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“Good morning, my lord.”
Isaac was in full feather this morning. His peacock-blue jacket and breeches, and the contrasting waistcoat of canary yellow, would rival any bird that may be up and about this early morning. He waved vigorously toward the hallway, and a young maid came in bearing a tray with two steaming pots. She stopped abruptly, her eyes widening, cheeks blushing.
“Ahem, my lord.” Isaac stared pointedly at Nicholas’s midriff.
He had not buttoned the damn robe, and it hung open to his waist. He yanked it closed, smiling apologetically at the poor girl as he clumsily looped the frogs. He’d never been one to assume servants were blind nor to have little care for their feelings. Nan had taught him better than that.
“My apologies,” he said.
The maid giggled nervously and deposited the tray on the table by the window.
“That will be all,” Isaac said brusquely, strolling over to the table, removing a cup, and setting it upright. “I did not know your preference, my lord. Fredericks said you favored tea, but I understand that coffee is more popular on the peninsula.” He raised an eyebrow in question.
“Your grandsire is correct.”
The man flushed at the familial reference. Odd. The valet could not possibly be ashamed of the connection. Fredericks was a landmark. Hell, he was more family than…well, damn family! Surely the popinjay knew that? Nicholas pressed thumb and forefinger to his temple, trying to dislodge the ponderings. What did he care? His man would be here before long. The situation was temporary. This colorful bird would fly free of his chambers soon enough.
“I did not develop a taste for coffee and have longed for one of Nan’s brews,” he continued by way of concession. Nan had been with them almost as long as Fredericks. Everyone called her Cook, but she was more to him than that. She was his Nan.
Taking the cup, too restless to sit, he took a sip. Ah. Pure ambrosia. He had thought of her tea on many a cold morning. Isaac’s chatter interrupted the pleasurable moment.
“…and he says you don’t have a thing to eat until you are done riding.”
Nicholas shook his head, confused. “Who says?”
“Fredericks. You were not listening were you? Your thoughts were elsewhere, perhaps? Well, never mind. I’m not here to be heard, only to make sure you are clean and presentable.” He looked him up and down, and more clucking ensued. “It is as I thought. Too small. Far too small. Whatever will we do?”
“We? About what?”
“Your attire. Your ensemble. Whatever will you wear today?”
“Just give me what I had on my back yesterday. It will do for another day.”
“Absolutely not. It was feculent.” The man actually sniffed in disgust. “Besides,” he continued, brushing off impending interruption with a wave of his hand, “it has all been sent to be laundered.”
“Then just bring me some of my old riding clothes.”
“Oh, much of it has been discarded. I went through it myself when I heard of your imminent arrival. Much too out of fashion, not fit for your new position.”
Well, the little shit!
“Regardless,” he continued, either oblivious to or unconcerned with Nicholas’s rising irritation, “it would not fit you now. You have grown quite…bulky. Your thighs, my lord, and your arms—they are far thicker than when you left.”
“Digging trenches does tend to do that to one’s arms and thighs.” Did the man live wrapped in cotton, unaware of what was happening on the continent, what real men did for a living, for their very survival?
The valet noticed nothing of the sarcasm; he did not come up for air. “I think your father’s old breeches might do in a pinch, the ones before he attained his…hmm…girth, and I believe you just might get away with one of your old shirts, although the fit will be quite snug.” He tapped his finger against his chin. “Your father’s jacket will be too large. Well, his old ones will be, his new ones too small. You’ll just have to do without a jacket until dinner.” Isaac circled him. “Yes, that will do. What think you, my lord?”
“Just get me some clothes,” he growled with little impact on Isaac. The irritating dandy merely smiled, then strolled from the room, closing the door softly behind him. Nicholas refilled his cup and toasted the air. “Welcome home, old boy. Welcome home.”
