“All right, all right,” Feathergill muttered hoarsely. He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped at the sweat on his face. “What do you want from me?”
Rhys once again folded the document. “Not only will you consent to my marriage to Prudence, you will assure her of your wholehearted approval. How you explain your change of heart to your wife is up to you. Tomorrow, you and I shall pay a call upon the trustees of the Abernathy estate, where you will make your approval quite clear to them. You’re pleased as punch about having a duke in the family. Then you and your wife will accompany Prudence and me on a tour of my estates, during which you will make no snide comments about their shabby condition. We will then return to London for the wedding. There will be no mention to Prudence or anyone else of the skeletons rattling around my family closet. Not now. Not ever. I hope we’ve come to a right understanding.”
“Yes,” Feathergill answered in a hoarse whisper.
“Good. In return for your discretion, you will be amply rewarded. I will provide you and the other members of your family very generous quarterly allowances. What you choose to spend your portion on, I don’t really give a damn.”
The other man nodded and started to rise as if to depart, but Rhys’s next words stopped him.
“One more thing, Feathergill.”
The squire sank back down in his chair, the picture of misery.
“I am outraged by your past conduct toward your niece, particularly your shameful neglect of her.”
The other man started to protest, but Rhys cut him off. “I will not tolerate such behavior one moment longer. The quarterly allowances you, your wife’s cousins, and the husbands of your daughters receive from the Abernathy estate shall be forever conditioned upon my approval, and I can assure you that approval will be influenced solely by your kindness toward her from this day forward. In other words,” he added, smiling, “you, your wife, your cousins, and your daughters—Beryl, in particular—will do everything possible to make up for the wrongs you have done Prudence in the past. From now on you will live for the purpose of making her happy. If you cause her even one moment of vexation or anxiety, or if any of you insult her or bully her in any way, I will tear up the next quarterly bank draft you are set to receive without hesitation.” He leaned back again in his chair. “I hope that’s clear?”
The other man gave a wordless nod.
“Excellent. You may go. By the by,” he added as Feathergill stood up, “I shall be dining with you tonight. The Savoy’s very best private dining room will do quite well, I think. That, along with the congenial company of you and your wife, should make for a most pleasant evening.” He paused, helping himself to Feathergill’s port. “The company will be congenial, won’t it?”
“Of course.”
“Excellent. Then I suggest you go home to break the happy news to your wife.” Rhys tucked the letter from his steward about the drains at St. Cyres Castle back in his jacket as he watched the other man leave, and he laughed to himself. He’d love to be a fly on the wall for Feathergill’s explanations to his wife.
There was nothing more enjoyable than a stroll on a fine spring afternoon. Especially when a girl was escorted by a man as handsome as Mr. Fane.
Nancy Woddell cast a sideways glance at the tall, brown-haired man beside her as they walked along the Strand, and as she always did when looking at him, she felt a little thrill of pleasure. He was a well-set-up fellow, with fine blue eyes and a strong chin. When he’d asked if he might escort her to second service this morning, she wasn’t sure about it, for she hadn’t wanted him to gain the wrong impression. She’d had chaps enough in her life thinking a walk alone together entitled them to get fresh. But Mr. Fane was so polite and elegant, very much the gentleman. And he was valet to the husband of a princess. Though he would have to give up that position if he married, Nancy couldn’t help being impressed. And he hadn’t cut up rough at all when she made it plain to him that she was a respectable girl, brought up right, the sort who expected marriage. In fact, he almost seemed offended by that statement, as if the idea that she could be anything but a respectable, marriage-minded girl had never occurred to him.
“Would you like a dish of tea?” he asked, gesturing to the tea shop at the corner.
“I would, yes,” she answered. “Thank you, Mr. Fane.”
She smiled as he escorted her inside and pulled out a chair at one of the tables for her. Such attentive manners he had. He knew how to look after a girl, she thought, watching him as he crossed the room to the counter and ordered tea for two. A man like Mr. Fane would make a good husband.
She settled her skirts and did a bit of furtive primping in a pocket glass as she waited for his return, sighing as she studied her reflection. She wished she had a complexion like her mistress’s, she thought, aggrieved, as she tucked a few stray tendrils of carroty hair beneath her straw boater and bit her lips to add some color to their pale pink tint. Miss Abernathy’s skin was creamy white, not covered with freckles.
“You’ve no need to do that.”
The masculine voice of Mr. Fane interrupted these feminine disparagements, and she looked up to find that he was standing beside her chair, a tray of tea and cakes in his hands. “Do what?” she asked, pretending not to understand as she lowered her hands to hide the tiny mirror beneath the table.
“Worry about how you look.”
She tossed her head with a show of bravado. “I’m not worried,” she lied, shoving the pocket glass back into her skirt pocket.
“Good.” He set the tray on the table and sat down opposite her. “You’re the prettiest girl I know.”
Heavens, this man was a dream come true. “Thank you.”
“I am very happy you came out with me today,” he said as she poured tea for both of them. “I’ve some news to give you, and I don’t know if you’ll take kindly to it or not.”
A flicker of uneasiness marred the pleasure she felt. When a chap said something like that, the news could not be good. But she didn’t show her worry. “It sounds like something important,” she said, and took a sip of her tea.
“It is. I’ve changed my situation. I am no longer valet to Count Roselli.”
“Oh.” She felt a dizzying throb of hope at this news. Since a valet couldn’t marry, perhaps he had changed his post to one that would allow him to wed.
Nancy crossed her fingers. “What is your situation now?”
“I’m now valet to a different gentleman.”
Disappointment crashed down over her, replacing the elated hope of a moment before. “I see,” she murmured, working to conceal her feelings. “Who is your new employer?”
“The Duke of St. Cyres.”
Once again Nancy’s emotions ricocheted, swinging toward relief. The duke was the man her mistress liked so much, and that would offer her far more opportunities to see Mr. Fane. An Italian count and an Austrian princess were all very well, but they were foreigners who would one day go home. “Being valet to a duke is a perfectly acceptable position, and very impressive, Mr. Fane. Why would you think I wouldn’t like your new situation?”
“Well, now that your mistress, Miss Abernathy, and my new master are engaged to be married—”
“They are?” Nancy interrupted with a delighted cry of surprise. “How lovely!”
“They agreed on things this afternoon. You didn’t know?”
She shook her head. “Sunday’s always my day out, and I’ve not seen my mistress since I helped her dress for church this morning.” Nancy laughed, truly glad. Miss Abernathy, she knew, was well gone in love with the duke, and since she was a generous and thoughtful employer, Nancy couldn’t be happier.
“They’re to be married in June, my master tells me,” Mr. Fane went on.
“But I still don’t understand why you think I’d be upset by this news?”
He gave her a rueful smile. “My master is taking your mistress to view his estates. No doubt we’ll be thrown much together over the coming weeks—traveling on the trains, being belowstairs together, and such. Our proximity will be even greater after they wed, and if you don’t feel…” His voice trailed off and he looked away, jerking at his tie. “That is, if you don’t enjoy my company…I mean to say…bound to be awkward, you know, if you don’t reciprocate my…um…feelings.”
Nancy’s heart warmed at this awkward blunder of words from a man who was usually so self-possessed. She leaned closer to him and, under the table, dared to brush his knee with hers. “I like you, too, Mr. Fane,” she said softly.
Rhys lifted his chin a notch so Fane could properly form the bow of his black silk tie. “So, Miss Woddell wasn’t able to tell you how any of Miss Abernathy’s family took the news of our engagement?”
“No. She didn’t know herself that things had been decided between you and her mistress until I told her.”
“A pity. I would have enjoyed hearing what Mrs. Feathergill’s reaction was to the news.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” Fane gave the ends of the bow a tug to tighten the knot, brushed a speck of lint from Rhys’s black evening suit, and stepped back. “In the coming weeks, I hope I shall hear other things from Miss Woddell you will find valuable.”