“Nor can you change yours, which is to stir up trouble wherever you can.”
“A valet must have some amusement.”
“Well, amuse yourself by helping me out of these clothes before that bath water is quite cold, you irredeemable scoundrel.”
“Yes, sir. At once, sir. Shall I scrub your back, sir?”
Lance only laughed at him.
***
Georgie enjoyed her first glimpse of the newcomer when he entered the White Drawing Room before dinner. He was immaculately arrayed in silk knee breeches, a complicated neckcloth arrangement secured with a gold pin and a coat that was so well-fitted, she could not imagine how he had wrestled himself into it. He was a fine fellow indeed, although he displayed no awareness of it.
He had arrived early, but most of the household was there before him. The duchess took charge of him, introducing him to the duke’s heir, Richard Merrington, and his wife Rowena, then to Richard’s mother and his three sisters. Mr Chamberlain looked bemused as he bowed to each in turn. So many young women! It was as well the youngest of them had recently married and was not at home just then, or the poor man’s brain might melt.
The Miss Merringtons had lately taken to wearing coloured ribbons as a way of distinguishing themselves, for although they were not identical, there was enough similarity of form and feature to confuse the unwary. Charlotte, the eldest, wore blue, Augusta pink and Maria white. The absent youngest sister, Sophia, had been assigned yellow ribbons, although how much difference it made was more than Georgie could tell.
She stayed in her corner with her embroidery. She would be the last to be introduced, that she understood. Now Cousin Hester had arrived to meet Mr Chamberlain, apologising for being too preoccupied with the jam making to see him earlier. Hester’s cousinship was of a complicated variety, and as the poor relation, now slipping into her middle years, she managed the household for the duke. Mr Chamberlain looked bemused, trying, no doubt, to work out just how she was related to the duke.
Fortunately, the duke came in just then, relieving him of the struggle.
“Chamberlain!” the duke boomed, effectively silencing the room. “Knew a Chamberlain once… from Surrey. Baronet. Any relation?”
“My father is Sir Bradley Chamberlain, your grace. He lives near Ewell in Surrey.”
“Ah!” His craggy face lit up with a smile. “Then your mother is Gwendoline. She was a lovely lady.”
“She still is, sir, in my opinion.”
“Then she is still in the world? Excellent. Keeps well, does she?”
“Perfectly well, apart from the usual minor inconveniences of age.”
The duke laughed. “Minor, eh? See how minor you think them when you are my age, boy. But give her my best regardswhen next you write to her, will you? Not seen her for years, but I have fond memories of her.”
“I will, sir.”
Mr Chamberlain moved off with the duke to the far side of the room, where the male trio of secretary, comptroller and chaplain were gathered.
Charlotte, Maria and Augusta fluttered across to Georgie and sat around her.
“Is he not a wonderful addition to our gathering?” Charlotte said.
“And single!” hissed Augusta.
“Is it not fortunate?” said Maria.
“I should not raise your hopes too high, if I were you,” Georgie said. “He may not stay long.”
“Oh, but the duke is sure to invite him to stay on,” Charlotte said.
“He is to paint Rowena, and who could deny that she will make a glorious subject?” Augusta said.
“Besides — Mr Goodenough sent him,” Maria said triumphantly.
They all turned to stare at her.
“Do you not see it?” she went on. “First he sent Rowena, and the duke saw the likeness to his first wife and allowed her to stay, and of course she married our dear Richard. And then he sent Mr Payne to design the orangery, and the duke liked his design and—”
