Rhys accepted yet another new mug of ale from the barmaid and flipped a coin into the air for her tip. He gave her a flirtatious grin before turning his attention back to the conversation. “I, for one, am so interested in seeing such a situation play out, not only will I attend to watch the spectacle, I will also settle a large sum on the outcome as to whether you two can pull this off. Care to bet me?” He gave them both his most competitive stare.
Bell rolled his eyes. “Everything’s a bet with you, Worth.”
“Perhaps, but you must admit, this is a particularly tempting bet.” Rhys lifted his chin toward the marquess. “Five hundred pounds say you are both outed by a keen-eyed mama within a sennight.”
“I’ll take that bet!” Clayton declared, pointing a finger in the air. “You’ll be attending as a guest, I presume, Worthington.”
Kendall’s snort of laughter interrupted Rhys’s reply. “Of course, he’s attending as a guest. Our mate Worth here couldneverpass for a footman.” He shook his head sympathetically toward the duke. “You couldn’t last one night serving others, I’m afraid.”
Rhys gathered himself up and straightened his shoulders. “I take offense to that. If you two sops can do it, surely I can.”
Clayton blew air into his cheeks and shook his head, not quite meeting Rhys’s gaze. “Hmm. I’m not exactly certain I agree with that, old chap.”
Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his friend. “You truly don’t think I could do it?”
“No,” Clayton admitted, looking slightly sheepish. “Not if you actually have to fill the role of a servant and do real chores. No.”
Rhys’s gaze swung to Bell. “You don’t think I can do it either?” Was this truly what his friends thought of him? He knew he had a reputation to live down, but they didn’t think him capable of working as a servant for so much as a fortnight?
Bell shook his head. “Not a chance. Apologies, Your Grace, but you’re far too used to being waited upon to wait on anyone else.”
“But that’s how I know how to do it properly,” Rhys shot back, entirely disgruntled.
Kendall snorted. “I’m afraid seeing one serve and actuallyservingare two entirely different things.”
Rhys’s eyes widened.That hypocrite. “You’re a bloody earl for Christ’s sake. Why do you thinkyoucan serve?”
“I may be an earl but I’m no stranger to hard work. I spent years in the Navy doing chores like picking oakum and deworming hardtack. And those two tasks were pleasant compared to some of my other tasks,” Kendall replied.
Rhys slapped a palm on the tabletop. The mugs bounced. “Fine. Onethousandpounds says I can make it through the entire fortnight as a servant too. Or at least I can last longer than either of you.”
“Now who is being mad?” Clayton asked, waggling his eyebrows at Rhys.
“I’m quite serious.” Rhys’s jaw was locked. If he was anything, he was competitive, and he was never more competitive than when someone believed hecouldn’tdo something. The thought incensed him. He’d win this bet if it was the last thing he did. “One thousandpounds, gentlemen. Who will take the bet?”
“I will,” all three called in unison.
CHAPTER ONE
Viscount Clayton’s Country Estate,
Devon, August 1814
Thank Christ he’d finally escaped the house. Mrs. Cotswold, Clayton’s housekeeper, could be a frightening woman when she chose to be, and it appeared that she chose to be a great deal of the time.
The older woman had been tasked with ensuring the three noblemen were fit to serve in Clayton’s household. She’d begun their training in London and had continued it here in the countryside. If Rhys had had any idea of the kind of strict discipline and watchful eye he’d be under while pretending to be a servant, he might not have been so quick to join the ‘experiment’ (as Clayton liked to call it). But he’d made his bet, and he never backed down from a bet, Mrs. Cotswold or no. Besides, the kind of money Rhys had riding onthisparticular bet meant he couldn’t back down even if Medusa herself was employed as Clayton’s housekeeper.
They’d even named their little experiment.The Footmen’s Club. Kendall had come up with it. It had a nice ring to it, only they weren’t all going to be footmen. While being fitted for their livery back in London, Rhys had announced to his friends that he intended to be a groomsman instead. Kendall had initially balked at the idea, until Bell had informed him thatheintended to be a valet. Apparently, valeting would put the marquess in closer proximity to the men he needed to watch.
If Bell could be a valet, then Rhys could be a groomsman. Kendall had grudgingly agreed. Besides, it was only sporting of them to allow Rhys to try his hand at service in the one role he might actually be good at. Horses and stables had long been his favorite place at any estate. And Clayton’s stables were particularly fine.
Rhys had had enough of Mrs. Cotswold’s harping, however, and finally escaped to the stables to work with his direct supervisor, one Mr. Hereford, the stablemaster.
Rhys was wandering around, wearing his new livery, carrying the bag in which he’d stuffed his clothing and a few necessities, when Mr. Hereford found him.
“Mr. Worthy, I presume?” The older man stepped forward and offered a handshake.
“That’s the name for the moment,” Rhys replied with a chuckle, offering his own hand.
