“Your lordship?”
“Send one of the grooms to collect this child. What’s your name,boy?”
“Sparra, yer lordship,” said the urchin, much awed. “Beggin‘ yer pardonif’n I bin rude, yer lordship.”
“Don’t start to toad-eat, little bird,” said the swell as he turnedaway “It’s the one thing I will not stand for.”
Then he ran up the steps again, followed by his herd of friends. Thebig doors shut again on the light.
Sparra wondered whether to make himself scarce, forget about thegoldfinch. Dukes, lords ? such types didn’t shine right for kids fromFigger’s Lane.
Before he could decide, a sturdy boy some years his senior came up thebasement stairs.
“You the one as is to be taken in?” he asked with greatsuperiority.
“Yus,” muttered Sparra.
The older boy looked him over, then his face relaxed a bit. “Never knowwhat’s next with Arden. Don’t look so nervous, lad. It’s a good house,even when the duke’s here and we have to watch it. Come on then.”
As they went down the stairs towards the warm lights of the kitchen,Sparra asked, “If this is the duke’s ‘ouse, ’ow come the young’un canbring me in?”
“ ‘Cause he’s his son. One day this’ll all be his anyway. That’s not tosay he won’t catch it for creating such a stir in the street. The duke’sthe only one Arden looks out for.”
Even at this late hour Belcraven House was ready for unexpected guests,both above and below stairs. As the French chef whipped together a hastygourmet meal for the duke, he served up a bowl of soup and a slab of breadcovered with thick butter to Sparra, though Sparra was forced to sit onthe floor in the scullery to eat it. After one horrified glance, the chefhad banished the ragamuffin boy from the kitchen.
Sparra didn’t much care. This was as close to heaven as he couldremember. As he slurped up the rich soup with whole chunks of meat in it,he wondered if there was anything he could do to save his benefactor fromtomorrow’s reckoning. He was still pondering this when he rolled himselfin two dry blankets and settled down in a cozy corner of the stables. Hewas soon asleep, comfortable and well-fed for the first time since hismother died.
The next morning the marquess awoke with a sense of resignation insteadof his usual zest for life. Whatever his father’s reason for thisunannounced visit to Town it augured poorly for himself. As his valetshaved him, Arden wondered why he could never get along with his father.He admired him tremendously, but whenever they were together they werelike flint and steel. The slightest tinder and a conflagration wouldresult.
It was damnable luck that the duke had turned up during a scene. LordDarius Debenham ? commonly called Dare ? had laid a monkey that themarquess couldn’t make it to Drury Lane and back with Blanche’shandkerchief before midnight. The marquess never refused a bet. Thatblasted man’s horse had been none the worse for the experience. Probablynever had a good run before.
That reminded him.
“Hughes, how’s that boy?” he asked, as he began to arrange a blackcravat around his high collar. It should suit the mood of the day.
“He seems very happy with his situation, milord,” said the valet. “Infact, if I may be so bold, it would be harsh to return him to his previousexistence after showing him a taste of a reasonable life.”
The marquess lowered his neck carefully to produce the correct creasesfor a Mathematical. “The devil you say. What the hell am I supposed to dowith him?”
“I’m sure some position could be found, milord. The staff find himquite bearable, given his upbringing. Didn’t complain much at having abath, said please and thank you, and asked what he could do to help.”
“A regular little gentleman, in fact. Oh well, I’ll think about itafter I’ve seen my father.”
The marquess was eased into his dark blue jacket and stood before themirror to consider the effect. “Think it’ll turn my father up sweet?” heasked Hughes dryly.
“Any father would be proud of such a son,” said Hughes and indeed, hethought, it was true.
The marquess had his father’s height ? over six feet but with moremuscle than the duke. Not a heavy man but broad in the shoulders and withthe strong legs of a bruising rider. And of course he had his mother’slooks in a masculine way ? the fine lines of the bones and a curve on hismouth a girl would envy. He had the duchess’s golden curls, too.
The marquess was a delight to dress. His fawn pantaloons showed off hislegs a treat and the blue superfine jacket was creaseless across hisstraight shoulders. The ivory silk waistcoat and three fobs was just theright touch. Yes., the duke would find nothing at which to cavil.
Whatever Hughes’s opinion, the marquess found no approval on the duke’sface when he presented himself in his father’s study. The duke and theduchess kept separate suites in the house, and these rooms were alwaysprepared for their occasional visits. The rest of the house was given overto their son’s use.
The duke was seated in a wing chair by the fireplace.
“Good morning, sir,” said the marquess, trying to read his father. Hedid not presume to take a seat.
The duke looked his son up and down, and though the marquess knew hewas perfectly turned out, he was made to feel grubby.
