The man hit the emerging lump on his forehead as if he could make it go away. “Fine, fine, don’t tell anybody!”
“No, of course not,” Lord Ledderbey said in a soothing tone. “Let’s get you inside.”
“Thank you, yes, that would be helpful.”
“No trouble at all, allow me to give you an arm—you’ve had a nasty encounter with that door.”
“I did hit it rather hard.”
It was extraordinary. Somehow the roles were reversed and they were escorting the butler into the house. They were not even inside the doors yet and the eccentricity of the household was pouring out of it like an overflowing basin. Lady Marchfield had told him that nothing the duke did was usual. He could well believe it. Though, it just occurred to him that Lady Marchfield had also told them that she herself hired this interesting individual who had just now assaulted himself on a door. He wondered where she’d found such a person. Malberry would take one look at him and send him packing.
They finally did get inside despite the butler. That fellow, who they now knew to be a certain Mr. Huberville, explained that it was of the utmost importance that the duke never discover that anything untoward had happened at the door, as he’d already been dismissed twice with no reference. He even let them in on what was said at those distressing moments—“Pack your bags, Huberville!”
Lord Ledderbey finally convinced him to stop mopping his brow and announce them after assuring him that the growing lump on his forehead was not too noticeable. As they entered the drawing room, Lady Marchfield was by their side in a moment and took them round for introductions.
Lady Felicity and Mr. Stratton, Lady Grace and Lord Dashlend, Lady Patience and Lord Stanford, Lord and Lady Thorpe, Lady Verity and Lord Wembly, and Lord and Lady Manderbey. None of them particularly resembled Lady Letitia, which surprised him. The youngest was not yet present so he assumed they saved the worst for last.
At the far side of the drawing room, a bunker of sorts had been set up using cushions and pillows pulled from the sofas. As far as Weston could tell, this was to box in some very young individuals who could be presumed to be the cousins once removed the duke had mentioned in the letter he’d left at the house. Six of them were behind the barrier,seemingly led by a young man of nine or ten. The duke stood by them, arms folded and nodding approvingly.
Lady Marchfield led Weston there and finally, after all these years, Weston was introduced to the duke. He was a middle-aged fellow with a bit of a paunch, the sort who looked as if he’d enjoyed life. Why would he not? A duke was never troubled by much.
“There you are, Tramondeley,” the duke said in a jolly tone. “Ledderbey, well met. Also, I’m not as bad as you’ve been told.”
Lord Ledderbey wobbled a little over that comment. Lady Marchfield muttered, “He most certainly is.”
The duke waved his arm. “All my grandchildren together, just as I like to see them. Young Miles is just now mustering the troops. Carry on, Captain.”
The captain nodded gravely and said, “Yes, General.”
One of the youngest of the troops had made a staggering effort to stand and promptly fell down. Another of the troops, likely just a year older, had observed this operation disdainfully and stood to show how it was done.
Young Miles, or Captain as he was called, said, “Daisy, do stop teasing Leland. Remember, we are all cousins and must stick together against the world. Now, as this is our first meeting—Lily, do stop making faces! As I said, this is our first meeting. I am the oldest, so I am the leader. Isabelle is my second-in-command.”
“And nobody should forget that,” a young lady of seven or so said in a rather threatening tone. “When Miles is not around, I am in complete, total charge.”
These pronouncements seemed to have little effect on the youngest of the party, as they were more interested in pulling out strands of carpet or seeing if they could fit their fist in their mouth.
“We will begin corresponding between our houses,” Miles said. “I realize some of you cannot write yet. Simply dictate your letters until you can.”
Weston was fascinated by this directive, as clearly some of them could not speak with any cogency yet either. The youngest of them confirmed the idea by commenting, “Bahbahbahbah.”
“And we will have a name for ourselves,” Isabelle said, “besides our regular names.”
“Yes,” Miles said. “We are to be—”
“You said I could say it!” Isabelle said, getting very red in the face.
Miles nodded to her. It was a bit of an exasperated nod.
“We are to be Pelham’s Pirates,” she said. “You see? Grandpapa is the Duke of Pelham.”
“And it sounded the best,” Miles added. “Though on no account will we act like pirates. In most cases.”
“And because we are pirates, we can use pirate talk when we want. The only one I know so far is if we want to talk we call it a parlay.”
“Pirates!” Lily shouted.
“Well, Grandpapa? I’ve done what I can,” Miles said.
