Moth Among Butterflies

CHAPTER I

"What?!" The duke's stormy gray eyes widened in vexation.

"F-forgive me, Your Grace! It is my undoing! I should not have hired such a wench!"

"Are they all gone, my clothes?"

Gardner squirmed in shame. "A-a-afraid so, Your G-grace." Cavendish closed his eyes in barefaced indignation, but Gardner went on. "Upon your arrival two days prior, I-I commanded all the clothes to be w-washed, for they smelt of wardrobe due to the long journey from Derbyshire."

Eyes closed still, the duke took in an amount of air before exhailing it. Of all days to be robbed, it was this one specific day that he had to meet someone for business! But what's done is done.

"Are there clothes I may borrow from among the male servants?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I found that the the person nearest your size was that of our groom, but I made sure to-"

"Where are the clothes of this groom?"

"In your quarters, Your Grace, well pressed and pristine."

"Good. Prepare another horse for me. I shall head to town alone and have breakfast there with an attendee." He checks his pocket watch- quarter to nine. The meeting is in an hour. "In the afternoon, prepare a carriage. New sets of clothing shall be bought for my convenience."

Gardner agreed to all his master's arrangement without question and immediately went to do his bidding while the duke changed his garments.

By ten o'clock sharp, the duke has arrived at The Ram's in town to find his attendee already sitting at a far end seat of the coffeehouse. Today, the duke was in luck, for it was only a farmer he is meant to meet today. Imagine what embarrassment it would be for a duke if this farmer was a gentleman, or worse, the king of England himself! But even so, if it meant business then he would attend it none the less.

"Good morning, Ross."

The startled farmer looked up at the sudden greeting. He recognized who it was. He had seen the duke with his landlord, Lord Cartwright, three months prior. The duke was easy to recognize and hard to miss because of his tall and handsome physique and his red hair in a happy mess. The farmer immediately stood up and made the lowest of bows, grasping his straw hat too tightly with both his hands. Ross was a speechless stick! He could not believe that the Duke of Devonshire stood before him!

"Come now, Ross! Let us sit and be on with it. Hey there, Miss!" He called upon the waitress. "Two cups of coffee please!"

"Th-thank you, Your Grace." Ross said in an almost inaudible voice. "I hope you don't mind my curiousity, but why seek my audience about the land. Should you not talk to the Lord Cartwright directly?" he inquired, stealing glances of the duke, wondering more and more of this unusual meeting. He was astonished not only that he had recieved a letter of invitation from him, a farmer, but also of the clothes the duke wore. It was that of stable hands! Was this really the famous Duke of Devonshire?

"You plow, water, and seed the lands. Who would know the state of the crops better than you do? Now pray tell, dear fellow, are the crops making sufficient money?"

Before the farmer could answer, the waitress had laid two cups of coffee on the table. The farmer, too busy with his thoughts, failed to notice what Cavendish has. The waitress was quite singular! She did not make known of her presence and did not even greet them nor bade them to enjoy their meal as common civility would have it. Instead she gave them both a wide smile that seemed to have meant all that is there in 'please enjoy your coffee'. with a small gap between the two front teeth in the upper set of her pearly whites. Her black braided hair flowed on the dark gray dress she wore that contrasted her ivory freckled skin. But this was not all that was queer about the woman. Around her neck hanged, like a necklace, a pad of binded papers the size of a palm. He was able to take a peek at some words written on pages- good morrow, alright, well- and some phrases he could not quite make out anymore.

"...there is lesser profit" were the farmer's only words that came into the duke's ears after a moment of wonder and observation of the waitress. And as the curious creature of a woman went on her way back to the tender, he fought the urge to follow her retreating figure with his eyes. What was that pad for? "Y-your Grace?" the farmer inquired upon the speechless duke.

"Oh, uh," he closed his eyes and massaged his forhead in circles; "Yes, the lesser profit of the crops is because of?"

"Um, the season Your Grace. As I've metioned, the land is good of soil, and we plant wheat in it. But the land isn't big enough for a big harvest, so it makes small profit."

"I see." the duke crossed his legs and folded his right arm to his stomach while his left hand caressed hi chin. And when a thought shot up to him, his left arm crossed his right. "Do as follows. The land is small as you say, but it has good soil. Divide the land in one thirds. Seed the two quarters with blueberries and starwberries while the remaining half will be seeded by wheat alone. Since the berries differ in season from the wheat, you will have a profit still while you wait for wheat harvest thus increasing your profit. It might even double in time, for not only can you sell the berries, but you can also make jams and preserves out of it for selling in the market."

The farmer only listened in awe. The man who sat before him was quick of mind, frugal with things, and concise with words. Now he understood why he was influential. "Y-yes, Your Grace! I will inform the Lord Cartwright."

"Yes please do, my good man. Lord Cartwright knows of my meeting with you. I have suggested this to him and he has concured. He will await the result of this audience with you."

"Y-yes, of course, Your Grace!"

"Thank you, Ross." He said and shook the farmer's hand.

"Oi, Ross, laddie!" A boisterous foreign voice had caught the attention of both the duke and the farmer. "Been lookin' fer ye all mornin'! Allan said you'll be here! Spare me some grease, aye? Been spent the past fortnight again. Blunt! Gingerbread, aye!"- a hearty laugh- "an' whose this handsome lad, eh?" The man was clearly ape-drunk. From the suggestion of his wobbly movements and almost slurred voice.

"There's nothing to grease, Sir." retorted the duke. "For we don't bleed very freely, see. So best be on your way and rest." He stood before the drunk man now, glaring at him. He despised people who found it suitable to bother others for their money.

The drunkard, insulted with this expeditious statement from the duke, pulled the hidden pistol from his coat and pointed it at his opponent. The duke's brows formed a line of frustration, but before he could see reason to this horrid man, he found the waitress standing before him. He planned on removing her from that station, but before he could do so, he saw that the man's features softened.

"This yer friend, Esther?"

A nod from the waitress.

The man looked from Esther to the duke then put his gun back to its place in his coat. And without saying a thing, left the pub.