by Lexy Timms
“Oh, that.” His father fished into his coat pocket and produced an antique pocket watch. That shouldn’t have surprised him. Dad was always hanging on to odds and ends. “The train. You said it would be on time. And it was.”
“Right. The train.” Alistair cleared his throat. “Now that I’m here, you want to tell me why you asked me to come into town?”
“Your bags,” Dad said quickly. “We should get your luggage.”
Alistair held up his duffel bag. “This is the extent of my luggage.”
“On the way home, then. We’ll talk on the way home.” His father adjusted the driver’s cap on his head and moved towards the exit, leaving Alistair no choice but to follow.
They quickly found a cab and began their journey through town.
Everything was just as he had left it. Except, now it all reminded him of her. The cornflowers in the gardens that matched her brilliant blue eyes. Apple trees brought back memories of how they had met as children. And the horses in the far fields reminded him of the day he lost her for good.
Alistair couldn’t give in to those memories, so he glanced at his father. “So, ready to talk?”
“Er...when we arrive at the house.”
His father was obviously stalling. But Alistair couldn’t figure out why. Just days earlier his father had called him during another one of Alistair’s lull between jobs, asking him to return to Huntingshire. It was an unusual request, especially since his father knew that Alistair had gone out of his way to avoid coming back for years. He hadn’t been in town for ages, and he hadn’t been anywhere near the manor since he had left at the age of eighteen. Though his father had never asked why Alistair had kept his distance, he did seem to understand that Alistair had his reasons.
Alistair didn’t push, saying nothing further until the cab pulled to a stop in front of his parents’ small house. His parents no longer lived in the cottage at the manor. When Alistair and his brother had moved out, the old cottage had been handed over to a newer family of servants with small children. And his parents had moved into town.
His father let him into the house and headed into the kitchen.
“Your mum has gone round to the shops,” his father said as he took off his coat. “Anything to drink?”
“Coffee, thanks.”
His father put on the coffee maker and they sat down at the small kitchen table while the coffee brewed.
“Dad, what’s going on?” Alistair asked, giving his father a hard stare. He wasn’t going to let his father stall for another second. Whatever this was needed to be out in the open.
His father sighed heavily, took off his cap, and started drumming his fingers anxiously on the surface of the table. “It’s like this, son. I’m ill.”
Alistair’s heart started thumping. “Shit.”
“Nothing like that,” his father assured him quickly. “I’m not dying. Yet.” He grinned, clearly not ready to give up the fight.
Relief surged through him. “Shit, Dad.”
“It’s my heart,” his father went on. “The old ticker isn’t doing so well, and my doctor has advised me to slow down. To take as much stress out of life as I can. If I don’t slow down, it will.”
“If you need me to take care of you, I’m here,” Alistair said. “I probably won’t get another project for the next several weeks. I’ll do whatever you need. Just name it.”
“I appreciate that, son, but...” His father paused and gave him a meaningful look. “I’m in a bind at work and that’s why I need your help.”
Alistair’s eyebrows shot up. “What kind of bind?”
“My doctor has encouraged me to take an early retirement,” his father explained. “So no more driving for me. The trouble is, if I retire now I’ll be retiring six months too early. So I won’t get my pension.”
“The Smythes should give you your pension regardless. On principle,” Alistair said, unable to hide his resentment.
“Lord Smythe’s been good to me. All the Smythes have been. I can’t very well start making demands now.”
“After everything you’ve done for them, they owe you this much,” Alistair said forcefully.
“Our family has been in service to them for generations,” his father reminded him. “They’ve looked after us. We could stand to show them a little loyalty.”
“Loyalty?” Alistair felt his long-simmering anger start to burn through him. He hated that his family was little more than serfs to a pack of privileged ingrates. Aristocrats who had no idea how much work it took for the working class to keep them in the comfort they hadn’t even earned. All that wealth and prestige hoarded, while his father couldn’t even get the pension he deserved. “Name one thing they’ve done to earn this loyalty, Dad.”
“They’ve employed me.”
“That’s a business relationship,” Alistair bit out. “The Smythes aren’t doing you a favor. You’ve provided them with decades of good service. Your pension is the least you’re owed.”
“Where is all this coming from?” his father asked, looking startled. “Though you’ve never spoken ill of them before, I can sense something has troubled you. What is it, son?”
He sighed. For years after she left, Alistair had been able to shove his memories of Evie aside. Put them in the back of his mind while he went on with his life. Damn, he’d dated enough women for him to be over her by now, but coming home seemed to have brought back old feelings. Old wounds. “Evelyn. I don’t like how Lord Smythe treated her. He was cold and uncaring. Then he sent her away.”
“Ah. So that’s it.”
“I haven’t seen her since she went to boarding school,” he said, a twinge of pain going through him. “She never came home for holidays, and then I left town to start my life. Anyway, you said you were in a bind?”
“Right. Even though I have to retire early, there’s still a way for me to get my pension.”
“Why didn’t you say so?”
“I can’t do it without your help,” his father said.
“My help?” Alistair frowned. “What can I do?”
“The contract I have with the family stipulates that someone can take over my work under certain circumstances.”
“Your work? You want me to drive?”
“They’ve already found a chauffeur,” his father said, his eyes darting around. “Apparently chauffeurs are easy to find these days. However the family butler has just stepped down, so his position is vacant.”
“Dad—”
“Butlers are much harder to find nowadays. Plus, you went to the butler academy,” his father rushed on. “You know the job backwards and forwards.”
“I went to the butler academy when I was eighteen years old. That was ten years ago,” Alistair reminded him. “After you insisted.”
His father shuffled to his feet and headed for the kitchen counter. “You needed to learn a trade.”
“You wanted me to be ready to work at that bloody manor,” Alistair said through clenched teeth. Frustration was already setting him on edge. “It’s the twenty-first century. We don’t have to go on being servants to these people.”
Dad poured out the coffee. “It will only be for six months.”
“I’ve never actually worked as a butler.” Alistair’s heart raced. The thought of going back to Smythe Manor and seeing Evie after all these years was damn near unbearable. “I have no real-world experience.”
“This is your chance to get some.”
“Dad. Pension or no, working at that house is going to be hell,” he said flatly. “I’ll have to live there with the family.”
“I don’t know if she’s going to be there.” His father returned to the table and set down the steaming mug of coffee. “She might not be. Miss Smythe isn’t always in town.”
They were now back to the topic of Evie. Alistair felt his mouth go dry and he swallowed hard. Clearly his father understood just how much he did not want to see Evelyn. Damn, he couldn’t believe the old man was putting him up to
this, knowing that. “Fine. Six months and nothing more.”
“Wonderful.” His father got up again suddenly and disappeared from the kitchen.
“Where the hell are you going?” Alistair demanded.
Within seconds his father was back, a smart black suit in his arms. “Already got the right wardrobe for it and everything.”
Alistair sighed. “No wonder you dragged me into town. You knew I’d say no over the phone. Here, there’s no escape.”
“Come on, try it on.”
“Later, Dad. We can practice interview questions another time.”
“Ah. That’s going to be a bit of a problem.”
He swore under his breath. There was more. Of bloody course there was more. His father hadn’t insisted on bringing him back here if he wasn’t going to make this as much of a nightmare as possible. “What now?”
“The interview for the butler position is today. In twenty minutes to be exact.”
EVELYN SMYTHE LET HER fingers trace over the diamond tiara.
“Isn’t it exquisite?” Hannah, her lady’s maid, asked as she held the velvet cushion that displayed the sparkling piece.
“Yes,” Evie said, hoping she didn’t give away the strain she was under. It felt like the walls of her bedroom were closing in. “Exquisite.”
Any girl would kill to be able to choose from among the tiaras that Hannah had shown her, but Evie couldn’t seem to concentrate. Between her parents’ pressuring her to marry and society eagerly awaiting her next move, Evie didn’t know how she was going to cope this summer. She had only just returned to Smythe Manor after spending months in London, and it was already difficult to find her bearings. Despite the media frenzy in London, it was easy to get lost in the sprawling city. Here, all eyes were on her. Her family, the residents of the surrounding town, and all the elites for miles around could get to her far more easily.
“Don’t you like it?” Hannah asked with a frown. “I was assured that the Duke of Rothford chose each one specifically to your taste.”
Evie very much doubted that. Nicholas had likely sent out servants to find the tiaras without a single thought about her likes and dislikes. He didn’t just shower her with gifts, he overwhelmed her. All of it a show of wealth and status. Another weapon in his arsenal as he relentlessly pursued her. It wasn’t that Evie was ungrateful, it was that it was so clear that Nicholas didn’t know her. Didn’t know her heart. And didn’t care to know it. The chase was more important to him than actually getting closer to her.
Like so many people in her life, the Duke of Rothford rarely considered what she actually wanted. If he had considered, he would know that she much preferred something that money couldn’t buy.
The only person who had ever seemed to genuinely care about what she wanted was her childhood friend, Alistair. A sweet but serious boy with intense dark eyes. Her heart started racing as she thought of the former chauffeur’s son. Evie thought of him often, remembering how wonderful it had been to go horseback riding with him. Or exploring the surrounding woods without any adults to order her around.
The last time she had seen him was the day she fractured her arm when the horse ran away with her. The day after the doctor had set her arm she had been whisked off to Switzerland, never to see Alistair again.
Evie missed him suddenly. The boy she could say anything to. When she had spent time with him she had never felt pressured to act like a baron’s daughter. It hadn’t mattered that they came from different classes. All that mattered was their bond and their friendship.
“Of course I like the tiara,” Evie finally forced out as she cast her thoughts aside. “I like it just fine.”
“So do you want to choose this diamond one, then? Or perhaps the gold tiara? It’s vintage, and I rather liked that one since it’s so unusual.”
“Whichever you think is best, Hannah,” Evie said. “I trust your taste as always.”
“Yes, well, we can choose the diamond tiara then, as it’s really quite lovely. Traditional suits you best,” her lady’s maid said. “I’ll make sure His Grace receives a thank-you note.”
“I’ll write the note,” Evie said. Though her relationship with the duke felt cold and clinical at times she had to make an effort, and a handwritten note would go a long way. Besides, such things were a lady’s duty as she had been taught all her life. Her mother, boarding school in Switzerland, and finishing school had taught her all that.
“Very well.” Hannah set the velvet cushion aside. “Now, on to the next item of business.”
“We’ve been at it all day.” She stepped back and flopped down on her bed in a most unladylike fashion. Looking at tiaras was supposed to have been a respite from the morning’s work of meeting with a film crew’s location scouts. But it hadn’t been an effective distraction from stress, considering she had started thinking about the duke.
“A lady’s work is never done,” Hannah reminded her.
Evie let out a sigh. From the outside, her life must have looked like idle luxury. And it was at times. But running a manor of this size was much closer to running a business than people realized. The large staff had to be directed and managed, dinners planned, tours of the manor organized. The lower floors and the grounds were essential to keeping the money flowing in. Though Evie’s mother had brought vast wealth with her when she married her father, Lord Smythe insisted that their property be self-reliant. Most nobles no longer had the type of large estates that her family did, and her father was hell bent on keeping the manor in the family for another four hundred years. Everything from TV and film studios to wedding planners used the manor.
“What’s next on the itinerary?” Evie asked, sitting up.
Hannah produced her mobile phone and swiped at the screen. “You’re to meet with the interview candidates and help the estate steward in your parents’ absence.”
Her parents had gone to the nearest town to socialize with important contacts at a fundraiser, leaving Evie to take on additional tasks for the day. “All right. Candidates for what exactly?”
“It says here that you’re to help find a new butler,” Hannah replied.
Evie got to her feet and smoothed her hands down her dress. Overseeing interviews didn’t sound too taxing. All she had to do was sit back and let the candidates do the talking. How much stress could that possibly be?
Chapter 3
EVIE WALKED WITH HER lady’s maid into the ground-floor study. Usually the study was used for administrative tasks; the estate steward, Mr. York, was already seated behind the large oak desk. A man in a dark suit was sitting opposite him, but because his broad back was turned to her Evie couldn’t see his face.
As her lady’s maid busied herself with moving two more chairs near the desk, Evie greeted the estate steward with a smile. “Hello, Mr. York.”
“Good day, Miss Smythe.” The estate steward stood up, as was customary for him to rise whenever a female member of her family entered a room. “You’ve arrived in time for the last interview of the day.”
“Oh, I hope I haven’t interrupted you,” Evie said.
The estate steward waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. Feel free to join us.”
She started to approach the desk just as the seated gentleman stood and turned to look at her.
The gentleman stretched out his hand to shake hers and Evie stopped dead in her tracks.
He was handsome, this stranger. Distractingly so. Not at all what she’d expected for a butler to look like after the manor’s aged former butler had stepped down to spend more time with his family. This man was youthful, lean with a hint of muscle beneath his black suit. His eyes were dark, the intensity smoldering behind them reminding her of the glowing embers of a fireplace. There was a dark sensitivity in those depths that only added to his mystery. As dark as his eyes were his hair was darker still, and rather long for a butler’s. He’d have to cut it if he expected to work at the manor.
Not that cutting it would take away from his good
looks. That prominent, severe mouth drew attention to the rest of his face, and his square jaw was clean-shaven. The dimple in his cheek as he gave her a slight smile turned his darkly brooding looks into something altogether more boyish and approachable.
But none of that explained why her heart hammered so relentlessly. Though she could swear she had never seen this man before, there was something familiar about him. For some strange reason, Evie felt like she had known this man all her life. That should have put her at ease in his presence, but it only alarmed her.
When she let him take her hand, that alarm gave way to a thrill that tingled through her entire body at the contact. His grip was firm; the palm of his large hand rough, as if he was accustomed to hard work.
The man was so tall she was forced to tilt her head back to look in him the eye.
“Miss Smythe. It’s a pleasure,” the man said, his voice low and deep.
“Likewise,” Evie said breathlessly, and she felt her legs shake.
He released her hand and it took her a moment to realize that she was still staring at him.
Embarrassment made her face flush, and she scurried over to sit beside her lady’s maid behind the large desk. All her life she had known how to make perfect introductions, yet here she was, practically drooling over the poor man.
“Miss Smythe,” her lady’s maid whispered. “He’s rather handsome, don’t you think?”
Evie cleared her throat. “Quite.” As much as she agreed with Hannah, she couldn’t encourage borderline gossip. Giggling over a handsome man simply wasn’t done. Not to mention, Evie had a suitor already. The Duke of Rothford should have been consuming her thoughts, not a would-be member of household staff.
