“I’m not leaving you. You need me to watch over you and ensure your neckties are tied ‘just so.’”
Bram stared at his friend. “Good God, in all the time I’ve known you, you’ve never made a joke. Clearly my brother’s household staff are rubbing off on you. I spent some time with them in my youth, and they are a hilarious bunch.”
Mungo grunted again as Bram got out of bed and went to the window.
“It is a beautiful estate, Mr. Nightingale.”
“I know you must call me that here, and yet for four years it was Bram. It will take some getting used to.”
“As will most things,” Mungo added.
The grounds of his family home were spectacular and rigidly controlled by a team of gardeners. His mother did not tolerate weeds, and as she lived here year-round and ensured it stayed as it should for her son, the viscount, it was in pristine condition. Paths raked, flowers uniform, and the water in the fountain crystal clear.
“Your bath will get cold.”
“We have bathed in streams that were nearly frozen. I don’t think a cooling bath will worry me overmuch.”
He moved to the sitting room and stripped off his nightshirt. The water felt good, as did the shave Mungo gave him. When he was done, he dressed in the clothes of a gentleman, something he was once again getting used to.
“Don’t tug it into a knot, Mungo,” Bram said as his friend struggled with his necktie. “Here, let me show you again.”
“I met your brother’s butler, Dudley. He is a good man.” Mungo’s broad face wore the lines of a long life already at the age of forty.
“He is, considering his employer is a snooty sod.” Bram folded the necktie perfectly while Mungo watched.
“If you can do it, why do I need to?”
“Because it is done this way in England,” Bram said. “Now, go and get my jacket and help me into it.”
Mungo muttered that he was fairly sure Bram could dress himself but did as he was asked.
“I met two other butlers belowstairs, both nice men,” Mungo said.
“Excellent, but I think it’s likely they are footmen. There is only one butler.”
Mungo waved his words away. “I asked them for some lessons. They said they would assist me.”
Bram was fairly sure the footmen would be having a laugh at Mungo’s expense. He cared little about what people thought of him, but Bram would not have Mungo insulted.
“Do not under any circumstance put up with anything from anyone. If they insult you, I don’t want you to fight. Walk away and tell me. We are not roaming free now, Mungo. English society has so many rules and regulations, it could be a parliament.”
“I am not a fool.” He scowled. “I know about society. My aunt was married to a viscount.”
Bram looked at his friend in shock. “We traveled for years, and you never told me this.”
Mungo shrugged his massive shoulders. “It is of no consequence.”
Bram could debate this, but as he had received word that he must be in the dining parlor for the morning meal at a set time to greet his mother and other relations, he felt he better not do so now. But he would later.
“Try not to get into trouble,” he added, heading to the door. He missed his friend’s reply as he walked through it, closing the door behind him.
He took the stairs down feeling a mix of emotions. He would see his mother again, which would be nice, but no more than that. They were not close, as all her attention was usually focused on Malcolm, the heir.
The stairs had new carpet, and he noted the outline where the Vermeer had hung on the wall above him. Bram wondered if it was being cleaned. He reacquainted himself with the decor and the banister he’d spent his youth sliding down when no one was looking.
The rumble of voices grew louder as he approached the parlor where the other guests were eating their morning meal.
“Mr. Bramstone.” His family butler walked through the open door and greeted him with a bow. “It is wonderful to see you home with us again.”
