Why would Greystone hire such an unsuitable man for his butler? Butlers were supposed to be quietly dignified in a manner that brought comfort to the household members.
Butlers were not supposed to smirk at guests nor allow their gazes to silently laugh while greeting newly arrived visitors.
Inside, Violet strode toward the elegant staircase that led upstairs. Even though she’d not visited in years, she was quite familiar with the house. She lifted her skirt to take a step and glanced behind her.
Was Mr. Cockfield ogling her behind? She scowled at him. No one had ogled her behind since—since… she did not know when!
He met her gaze, a blank expression on his face. She had imagined it. Of course, she had imagined it.
Simon Cockfield, the Duke of Blackheart, rubbed his fingers together, frustrated that he couldn’t use his eyepiece to present a subtle set-down to Greystone’s pretty but strait-laced cousin.
Miss Violet Faraday was as starchy as spinsters came.
He’d met her only once before, at some affair hosted by Greystone’s grandfather, and that had been years ago. But she did not remember him. No, she was far more concerned with what he’d been doing with Lucinda when the carriage had arrived.
Lady Lucinda—one of his younger twin sisters, who had only recently made her come out and who’d had her pin money lifted by a pickpocket on Bond Street earlier that day.
Miss Faraday, no doubt, had conjured all manner of nefarious reasons for him to be giving money to a young woman at her cousin’s door. The woman’s face revealed her every thought, and Simon had required a healthy dose of self-restraint to keep from laughing out loud.
Two weeks had passed since he’d begun the charade as Greystone’s butler. And although he’d been a fool to enter such a wager, making good on his loss wasn’t as troublesome as he’d first imagined.
Hopefully, he’d feel the same by the end of the Season.
He’d agreed to the bet nearly two months earlier, at a late winter house party at Westerley Crossings. Simon had wagered that his good friend, the Earl of Westerley, would have no difficulty convincing the daughter of Daniel Jackson, the visiting American Whiskey King, to marry him. Simon had bet that the earl could secure the chit’s hand within twenty-four hours of meeting her.
Who wouldn’t accept an offer from one of England’s most sought-after noblemen? Miss Jackson—that was who. The stubborn chit had kept Westerley cooling his heels for a few weeks.
Simon had lost the wager.
And the stakes? He’d been mad enough to wager his services as Greystone’s butler for the entirety of the Season if he lost. Mad with drink, that was. If he’d been sober, he never would have bet against the marquess.
Upon reaching the third-floor landing, Miss Faraday glanced back at him. Again, Simon smothered his mirth to see her looking at him so suspiciously.
“To your left, Miss Faraday.” He modulated his tone to that of his position. Her only indication that she’d heard him was a stiffening of her shoulders and an almost military pivot in the direction he’d indicated.
Not even Lydia and Lucinda’s governess had shown as much starch as Miss Faraday exhibited. He couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her niece.
“Here you are.” Simon reached around her to open the door to the Rose Room. Not that it was nearly as elegant as the name implied; it was named because the walls were painted a soft mauve color. Although the maids had prepared all of the guests’ rooms for their arrival, that had been over a week ago, and the air inside wasn’t as fresh as it ought to be.
Simon cracked one of the windows open and, crossing back to the door, made a mental note to have fresh flowers brought up. He’d send one of the footmen over to Heart Place to raid his own greenhouse.
And that reminded him of a few maintenance issues he’d been informed of earlier that required his attention there.
It went without saying that he could not, in fact, set aside his ducal responsibilities. But he was finding that with a little delegation and careful planning, he could manage two entirely different staffs and effectively fulfill all of his responsibilities. It was merely a managerial juggling act.
No matter that he rarely got four hours of sleep or that he was missing out on squiring his newly come-out sisters about town. Lucas, his younger brother, was on leave and had been more than willing to take over in that regard.
Performing required duties as both the Duke of Blackheart and Greystone’s butler was challenging, but it was also satisfying.
“Will this be to your liking, Miss Faraday?” Standing in the open doorway, Simon watched as this tightly wound woman drifted across to the window. As a spinster, she was the one category of woman he didn’t fully comprehend.
He shoved his hands into his pockets and slouched against the doorframe. Most women wouldn’t choose spinsterhood willingly. They were usually forced into it due to a deficit in looks, or finances, or both. But that was not the case with Miss Faraday. As Greystone’s cousin, she would have had a substantial dowry. And although her chignon was too tight and the collar of her dress too high, anyone could see that she was an attractive woman.
And, if he remembered correctly, as a young girl, she’d been quite a delight—until she’d lost her fiancé.
Fate had not been kind to Miss Violet Faraday.
In addition to the apparent drawbacks of spinsterhood, Simon supposed, there must be certain benefits. At the moment, however, he couldn’t imagine what those might be.
