The count nodded. “I will most certainly be there.”
Now the count seemed much more himself. He seemed more the calm and regulated individual Valor had become acquainted with than he had moments ago. She could not understand the exchange between him and Lord Tramondeley about Cornwall.
Valor felt there was something going on behind the scenes. There had been a feeling of real anger between the two gentlemen. She could not work out what it was, but it felt uncomfortable. It was like a tension waiting to break free.
Sometimes at their lake at home the surface would be absolutely still and then a sudden violent splash would occur, sending ripples in all directions. Something had gone on under the water that she could not perceive, and then the splash was the result of it. The something between Lord Tramondeley and the count felt like that.
But then, her mind drifted back to more pleasant thoughts. Lord Ledderbey hoped Lord Tramondeley might give up his nighttime sails.
What an idea. What if he would? Lord Ledderbey knew him better than anybody. If he thought Lord Tramondeley might give it up…
She gazed at him. He was so very handsome and had such a nicemanner. He was a real gentleman in every respect. If he would only give it up…
He noticed her staring and smiled at her. It made her feel a bit wobbly on her feet.
If only he would give it up.
*
Mrs. Right waswell and truly stumped by Mr. Huberville. He was absolutely incompetent and it was easy enough to see how he’d been dismissed twice. She assumed he’d left both of his prior places without a reference because his employers were enraged over losing so many belongings to a crash on the floor. Or perhaps it was just his all-round incompetence. Or perhaps it was both those things together that had finally driven those families over the edges of sanity.
The man could manage to fail at the simplest tasks! Who told him to polish the silver with bacon leavings? He’d had some idea that he’d heard somewhere that it made silver extra shiny. Which it did, but it also made it extra slippery and greasy. The kitchen maids had a time of it scrubbing it all off. They gave very dark looks to the butler while he apologized profusely.
It had become apparent that oftentimes Mr. Huberville’s mind knew what to do, at least when he was not imagining some new way to polish silver. But then that mind became so discombobulated with nerves that he did something else. That something else often included dropping something.
Just now, Valor and the duke were out at that ludicrous candlelight party Lady Jellerbey held every year. The servants had gathered in their hall for a glass of whatever struck their fancy from the below stairs’ supplies.
Mrs. Right sipped her sherry as Mr. Huberville raised his glass of brandy and then set it down again. Then he raised it and set it down.He’d been doing so for the past five minutes and it eventually occurred to her that he was practicing raising a glass and setting it down without breaking it.
“There,” he whispered, “I can do it if I just stay calm.”
Charlie cleared his throat. “Mr. Huberville,” he said kindly, “this stress seems very hard on you.”
“Very, very hard,” Mr. Huberville said sadly.
“Have you always been so nervous?” Thomas asked.
Mr. Huberville raised his glass again and this time he drank it down. With a long sigh, he said, “Born with it, I’m afraid. My mother always said I was a fretful baby, forever looking wildly around like I was terrified to be in the world. I don’t remember that, of course.”
“Have you thought of doing something in the Church, Mr. Huberville?” Thomas asked. “It’s quiet in the Church.”
For some reason, Mr. Huberville took that suggestion rather hard. Then he cried, “That’s where I started!”
The footmen stared at him. Thomas said, “But then, why are you not still in the Church? It was my understanding that it’s a lifelong sort of employment.”
Mr. Huberville chewed on his lip. “My mother somehow managed to get me a small living. Very small, in a lonely corner of Dorset. It was attached to an elderly baron and had only a handful of parishioners. It should have been perfect for me!”
Mrs. Right could not imagine how it had not been perfect, but from the butler’s expression it seemed it had gone wrong somewhere.
“What happened?” Charlie asked, leaning forward.
Mr. Huberville stared over Charlie’s head as if he were taking a stroll down a memory lane littered with tragedies. He downed the rest of his brandy and said, “I suppose it was a whole series of things. It began when I fell on elderly Mrs. Culpeper and broke her arm. That was not very well received, I can tell you. Then I thought I might smooth things over so I went to her house and brought a jug of applecider but it had apparently fermented, caused the lady to become drunk that night. She fell on her other arm. Old people—their bones are so brittle!”
The servants round the table looked aghast.
“But in the end,” he said, sadly shaking his head, “it was probably the fire that really sounded the death knell for me.”
“Mr. Huberville,” Thomas said wide-eyed, “you did not burn down Mrs. Culpeper’s house?”
“No, no, just the church. But in my defense, there are a lot of candles that could be knocked over and a lot of old wood that could catch fire! An accident waiting to happen, to my mind.”
“But Mr. Huberville,” Mrs. Right said, rather bowled over by the havoc he’d managed to cause in such a peaceful setting, “it is my understanding that a lord cannot simply take away a living that’s been given over. Even if they want to, they can’t do it. The duke threatens our vicar with it all the time, but the fellow is never worried that it will come to pass.”
“They can get rid of you if they get the bishop involved!” Mr. Huberville wiped his eyes. “As you might imagine, once it was explained that I was responsible for breaking both the arms of an elderly parishioner and then I burned down the church, it was ‘pack your bags, Huberville!’”
Mrs. Right stared at him. What on earth was she to do with this person?
