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“Southern Wales,” he murmured, his expression guarded.

She turned her attention back to the application.

Marital status—single.

Trade or occupation—junior footman, iron worker.

Offenses for which convicted—disorderly and violent conduct, threat of bodily injury to an officer.

“You’ve been in service before?” Reina asked.

“Aye. My mother was a housemaid at a great house in Cardiff. I started working there as a boy, first on the estate lands and later on in the house.”

“What work did they put you to?”

“Whatever was needed. In the house it was cleaning boots and shoes, sharpening knives, carrying hot water or coal. In the stable it was mending harnesses, washing coaches, or polishing tack. For a time, I was sent to help the gamekeeper care for the animals in his charge, until I realized they were going to be killed for the entertainment of his lordship and his guests. From then on, I refused to work for him.”

Reina gave him a sympathetic glance. “I suspect that didn’t go over well.”

“No,” he agreed dryly.

“But in general, you’re familiar with the running of a household?”

“Very.”

“That’s good news. We’re in dire need of someone who knows what they’re doing. But also someone who is patient.” At his questioning glance, she continued, “One might assume the servants need stern guidance and discipline, but actually the case is quite the opposite. Everyone here is already well acquainted with punishment and defeat. Now they need encouragement. They need to be built up. Above all, this house must feel like a refuge, not another place they long to escape from.” Reina paused before asking earnestly, “Have I given you a sense of the situation?”

“Aye,” he said. “The servants are running amok.”

A laugh burst from her before she could suppress it. “Perhaps just a bit amok,” she admitted.

“I’ll be able to manage them.”

Reina liked his self-assurance. Although it wasn’t what she would have expected of someone who had just been released from Millbank Prison.

He had the look of a man with a troubled past. Guarded, whitleather-tough. But his eyes were alive with humor and intelligence.

“May I ask how much education you received?” she asked.

“I went to a school provided for the estate tenants’ children. I was also allowed to sit with the master’s two sons while they were being tutored in Latin, history, science, and so on.”

“How fortunate.”

“Aye, it was.” A corner of his mouth quirked. “Although I was of a different opinion at the time. I always wanted to run free outside.”

“What was there to do outside?”

“The estate had fifty acres of gardens,” he said. “There were orchards and parkland, and paths lined with oak. Kestrels and herons everywhere, and a lake stocked with trout.”

“It sounds beautiful.”

“I could have done with a bit more time to enjoy it. But compared to the children who worked in mines or factories, I had no cause for complaint.”

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Pembroke, but . . . why were you in prison? Do you have a temper?”

“No. But there are times when a man can’t walk away from a fight. If that happens, I do what’s necessary to win.”

“Was that why you were dismissed from service?”