Lord Day and Lady Night

12. Straight into the Dark

Deciding to strategically ignore the last three words, Lord Patrick uttered a groan. "I'm coming, I'm coming!"

"Very well." One of Griffiths' eyebrows rose the legal number of millimetres allowed for English butlers. "Did you have a, um...lively night, My Lord?"

Plucking the shoe off his ear, Patrick chucked it into a corner, barely resisting the urge to take aim at a certain butler instead. Instead, he sent the man a look that said Do not speak. Do not dare to speak a word. "I slept very well, thank you so much for the enquiry!"

"Err...yes, My Lord." Griffiths let his censorious gaze wander over Patrick's figure in the bed. "And what shall I tell the young lady?"

Why don't you tell her that she's too good for a lout like me and she could do much better, as you are obviously itching to?

"Please tell her that I shall be down directly."

"Very well, My Lord. I shall send someone down to attend to her, and send someone up to attend to your...ehem...current state."

And, before Lord Patrick could chuck his other shoe at him, Griffiths was out the door.

His Lordship had just climbed out of bed when another knock came from the door. "Sir? Mister Griffiths sent me up with fresh clothes for you."

Striding to the door, Patrick pulled it open and grabbed the clothes out of the arms of the young footman standing there.

The boy cleared his throat. "Would ye like me to 'elp ye dress, Si—"

"I can put on my own clothes, thank you very much!"

Growling, Lord Patrick slammed the door in the surprised young man's face. Not because of anything the boy had said, but because of the way he'd said it. Cockney accent. Just like he—um, just like people of abominably low social status. Why the heck couldn't servants speak grammatically correct Oxford English?

Because I live here. Because I live here.

Those words had been uttered with so much disdain.

"I'm not a pampered fool!" Lord Patrick growled. "I can put my own clothes on!"

About an hour of tenacious struggling later, he emerged from his room and strode down the stairs, to find Amy sitting in the drawing room, being plied by Mrs Morris and the other servants with tea, biscuits and more loving attention than their employer had received in the last five years put together.

"Why didn't ye tell us that we'd be 'avin' a visitor dis mornin'?" Mrs Morris admonished as she noticed Patrick's presence. "I'd 'ave prepared something special!"

Lord Patrick eyed the humongous silver platter filled with biscuits and snacks in her hands. Yes, because obviously you are so unprepared right now.

"My apologies, Mrs Morris. I had other things on my mind yesterday." Tugging at his lapels to reduce their horizontality, His Lordship turned towards Amy. Somehow managing to put a smile onto his face, he stepped forward. "Miss Amy! How lovely to see you at..." He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Six o'clock. I know I said we'd meet 'in the morning', but..."

Amy returned his smile with a beaming one of her own. As far as two-faced smiles went, Patrick had to admit, she was the master. "I wanted to surprise ye."

"Aww..." Mrs Morris clutched her hands to her heart. "Ain't dat sweet?"

"Yes. Sweet," Patrick grumbled, reaching for a butter and honey sandwich from the platter. "So incredibly sweet. Sandwich, Miss?"