by Diane Gaston
A bout of melancholy, Lucas thought. Had something happened to change her? He certainly had been changed by his brother’s death. Irrevocably so.
It took only the thought of his brother... Again, he heard the sounds of the battle. Smelled the blood. Watched the French cuirassier impale his brother over and over.
‘Mr Lucas?’
Lucas blinked and saw Mrs Cross gaping at him.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I was wool-gathering.’
She gave him a sceptical look.
* * *
Later that afternoon, Mairi had put herself together, wearing one of her good dresses and fixing her hair properly. She’d also helped Davina to look her best. The Crawfurds would not know from their appearance that anything was amiss.
Mairi made her way down to the servants’ floor. This plan for an out-of-work itinerant Englishman to pretend to be their butler seemed doomed to fail. How would he know what to do? Footmen trained for years to take such a position in a house.
Had anyone even asked him why he thought he could manage this?
There was no answer to her knock at the butler’s room, so she followed the sound of voices coming from the servants’ hall.
They were all there. Mrs Cross, Mrs MacNeal, Betsy, Agnes, Robert and Erwin. Even Wilfred and Nellie, the lady’s maid, were there, as were John and MacKay, their stablemen, and Kinley, the gardener. And at the head of the table sat Mr Lucas, leading an animated discussion of the tasks that were to be performed.
Mr Lucas saw her in the doorway and rose. Conversation stopped and the others stood as well.
‘Please sit,’ Mairi said. ‘I came to see how we are progressing.’
None of the servants sat.
Wilfred came over to her. ‘Come. Come, Miss Mairi. See your handiwork.’ He led her over to Mr Lucas.
He faced her, standing very erect, chin raised, gaze carefully averted from hers.
‘Is the costume not sublime?’ Wilfred brushed his hand over Mr Lucas’s arms, ending in a little flourish in front of the snow-white neckcloth.
What was more, Mr Lucas’s hair had been trimmed and his expression was suitably bland.
‘Miss Wallace.’ He spoke in haughty tones, still not meeting her eye. ‘Does my appearance meet with your approval?’
He looked magnificent, enough to take her breath away, but she certainly had no intention of telling him so. ‘Well, you look the part, Mr Lucas.’
Betsy, one of the maids, tittered. ‘Is that nae so?’
His gaze slid to her briefly and his eyes twinkled in amusement. ‘Ah, but you must call me Lucas, Miss Wallace. We must follow the conventions.’
Yes. The other servants would call him Mr Lucas. To the family and their guests he would be Lucas.
‘Lucas,’ she repeated.
He even sounded the part.
‘Yes. So.’ She turned to them all. ‘Have you been discussing plans of how to endure this?’
Mrs Cross spoke. ‘We are accepting the challenge.’
The others nodded their assent.
‘My family could not be more grateful,’ Mairi said. ‘I vow I will do my best to see you all rewarded.’
Cook patted her hand. ‘Now do not worry over that, miss. Take matters day by day.’
Her gaze spanned them all. ‘You are all too good.’
They lowered their gazes.
Mr Lucas—Lucas, she meant—broke the silence. ‘We do have one question.’
She turned back to him, but it was Mrs Cross who spoke. ‘Should Mr Lucas be given the key to the silver and the wine? I did not feel I had the authority to decide this. Shall we ask your father?’
‘No, no need to bother my father.’ He would say yes without giving it any thought. Lucas was a stranger and there was no reason to trust him, but she did. ‘Yes, of course. The butler must have the keys.’ She simply could not imagine him taking their silver, not with all he’d done for them already. She turned to him again. ‘Will you be able to select the wine?’ She did not know of anyone else who would be up to that task.
He answered her in a butler’s voice. ‘Every butler is knowledgeable about wine, miss. I will endeavour not to disappoint your family.’
The maids giggled.
Mairi did not see the humour, though. She wanted to snap at him to stop talking like that, to talk like himself. Like the kind man he was. But she had to admit that his tone suited a butler.
She took a deep breath. ‘Well, I do hope you are ready. The guests should arrive any moment now.’
‘You must not worry, miss,’ Mrs Cross said. ‘Mr Lucas’s suggestions of how we should go on will keep us well sorted.’
He’d organised them? Assigned them duties as if he were a real butler? She prayed their faith in him was not misplaced.
* * *
True to Miss Wallace’s word, an hour had not gone by before the carriage passed through the gate. Lucas had sent John ahead to watch out for it so they could be warned as quickly as possible. As the carriage approached the door, the family was all present to greet the guests and Lucas had lined up all the servants to receive them. Lucas had often stood in such a formation growing up, but never in the line with the servants.
Good God, what was he about? This scheme was probably rife with pitfalls and depended too entirely on him. Perhaps he should have walked away, let the cards Dunburn had played fall where they may. Lucas did not have a good record of protecting those he cared about.
He glanced at the Baron and Lady Dunburn. Both were all nerves. Miss Wallace was composed, but solemn, and Lucas had an impulse to reassure her all would work out in the end. If he played a convincing butler, that was. Davina was merely eager and excited, but Lucas suspected she did not comprehend the stakes of this game.
When the carriage was slowing to a stop, Miss Wallace’s hand pressed against her temple. ‘We forgot about Niven! Niven does not know Lucas is the butler!’
Niven and his friend rode on the top of the carriage.
Dunburn began to sputter. Lady Dunburn looked about to weep.
Davina spoke up. ‘Leave Niven to me. I’ll pull him aside as soon as he climbs off the carriage. They will think I am glad to see him.’
‘Tell him he must not confide in anyone, not even his friend William,’ Miss Wallace warned.
It seemed less and less likely this would succeed.
The carriage stopped and Erwin was quick to put down the steps and open the door. Lady Crawfurd emerged first. Lucas stepped forward to assist her from the carriage.
Dunburn bowed. ‘Lady Crawfurd, how good to see you.’
‘Welcome.’ Lady Dunburn smiled nervously, landing a light peck on Lady Crawfurd’s cheek.
Next Lord Crawfurd exited the carriage and received their greetings. Niven and his friend climbed down from riding outside and Davina ran to him.
‘Niven!’ she cried in a joyous tone. She gave him a hug and pulled him off to the side, whispering in his ear.
Another man exited the carriage, a younger man than Lord Crawfurd, but not of an age with Niven either. He was not expected.
‘Lady Dunburn,’ Lady Crawfurd chirped. ‘Let me present Mr Charles Hargreave. You remember the Hargreaves. The Earl of Barring’s younger son.’
‘Ah, Mr Hargreave.’ Lady Dunburn laughed nervously. ‘Yes. You are welcome, too.’
The young man bowed to Lady Dunburn. ‘My lady, you are too kind when I know a surprise guest is always a difficulty.’
‘Let me introduce you to my daughters.’ Lady Dunburn called to Davina, ‘Davina, what are you about? Come here.’
Hargreave’s gaze turned to Miss Wallace and his eyes kindled with interest. Lucas frowned.
A maid was the last to exit the carriage and a manservant climbed from the top of the carriage. Lady Crawfurd’s maid and Lord Crawf
urd’s valet.
‘Come into the house,’ Dunburn said.
Robert and Erwin saw to the luggage.
Lucas whispered to Mrs Cross, ‘Have Betsy and Agnes prepare a room for Mr Hargreave.’
‘Aye,’ she responded. ‘The blue room will be best.’
Lucas followed the family and guests into the hall and tended to their outer garments and hats.
‘I’m afraid I did not bring my man,’ Hargreave said in a haughty voice. ‘He is to meet me at Lord Oxmont’s. I will need someone to attend me.’
Lucas frowned. The man came uninvited and expected to have a valet attend to him?
‘Yes. Yes,’ Dunburn responded nervously. ‘Lucas, our new butler, will see to it.’ He turned to Lucas uncertainly. ‘Is that not so, Lucas?’
‘Indeed, it is, sir,’ Lucas responded. ‘I will attend you myself.’ There was no other choice. Neither Robert nor Erwin would be up to the task.
‘An English butler, Dunburn?’ Hargreave said somewhat mockingly.
Niven piped up, ‘Lucas is fairly new. Papa just hired him not long ago.’ Niven gave Lucas a wink.
At least Niven was quick to play along.
Lord and Lady Crawfurd wished to freshen up and rest from their journey and Miss Wallace offered to show them to their rooms. Lady Dunburn declared she would rest as well. Niven and his friend ran off somewhere, Davina with them.
‘Come, have a whisky with me while your room is readied.’ Dunburn took Hargreave into the library with him.
Mrs Cross helped Lucas hang the coats in the cloakroom.
‘We have crossed the first hurdle, Mrs Cross,’ he said, although the rest of the day would be even more of a challenge.
‘Imagine that young man arriving without warning or invitation.’ Mrs Cross shook her head. ‘The Quality can be so thoughtless sometimes.’
Lucas agreed.
* * *
As soon as Lord and Lady Crawfurd and their servants were settled and their luggage brought to them, Mairi hurried down to the servants’ floor to see if there was anything she ought to be doing.
She met Lucas in the hallway. ‘We did not expect that other guest,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I can help get the room ready.’
His expression seemed to soften when regarding her. ‘Miss Wallace, you need to play the part of the baron’s daughter, not the maid-of-all-work. Betsy and Agnes are tending to the room.’
She liked that he dropped his butler persona for this moment with her. ‘It is not so easy for me to do that.’ She gave him a worried look. ‘Do you object to acting as Mr Hargreave’s valet as well as everything else?’ Did he even know how to be a valet?
He met her gaze. ‘I am well able to play the hand I’m being dealt, Miss Wallace. Go back above stairs. Use this time to enjoy yourself.’
She sighed. ‘Enjoy myself? I fear I shall be on edge the whole time they are here.’ Nothing about having these guests would be enjoyable.
‘Please.’ His voice turned low. ‘Do not worry over any of this. Truly, you may be at ease.’
His tone touched something deep inside her, something long neglected—the need for someone to care about her feelings. It upset her to be so moved. It made her vulnerable and she never wished to be vulnerable again.
‘I will do my part,’ she said much too sharply.
He blinked and leaned away before again speaking, though his voice was no longer low. ‘You should not visit the servants’ floor. If Lord and Lady Crawfurd’s servants see Baron Dunburn’s daughter here, they might think it something to gossip about.’
She had not thought of that.
‘Send for me if you need to,’ he said. ‘I promise to take care of your concerns.’
She hated the tension between them, especially because she’d created it. ‘Thank you, Lucas,’ she said softly. ‘I will leave it to you, then.’
He bowed and his demeanour changed back into that of a butler. ‘Very good, miss.’
The formality in his voice depressed her, until a corner of his mouth turned up and amusement filled his eyes.
She broke into a smile and her body suddenly felt light as a feather. Perhaps it was because he had taken some of the burden off her shoulders.
* * *
Charles Hargreave glanced calmly around the dining room, with its portraits of ancestors and still lifes of dead game and fish. It was a pleasant room. More modern than he had expected.
He’d been a guest at the Crawfurds’ when he’d learned they would be stopping by Baron and Lady Dunburn’s for a day or two en route to the house party at Oxmont Castle.
How lucky!
Sometimes good fortune simply fell into his lap. Hargreave had been making enquiries about certain Scottish Barons and, from what he’d learned, the Baron of Dunburn would suit his needs perfectly.
Hargreave had a secret. He desired a title. And an estate. But he was the younger son. His brother would some day become Earl. His sister had married a title. What could he do?
He could purchase a title. He could purchase a Scottish barony.
Oh, a Scottish barony was not an elevated title, but it was a title all the same, the only option available to him unless his brother died without issue.
He could not count on being that lucky, however.
At least from an uncle’s inheritance, he had a sizeable fortune. His plan, then, was to find a baron in such financial straits that he would be forced to sell his title and lands. Hargreave was willing to help that situation along, if necessary. The Baron of Dunburn, it was rumoured, owed a deal of money to a great many creditors and money lenders. That was mere gossip, but Hargreave was determined on this visit to discover if it was true.
The only other problem would be how to maintain the respect of his peers if he pursued his goal. The purchaser of the last barony had been shunned for ruining the family, although the way Hargreave saw it, it was the man’s own fault for losing his title. Hargreave was taking no chances.
He slid a sideways glance at Miss Wallace, seated on his right. She was much prettier than he’d expected, which pleased him, although her reserve made her tiresome company. It was unfortunate that the younger daughter was not a few years older. He much preferred a lively redhead.
But he was impatient. Mairi Wallace was marriageable now. The plan was to marry the daughter of the ruined Baron. The way he figured it, if he married her, he’d be seen as the hero of the situation, the rescuer of the family, who could remain in their house and stay on their land. He rather fancied that.
Because it would be his house and his land and he would become the Baron of Dunburn.
Chapter Nine
After the Wallaces and their guests retired for the night, Hargreave rang for Lucas to ready him for bed.
Lucas had almost enjoyed orchestrating the dinner. It had taken planning, organisation and vigilance, and he was proud of his performance and that of the other servants. They’d pulled it off without a hitch.
But the idea of attending Hargreave put a bad taste in Lucas’s mouth.
What sort of gentleman arrives uninvited to spend the night? Moreover, Lucas did not like the way the man had fawned over Miss Wallace.
He took a fortifying breath before rapping on Hargreave’s door and hearing the man say, ‘Enter.’
Hargreave lounged in a chair, a glass of whisky in his hand. Without saying a word to Lucas, he extended his leg and waited until Lucas pulled off his boot. And, to Lucas’s distaste, his sock.
‘My nightclothes are in the trunk over there.’ Hargreave gestured with his hand. ‘Do not disturb the packing. We should be here only a day or so and my man packed it very well. I do not tolerate wrinkled clothing.’
That immediately made Lucas wish to crumple up the clothes.
Instead he sifted carefully through Hargreave’s things to find the nig
htshirt. He laid it out on the bed. Hargreave stood—Lucas’s signal, he presumed, to help the man off with his coat and waistcoat.
‘Tell me of the family,’ Hargreave said while Lucas unbuttoned the waistcoat. ‘There are rumours about them.’
‘Rumours?’ Lucas responded as blandly as he could. Did this man really think the butler would engage in gossip about the Wallaces?
Hargreave lifted his chin so Lucas could untie his neckcloth and then his arms to pull off his shirt. ‘The rumour is that Dunburn is nearly a bareman.’
‘A bareman?’ Lucas repeated. What the devil was a bareman?
Hargreave gave a dry laugh. ‘You don’t speak Scots, do you, Sassenach? A bareman is a man with grave debts.’ He walked over to the basin, washed his face and waited for Lucas to hand him the towel.
Lucas let him drip for a moment. ‘I have no reason to believe the Baron has grave debts.’ He handed him the towel. ‘The Baron hired me, after all.’
Hargreave smirked at Lucas before rubbing his face with the cloth. ‘What do you know of the daughter?’ he asked.
Lucas bristled. Why the devil did Hargreave ask that? He hedged. ‘There are two daughters.’
‘I mean Mairi Wallace, of course.’ Hargreave laughed. ‘Oh, the younger one is lively enough. She’ll lead some man on a merry chase some day, but one must wait a few years for her. Her older sister is of age.’
Of age for what? Courting?
Hargreave was not good enough for her—although, given her situation, the younger son of an earl would be a good match.
Lucas baulked at the thought. ‘Miss Wallace is a fine young lady, from what I have observed.’ He handed Hargreave his sleeping garment.
Hargreave took it and grinned. ‘And she is not too difficult to look at.’
Lucas’s hands curled into fists. How he’d like to throttle the fellow, bantering about Miss Wallace.
Hargreave donned his sleeping garment by himself, for which Lucas was grateful. He sat again in the chair and poured himself another glass of whisky. Lucas’s nostrils filled with the scent of it and he felt like he could almost taste it. He gathered the man’s discarded clothes and picked up his boots.
