“Naturally, he was; you paid him two pounds!”
“And it was very well deserved.”
“And then a further crown, on account, for future favours!”
Goodness, Pritchard had been busy.Rollo shot him an evil look, though in having his financial transactions laid out so bluntly, his bravura hung by a thread.
“At risk of repeating myself,” Rollo ploughed on, “I considered it money well spent.Ellis has several strings to his bow.”
“Evidently.”
His father’s fine blond brows knit together.The line between standing up for himself and cheeking Papa was a fine one; Rollo had a sneaking suspicion he might have tiptoed across it.
“Darling Rollo,” began his father, a layer of frost coating each syllable.“For all I care, our stable boy could have the whole string section of London’s prestigious Philharmonic Society tucked behind the fall of his breeches.And you could have twanged every single instrument.”
Rollo had been on his knees attempting exactly that until he’d been discovered by the second groom, who’d blabbed to the head groom, who’d gone tittle-tattling to Pritchard.
“Nevertheless, as you are well aware, there is nothing I detest more than fortunate, well-heeled members of society taking advantage of those in their employ.”With an irritable flick of his hand, Papa waved away Rollo’s attempt to defend his actions.“That Ellis was willing is an irrelevance.You placed the man in a devilishly awkward position, and I simply will not tolerate it.Have I made myself crystal clear?”
“Yes, Papa,” he replied meekly.“Sorry, Papa.”
“And so you should be.”
Yet to be mollified, his father folded his arms and began pacing in front of the fireplace.“The simple truth remains.Our loyal servants are out of bounds.I distinctly recall this being made perfectly clear to you when you returned from Eton last year.Did I not?”
Rollo hung his head.“Yes, Papa.”
“If it had been your first demeanour and you had been totally in the dark, then, of course, I would instruct you on how a Duchamps-Avery should behave.It would be remiss of me not to.But, as it is, the fact that you stand here, arguing the point after all I’ve…”
Ahhh, to begin the day with one of Papa’s sweet lectures.Rollo didn’t need to tune in for the rest.He knew how things ran.Their disputes were well rehearsed operatic duets, composed of increasing exasperation on Papa’s part, Rollo feigning abject apology, a discourse on how a Duchamps-Avery should conduct themselves, ending with a loving embrace and a promise to do better.As usual, Pritchard and Kit had been making a fuss over nothing.Rollo would bow his head a few times, continue to appear suitably repentant, and ride this one out.
Content in the sure knowledge he was loved, Rollo’s thoughts drifted.In a few moments, Papa would fizzle out and decree his penance.Idly, Rollo wondered what it might be.Papa was nothing if not creative.Over the years, Rollo’s punishments had ranged from counting all the earwigs in the orangery (aged five, he was discovered hiding in the coal cellar after two hours of searching) to scrubbing the scullery steps with a toothbrush (for convincing his twin brother, Willoughby, that eating crushed pinecones would allow him to see better in the dark).Willoughby casting up his accounts the next morning during the church sermon aside, some of Rollo’s so-called punishments had turned into rather good fun.Like the time he was consigned to digging over the vegetable patch and unearthed an adder, which had slithered over Pritchard’s foot.
“To that end, Rollo, it is high time you had a firmer hand.My own father, rest his soul, oft quoted that a rose bush must be heavily pruned in order to produce the best blooms.And, on this occasion, I believe he was speaking with the weight of wisdom.Don’t you agree?”
Papa’s lecture appeared to have taken a horticultural detour.“Er…yes?”
“Excellent.”His father clapped his hands.“Therefore, Dobson will accompany you when you depart for your trip to Norfolk this afternoon, see you safely settled in, and return to collect you in three months’ time.”
“D-Dobson will…what?”Rollo’s happy flights of reminiscence screeched to a halt.Did…did he…did…?“Sorry, Papa, I must have misheard.Did you just say Dobson’s accompanying me toNorfolk?”
“Got it in one, darling.You are clever.To Goule Hall, to be precise.On the edge of the Broads, between some hellish backwater named Stokesby and another provincial bog going by the name of Wroxham, I believe.A delightful, if not a tad isolated, property belonging to the Ashington estate.The duke’s twin brother, Lord Lyndon Fitzsimmons, remains in residence after spending an enforced period of seclusion there a couple of years ago, whilst he…ah…reflected on several episodes of…ah…poor behaviour in and around theton.I shall spare you the details.Suffice to say that in comparison, dear boy, your antics are those of a rank amateur.”
This Lord Lyndon Fitz-something-or-other could have kidnapped the moon from under the noses of the sun and the stars for all that Rollo cared.“And this…this Goule Hall is in Norfolk?”he clarified, aghast.Perhaps, somehow, his father was confusing Norfolk with Mayfair.
Alas, no.
“Unless the hall has been excavated and deposited elsewhere since the duke and I corresponded less than a week ago, then yes.”
“And Willoughby is coming too,” Rollo decreed, praying if he said it with enough confidence, that would somehow make it true.
His father shook his head.“On the contrary.Willoughby will be travelling to London with me.I plan to use the time you are apart to begin schooling your brother in the rudiments of my business affairs.”He flashed Rollo an evil little smile very much like Rollo’s own, displaying all of his sharp pointed teeth.“And perhaps take the opportunity to do some shopping, pay a visit to my tailor, and so forth.”
Ugh.That was a low blow.Rollo didn’t give two hoots for learning about business.Willoughby would inherit the title and all that nonsense, anyhow.But how he adored their family shopping expeditions!Much more than Willoughby ever did.
Pritchard made an odd noise, quickly covering his mouth with his hand.Knowing the blasted valet, the whole thing had been his bloody idea.He’d always enjoyed having the earl to himself.Rollo would have said so, too, if every ounce of his not inconsiderable intelligence wasn’t fixated on desperately seeking a way out of the barren wasteland now known as his immediate future.Because, from where he was sitting, Norfolk already seemed horribly like a fait accompli.Three months.Threesummermonths.Stuck with a dull, ancient lord, in a draughty old hall in the middle of effing nowhere.They might as well just shoot him with a musket ball now and be done with it.
He tried one last time.“Ha ha, very funny.But…really, Papa?Norfolk?Cold, flat, windy Norfolk?Even Bonaparte wasn’t exiled toNorfolk!”
