Page 87 of Better Than a Duke
“We’re doing this, then?” Martha Brubbins asked, her pencil poised. “Whatever it takes?”
“Yes, dash it all. I’m in. Whatever it takes.”
The cook drummed her fingers against the worn tabletop. “Perhaps we should compile a list of things that need to happen, and their order. Some things for us to tend to, and some for the children. Because without a plan, we may end up with squirrels running amok.”
“That’s a fine idea, Louise,” Martha complimented. “The children will be perfect for moving a parent somewhere quickly.”
“Lord Hentrose isn’t a fool, though,” Butler said, frowning. “And we will pay the consequences for any misstep.”
“Well, we’ll just have to be clever, then, won’t we?” Martha said, attempting to sound breezy when in truth the entire idea terrified her. Each of them had a great deal to lose here. Employment, position, trust—the list went on and on.
“I can put a wet cloth in the stove and make it smoke,” the cook offered.
Martha nodded, writing it down. “That’s good. Something perhaps amiss, but nothing specific.”
“Misplaced silverware,” John Butler contributed. “Not necessarily stolen, but a puzzle in need of unraveling.”
“Good.”
“If I know which room will be involved, I can pull a chimney vent shut.” Bradley took Mr. Fredericks’s cheroot and ground it out in candle wax. “We don’t smoke in this house.”
“Smoking calms me,” the tutor retorted. “I thought this situation might benefit from me not fleeing, screaming, into the night.”
“What do you have to worry about?” Bradley countered. “Edmund will need a tutor, whether his mum remarries or not.”
“In the Silbern household my eccentricities are appreciated,” Mr. Fredericks said. “I have no doubt that the Duke of Trent’s household will wish nothing to do with a tutor who speaks in rhyme. I’ve been trapped by my own cleverness, it seems.”
“You could apply for a position elsewhere without the rhyming, couldn’t you?” Louise asked.
Butler nodded. “That might even be preferred, if you’re tired of the affectation.”
Mr. Fredericks blew out his breath. “When Mrs. Silbern hired me, Edmund… Well, he’d just lost his papa, and he couldn’t fathom what had happened or why everything was changing. He wouldn’t talk to me at all. So I started rhyming. It got his attention, and when I didn’t stop, it gave him someone with whom to be angry and annoyed. Once he began responding to it, well, I just kept it up. It worked. It still does. It’s exhausting at times, though, I have to say. This is the longest non-rhyming conversation I’ve had in months.”
The rest of them looked at each other, and then Butler nodded at the first footman. Silently Bradley reached over and pulled another cheroot from Mr. Fredericks’s breast pocket, stuck the end in the tutor’s mouth, and lifted the candle to light it. “Youhave permission to smoke here,” he said, returning the candle to the table and sitting back again.
“In the kitchen only,” John Butler added.
“My thanks,” the tutor said, around the cheroot. “Back to our plan, then.”
“Does Mrs. Silbern know?” Martha asked.
Mr. Fredericks nodded, a small smile touching his mouth. “She does. I think she’s worried that I’ve been damaged by all this somehow, though, and I’ve not corrected her thinking. I need this job.”
Martha took a breath. “We all need our jobs. Now. Let’s continue, and I’ll meet with the children in the morning for any ideas they may have, as well. Once we’ve all agreed, I believe we’ll have a plan.”
“A mad one,” Bradley muttered, grimacing.
“This is a mad household. I would expect nothing less.”
“Ah. I see you received one, as well. I’m surprised not to see children’s sticky fingerprints all over the blasted thing.” The Marquis of Elmond flipped his dinner invitation onto the table and sank into the chair beside his father’s. “It’s peculiar as hell.”
“Is it?” the Duke of Trent asked, perusing his own invitation. “Yes, children’s handwriting, but Lord Hentrose’s signet and delivered by servants in livery. All very proper.”
“Why areweinvited to Hentrose’s dinner party? I’ve barely exchanged a dozen words with the man.”
Trent laughed. “If you don’t approve, don’t attend. I, for one, mean to take this opportunity and secure the hand of my newest bride.”
“What, your imaginary contest hasn’t made her eager to fight for victory and leap into your bed?”
