two points? Could they not get themselves out of the house and into the carriages in under an hour? Winsome would hide Verity’s pelisse and then claim Verity was fibbing that she could not find it, Valor would upend the house looking for Mrs. Wendover, her stuffed rabbit, and Serenity was always off mooning over the glories of nature or crying over a dead bee in the garden.
“Are we to go efficiently because Patience does not like to dally, Papa?” Verity asked.
