Four Nights With the Duke(28)

Through a triumph of will, Mia did not roll her eyes, but instead looked down at her toes. "Yes?"

"Silk, woven in the mountains of the Kashmir," the butler said, his  voice exhibiting signs of enthusiasm for the first time. "Not only are  claws deleterious, but I regret to inform you that in the wake of the  duchess' passing they developed a propensity for unconstrained  urination."

Mia took a moment to work out what he was saying. "They were probably in  shock! And no wonder, if you confined them to the potato cellar. Did  the duke approve of this treatment?"                       
       
           



       

"I do not disturb His Grace with domestic arrangements," the butler said loftily.

"You didn't even ask him?"

Nottle's eyes shifted. "The duke has no interest in such trivial  matters. However, as it has transpired, His Grace accompanied Lord  Carrington to the kitchens for a late-night snack, and the dogs were  discovered. I should be most grateful, Your Grace, if you could ensure  that the animals are confined to the nursery at all times. I will have  the carpet in that room taken up."

"Winky and Dobbie will not be confined to the nursery, any more than  they should have been in a cellar," she told him. "Accidents will cease  as they grow calmer."

If possible, the butler's long face grew even longer. "Am I to  understand that the rugs are hostage to the emotional state of those  animals? May I have your permission to keep them confined until they  achieve a point of serenity, Your Grace?"

"One might almost think you were trying to be humorous, Nottle," Mia  said. But it was clear he was not. She sighed. "The dogs will reside  with Charlie; since he is unlikely to spend much time downstairs, the  carpets will be protected."

Nottle inclined his head, apparently mollified. "Perhaps you can inform  me, Your Grace, what sort of accommodations we should make for your  ward, given his . . . condition."

Mia's eyes narrowed. Was that revulsion she detected? She gave him the  benefit of the doubt. "My nephew is somewhat restricted in his  movements, but he never causes trouble."

"I was wondering whether some of the chambermaids who do not have strong  stomachs should be reassigned." There was a look in his eyes that  confirmed he would prefer that Charlie live in the potato cellar to the  nursery.

With this, Mia's previous doubt was erased. Her face must have conveyed a  warning, because he added, "For the good of the young master, of  course. No one would want him discomfited by the foolishness of a  country girl."

"‘The foolishness of a country girl,'" Mia repeated. "What precisely do you mean by that?"

The butler looked down at her from his considerable height. "This  household prides itself on overlooking disagreeable particulars whenever  possible. It is the way of the Dukes of Pindar."

"I understand there have been more than enough to avoid," Mia said. "But  I am the current Duchess of Pindar. Are you telling me that you foresee  maids fainting at the mere sight of Charlie?"

"One would hope not," Nottle said. "But one must be awake to such possibilities, given the child's malformation."

Mia came to an abrupt decision.

"You are dismissed," she said, pulling herself up as tall as she could,  which unfortunately was only to his armpit. "I am letting you go. If the  duke wishes to furnish you with a recommendation, that will be entirely  up to him. But I would like you gone by noon."

Mia had dismissed only two servants before, in both cases for stealing.  And in both cases, the servant in question had responded with every sign  of guilt.

Nottle did not adhere to that pattern.

He too pulled himself upright until he towered over Mia-obviously using  his height to try to intimidate her-and announced, "I have served the  Dukes of Pindar since I was eighteen."

"In that case, His Grace must see virtues that I do not," Mia snapped.  "He can enumerate them in his letter of recommendation. But no one in  this household will retain his or her position if my nephew is treated  with even the slightest sign of disrespect. You might wish to impart  that to the household, Nottle, before you pack your belongings."

"We'll see what His Grace says to this," the butler said, his voice all the nastier for verging on a hiss.

A sound came from the open door behind him and Chuffy walked into the  breakfast room, clapping his hands lightly. "Come, come, Nottle. You  don't really think that a newlywed duke will countermand his wife's  control in domestic matters, do you?"

"This is unconscionable," Nottle said, for the first time looking a trifle disconcerted.

"I shall not stand up for you," Chuffy advised. "I don't care for the  way you look at me when I've had a drop more than is advisable."

"I'm sure that I have never offered you the least offense."

"Well, you'd be mistaken. I think you're often offensive when you  believe you aren't," Chuffy retorted. "Come now, my dear, would you like  a glass of Canary wine? It's just the thing to settle a morning  stomach, I find."                       
       
           



       

Mia discovered that she was shaking. She wasn't used to this sort of  confrontation. She retreated out the door Chuffy had just entered,  followed-to her dismay-by both men.

"If you'll excuse me, I must return to my chamber for a moment," she  said to Chuffy, ignoring Nottle. She walked back up the stairway,  keeping her hands in front of her so that neither man could see they  were trembling.

Upstairs, she darted back into the room, closed the door, and leaned  against it. Susan looked up in surprise. She was unpacking the trunks  that had arrived the night before, carefully putting Mia's gowns in the  clothes press.

"Goodness, my lady," Susan asked, "whatever is the matter?"

"I've just dismissed Nottle."

"You did what?" her maid cried.

"I let him go," Mia said, sinking into a chair. "I told him to be gone  by noon." Her heart was still racing. "It was dreadful, Susan. He  initially refused to leave until he'd spoken to the duke, but  mercifully, Sir Cuthbert was very supportive."

"Sir Cuthbert is a drunkard, but a sweet one, by all accounts," Susan  said, dropping the gown she was holding onto the bed and coming over.  Her face was alive with curiosity. "What on earth made you so angry at  Mr. Nottle? Mind you, I don't care for him. He thinks entirely too much  of himself. You'd think he was the duke."

"He was rude about Charlie," Mia said. "Beastly, really. He implied that the chambermaids would faint at the sight of his foot."

"That is beastly."

Mia's heart was beginning to slow. The dark, frumpy gowns lying on the  shelves of the clothes press caught her eye and she made another  lightning decision. "I need some new gowns, Susan, made from silk, in  beautiful colors."

She'd be damned if the floors of Rutherford Park were better dressed than its mistress.

Susan beamed. "Now that Sir Richard isn't holding the purse strings, you can order whatever you wish. You're a duchess!"

"I suppose," Mia said. She had never really bothered about clothes  before. Charlie didn't care what she looked like, and she hadn't wished  to spill ink on expensive fabrics. Ever since the season in which she  debuted-only to be roundly ignored by all eligible young men-she had  lived quietly at home, occasionally attending local assemblies, but  rarely venturing to London, and never into high society.

But she felt shaken by Nottle's contempt. She had a shrewd feeling that  her wardrobe had something to do with his attitude, though her father's  relationship with the late duchess likely lay at the heart of the  problem.

Susan veered back to the topic of the butler. "It was terribly ill-bred  of Mr. Nottle to oblige the grooms to talk about His Grace's fisticuffs  with Sir Richard. Mr. Gaunt would never allow such gossip. Mind you, Mr.  Gaunt had a way of making his feelings known: he never cared for the  way Master Charles Wallace's mother used to shudder if she caught sight  of him. But he wouldn't say anything aloud."

That particular memory confirmed Mia's impulsive decision to get rid of  Nottle. Poor Charlie had put up with disdain from his mother; he needn't  face the same from the butler.

"Last night Nottle said at the supper table that Master Charles had a  flipper instead of a foot," Susan said, both hands on her hips now. "I  said as how he was utterly wrong about that, and he told me to shut my  mouth."