“Yes, my lord,” Mrs. Beasley said, dipping into a curtsy. “I will be more than happy to consult Lady Anglesey with the rest of my concerns.”
There were more? Poor Izzy. Best for her to rest so she would have enough energy to tackle the many problems awaiting her. After the rigors of travel, she had retired to her chamber for a nap upon their arrival. And after their second lovemaking session in the carriage, he had no doubt she needed some slumber. He had to tamp down his self-satisfied smile as he took his leave of the housekeeper. Despite the massive challenges of restoring Barlowe Park awaiting him, Zachary had a great deal to be thankful for. Not the least of which was having a wife who was as deliciously insatiable as he was.
But now was not the time to dwell on lovemaking, lest he be tempted to seek Izzy out in her rooms and entice her into more wickedness. He needed to speak with Potter directly, to decide upon a situation that would be amenable to him, for it was apparent that a man of his age could no longer be burdened with all the tasks that went along with being a butler.
He ventured to his study—itself another chamber in desperate need of refurbishing—and presently Potter joined him. Thankfully, there was nary a shotgun or blunderbuss in sight as the retainer ventured into the room. His white hair was neatly combed today, but he was leaning heavily on a cane, with a bundle of what appeared to be letters tucked beneath his arm.
“My lord,” the butler greeted him with a somber bow. “Forgive me. I had not realized you had returned, or I would have been where I belonged to give a proper welcome home to you and the countess.”
“You need not concern yourself,” he said, enunciating with care as he took note that the butler was not wearing his ear trumpets. “I wished to speak with you about your position here.”
The butler frowned. “You want to speak to me about an opposition pear?”
Christ.
“About your position here,” he repeated louder. “Your service at Barlowe Park is greatly appreciated, but perhaps it is time you might retire, given your advanced age. I would like to make certain you have whatever you need to make your life as comfortable as possible.”
“Barlowe Parkismy life, my lord,” the butler countered. “Being the butler here is an honor.”
Of course. He should have known Potter would have such a response.
“Perhaps you might consider training one of the footmen,” he suggested next.
“Perhaps,” Potter allowed grudgingly. “The mettle of our younger generations is woefully lacking. I doubt I can find any worth his salt.”
“Finding trustworthy and loyal retainers is indeed difficult,” he agreed, hoping he could persuade the butler. “Which is why I trust your judgment implicitly. No one knows Barlowe Park better than you.”
Potter bowed his head, still leaning heavily on his cane. “Do you wish for me to go because of Mr. Ridgely? If you do, I will understand. I should have known he was misusing funds, and I shall regret not having made the discovery myself to my dying day.”
“My brother himself did not notice,” Zachary reassured the butler. “Not in years.”
“There was a great deal his lordship did not notice.” Grimly, Potter withdrew the stack of letters, which had been bound with a ribbon, and held them out to Zachary. “I should have told you sooner, and I would have, had I known what else Mr. Ridgely was about. As it was, I felt it was not my concern.”
He took the letters, recognizing instantly the flourishes and loops of the handwriting as belonging to Beatrice. But the salutation on the first letter gave him pause.
My darling Robert.
Then there was the date. 1881. The missives were five years old. And who the devil was Robert?
“I found these some time ago,” Potter was saying, frowning. “A year ago, I believe. Or perhaps it was more. Was it three? They were inadvertently left here by Mr. Ridgely.”
“Thank you,” he said hoarsely, an eerie feeling settling over him, the heaviness of dread and something else, too.
“Your family secrets are safe with me, my lord,” Potter added. “Please, my lord. I beg you…let an old man remain here a little while longer. I promise I will not cause any further trouble if that is what you fear.”
Hell.How was he to deny Potter, a man who had lived his entire life here on the estate, working his way through the ranks until he had occupied the highest position?
“You will always be welcome here,” he reassured the butler. “Barlowe Park is your home as much as it is mine.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Potter said, tears glistening in his eyes and one slipping down his cheek before he dashed it away with the back of one trembling hand. “You will not regret it.”
He felt the surprising prick of tears in his own eyes and forced himself to remain stoic. He had not realized how much Barlowe Park and his position as butler would mean to Potter. As long as there was no more shooting of mice in the butler’s pantry, what would be the harm in allowing the butler to remain on, just for a while longer?
“That will be all for now, Potter,” he said gently. “You may go.”
“What may I know?” the butler asked, looking perplexed.
Damn it, he had forgotten to bellow that time.
