Weston looked around. Now that he was here, he did feel a bit fish out of water. What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go? He did not know anybody here.
The porter came into the room. “My lords, here is the correspondence that has arrived to the house since I was employed.”
Weston looked at the tall stack of letters the porter carried. “Correspondence? From who?”
“Invitations, likely,” Lord Ledderbey said.
“Invitations from who and to what?” Weston asked. “I do not know anybody.”
Lord Ledderbey laughed. “That does not matter. You are the heir presumptive to a dukedom and it seems that word has gotten out that you are here. Mamas all over Town will wish you on their guest list.”
People he did not know wished for him to turn up at their house,all because he might someday become a duke. It seemed extraordinary.
“Prepare yourself, my boy,” Lord Ledderbey said. “You are on the verge of having every young lady in Town thrown in your direction. Careful who you catch.”
“What a situation,” Weston muttered.
Both he and Lord Ledderbey retired to the drawing room while the staff got their rooms ready. There had been some question as to which rooms would suit, but neither of them cared about it. Weston’s opinion was a bed was a bed. Lord Ledderbey claimed he’d be comfortable in a closet, as long as he had an interesting book and a decent glass of claret. They’d left it up to Stockton’s good sense to sort it out.
Stockton did use his good sense. Both gentlemen had rooms overlooking the square and its greenery. If one squinted, one could almost imagine oneself back in the countryside.
Weston flipped through the stack of letters. “I’ve got to reply to all of these. How am I supposed to choose where I will go? How am I to keep track of where I am supposed to be?”
Lord Ledderbey considered the matter. “You’ll need a diary to keep your calendar. Perhaps you ought to hire a secretary to manage it. It might be beneficial to write to your aunt and ask for her assistance. I’d say ask the duke, but well…”
Weston smiled. Lord Ledderbey would trust the duke with nothing, not even a party invitation. He had a good idea, though, about writing to Lady Marchfield. “You do not suppose Stockton could do it? Act as my secretary?”
Lord Ledderbey snorted. “Stockton arranging your musical evening or attendance at a card party? I do not think he would thank you for it.”
“Musical evening? Good God, what is that?”
“Young ladies display their musical talent, everybody rises up inapplause even if they are dreadful, and then outrageous compliments are handed out to those same ladies at a small reception. I seem to remember they are tedious but somehow necessary.”
“Tedious? It sounds tortuous,” Weston said. “Is it similar to what we experienced when we got bamboozled into attending Lord Waterstone?” Waterstone was not five miles off but rarely at home. Last year, he had been at home and had brought his niece, Miss Bing. After dinner, they’d been forced to sit for an hour while Miss Bing banged determinedly on the pianoforte.
“Imagine ten Miss Bings, all at the ready to delight your ears,” Lord Ledderbey said with a snort.
One Miss Bing had been quite sufficient. Weston rummaged through a desk for some writing things. He must contact Lady Marchfield and hope the lady was amenable to helping him sort through this pile of invitations he’d not asked for. And would help him avoid any musical evenings that were included in the stack.
Though, he supposed the pile of invitations did answer the question of what he was supposed to do with himself while he was stuck here.
