Page 11 of Better Than a Duke
“He never smiles,” Edmund whispered helpfully as they climbed the stairs together. “He didn’t even blink when Uncle Lord Harold sneezed at dinner and half a carrot flew across the room and caught Gerald the footman right in the forehead.”
Chuckling, she bumped her shoulder against his. “I’ve missed you, these past few days. I even missed Mr. Fredericks and his rhyming.”
Her son made a face. “I wouldn’t miss that. Not ever.”
“As we’ve discussed, rhyming is good for expanding your vocabulary. And your tutor is very dedicated to your education.”
“I don’t think he’s dedicated. I think he’s mad.”
This time she hid her amusement; once Edmund caught her laughing at the eccentric tutor’s methods, he’d never attend to his lessons. He barely did so now. “Mr. Fredericks was willing to relocate to London with us, which speaks well of his affection for you, Pickle.”
“I think it’s because you pay him a good salary, but he’s not so bad, really. Did you see there’s a girl living next door? She’s nine, so I’m older, but she’s very funny and has some excellent books about horses. Her name is Rebecca, but I call her Becks.”
“I did see her. But you’re not to go over there again.”
He sagged, leaning against the balustrade as they reached the second floor. “You were mean! Lord Hentrose was very nice to me, and he made certain I had breakfast. He even told me his horse’s full name, which is Charles Llewelyn Biscuits. I think he might let me ride Charlie if I asked.”
“No, he won’t, because you’re not going back over there. You’re going to stay here and attend your lessons while I help Aunt Margaret and tickle Uncle Harold about lending us a bit of blunt so we can purchase that cottage I had my eye on. You know, the one with the pond behind it?”
“Yes, I know.” He sighed. “It’s very small. But if there are fish in the pond, I think I could be persuaded to like it.”
She sent up a quick prayer that there would be a multitude of fish in the pond. “I shall inquire about that.”
“Lord Hentrose’s butler’s name is Butler. He’s magnificent.”
“You’re not going over there again, even if the cook’s name is Cook and the groom’s name is Groom.”
Pushing open his bedchamber door, he looked over his shoulder at her. “You’re being mean to me now. You can try to keep me prisoner, but I am going to tunnel my way out eventually. They say the London sewers are endless. Hundreds of miles for my rats and me.”
With that he closed his door, leaving Iris standing in the hallway. If he did make his way to the rats and become their king, perhaps she could go live in the sewers with him. It wouldn’t cost any money, at least, except for cheese to win the rats over to their side. And who would want to take their sewer home away from them, even if someone discovered them down there?
“Swiftly, Suzette!”
Iris jumped, turning around as a wheeled chair sped into the hallway from one of the side rooms and began careening toward her. The petite, plump woman seated forward in the chair had her hands gripped around both arms, while behind her a tall, rail-thin woman puffed out her cheeks and ran forward, shoving the contraption ahead of her.
“Aunt Margaret! You startled me,” Iris said, stepping sideways to avoid having her foot run over.
“We’re getting faster, aren’t we, Suzette?” her aunt queried, chortling. “You should see us get going out on the street. Faster than a coach, I reckon. Suzette is strong as a horse. Don’t let her bony arms fool you.”
“I’m pleased to see you getting about, but shouldn’t you be resting?”
As Suzette nodded emphatically behind her, Lady Margaret Baverstock shook her head. “Iamresting. You see me sitting in this chair, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Never you mind. As I wrote, Suzette’s mother is taken ill,and she needs to go tend her. All the way in Cornwall, dash it all. Blasted inconvenient, but that’s the way of families, isn’t it? Never doing anything at a reasonable time.” She scowled, then smoothed the expression again. “Anyway, it makes your visit an act of providence. I can’t get about myself, and Lord knows there’s a thousand things to do with the Season beginning.”
“I’m happy to help.”
“At least your brother-in-law waited until now to take over your cottage.”
“Yes. An entire six months after he inherited the title. Very patient of him.” They’d lived there for ten years. And Reginald Silbern, now Lord Bellamy, had insisted for every month of the last six that she pay rent—which had effectively eaten through the small sum she’d inherited from her father and the bits and bobs she’d been able to scramble together in the four years since Thomas’s death.
Thomas Silbern. Charmer, dreamer, and inveterate gambler. And all she had to her name after eleven years of marriage to him was a few crates of plates and cups, some bed linens, the odd bauble or two he’d acquired to charm her out of her frustration with him, and Edmund. Thank heavens she had Edmund.
“Well. That was generous of him, at least,” her aunt continued. “And now you’re here, just at the moment I have need of you.”
Iris shook herself. “Yes, it’s all happened quite fortuitously, I’m certain.”
