Affair of Pretense

Twenty-three

"Quite an undue imposition, my lord, that your groom, Browning, should leave in such short notice," remarked Connor as he cleared Lord Denver's breakfast table. "As he had not been perfectly clear if his departure would warrant an immediate return, would his lordship want me to hire someone else to fill the position?"

Denver looked up from his correspondence with a heavy frown between his brow. "I was not aware! Did you say he went back home to nurse a sick relative?"

"So I was informed, my lord," said Connor with a touch of disapprobation. "However, I would scarcely be surprised if it was due to something else entirely. But summer months are approaching and I daresay you may want to travel in the course of those months?"

Denver carefully folded the missive. "Yes, of course," he replied, somewhat distractedly. "I might come down to Stanfield at some point."

"Stanfield, my lord?"

His lordship sipped his coffee. "Yes, you heard it right: Stanfield. Although I am not sure why you need to sound quite surprised?"

The butler maintained a bland countenance. "Nothing of that kind, my lord. I do hope the Duke has been in good health?"

"Oh, he damn well should be, if he could be put to the trouble of writing a long letter riddled with imperious demands and unsolicited opinions."

"His grace must be looking forward to Miss Devilliers to come down and visit him again."

Denver returned a mechanical answer.

Connor bowed and went out of the room. Having accustomed himself to the exactness of routine with which his day had consisted, there wasn't any hurdle in household matters that would prove quite beyond the retainer's capabilities. This, of course, included servants who either fell ill or injured themselves or had gone wayward as not to report to duty. It had always been burdensome, but Connor made sure that the Marquis' household was everything that it should be, despite the shortage of hand on some occasion.

Consigning the laden tray to the scullery, he came up to the front of the house again, inspecting dust and cobwebs that might likely be suspended on furniture and on every nook and cranny of the house. It was at this point when an incessant knock on the front door assailed his ears, and the unwelcome sound just before nine o'clock in the morning, when civilized members of Polite Society should still be abed, was downright obnoxious. A footman hurried towards the door but was forestalled by Connor, who declared, very precisely, that the repellent visitor should be called for attention, and that no one could do it other than himself.

Summoning as much dignity as disdain, the butler threw the door open, ready to lend some piece of his mind on the impropriety of disruption—for he could not describe it as anything else!—on somebody else's home in such an unorthodox hour in the morning to the unknown. He was little prepared, however, at the sight of Miss Devilliers' disconcerted countenance and a very slight youth who, upon cursory inspection, would have been better suited to enter through the back door. "Miss Georgie! Why, what's the matter?" the butler said faintly.

"I am sure you find this a trifle irregular, Connor; pray, excuse me! But is my cousin about? Oh, I hope he does, for I have the gravest need to talk to him!"

"Of course!" said Connor, still a little confused, and opening the door to let them enter into the hall. " But—if I might ask, ma'am—for I find the situation a little bewildering—! This young person, I assume, is an — an acquaintance of yours?"

Georgie cast an uncertain glance at her companion, who was in the process of taking in his surroundings with a gaping mouth. "Yes! Yes, indeed!" she said. "In fact, we met yesterday, and it was on his account that I need to speak with Lord Denver."