A Not So Respectable Gentleman? by Diane Gaston Page B

deep breath, she knocked.
    Mr Walker opened the door. ‘Miss Jenkins.’
    She curtsied, although she thought maybe she should not have, because he was a valet. ‘Miss Covendale sent me with a note. Is—is Mr Fitzmanning at home? I must give it to him.’
    Mr Walker’s surprised expression remained fixed on his face. ‘He is not at home—’
    ‘Oh, no!’ What was she to do? ‘I am supposed to give the note to him.’
    The man froze for a moment, then collected himself. ‘Please come in, Miss Jenkins.’
    She entered into a small foyer that led directly to a sitting room. The room had nice chairs and sofas and tables—nicer than she’d grown up with—but it did not have any decorations, except a mantel clock.
    ‘Do be seated.’ Mr Walker extended his hand towards the sitting room.
    She did not know if she should or not. ‘Will Mr Fitzmanning return soon?’
    ‘I do not know.’ His face had that sad look again. ‘You may wait for him if you wish.’
    She nodded and sat in one of the chairs as if she were the gentleman’s invited guest. She patted her pocket, reassuring herself that her precious note was still there. ‘I did not expect you to open the door.’
    His forehead creased. ‘You did not?’
    ‘Mr Covendale’s valet would think it beneath him to open the door.’
    He glanced away.
    She feared she had injured his feelings. ‘He is a very snooty man, though.’
    He almost smiled and it made her heart skip beats. He stared at her as he had the day before and she fixed her gaze on her hands.
    Just when she thought she would die from her discomfort, he asked, ‘May I bring you some refreshment? Tea...or something?’
    ‘Me?’ She glanced up. ‘Wouldn’t Mr Fitzmanning think it improper?’
    He laughed. ‘Fitz would not care.’
    ‘You call your gentleman Fitz? He’s your employer!’
    He shrugged. ‘It is an unusual situation.’
    She scrutinised him. ‘Where are you from, Mr Walker? You do not talk like you look.’
    He lowered his head. ‘I owe that to Fitzmanning. He taught me to read and made me desire to improve myself in all ways.’
    She did not know what to say to that. It was to his credit, surely.
    He glanced away again and was silent. Penny examined the walls, as if there was something to see hung on them.
    Finally Mr Walker spoke again. ‘Is the note about a meeting with Kellford?’
    She nodded. ‘I must give it to Mr Fitzmanning today, because it says the meeting time is tomorrow morning.’
    ‘Tomorrow morning?’ His brows rose. ‘Not much time.’ He rubbed his chin, then quickly composed himself again as if the gesture had been too unseemly. ‘You may leave the note with me, Miss Jenkins. I will make certain Fitz sees it.’
    There was a knock on the door.
    ‘Has he come?’ She jumped to her feet.
    Mr Walker rose more slowly. ‘He would not knock.’
    He crossed the room to the foyer and opened the door.
    Penny heard a woman’s voice say, ‘Good day, Mr Walker. Is Leo at home? We have brought him something.’ The woman did not wait for a reply but walked straight in, followed by a gentleman carrying two large, flat packages.
    The woman—a very pretty lady—stopped suddenly when she spied Penny. Her brows rose.
    Mr Walker closed the door. ‘Mr Fitzmanning is not at home.’
    The lady’s eyes remained fixed on Penny. ‘Oh?’ She turned to Mr Walker. ‘Do you remember me, Walker? I am Leo’s sister, Mrs Milford.’ She gestured to the gentleman toting the packages. ‘Mr Milford.’ She turned back to Penny. ‘Who is this?’
    Penny executed a quick curtsy. ‘I am nobody, ma’am. Merely delivering a note from...someone.’
    Walker approached. ‘I was about to take the note from the miss, ma’am.’
    Penny gave it to him and looked up into his eyes. ‘You will see to it?’
    ‘I will indeed.’ His voice lowered just a bit and his eyes—very nice eyes, actually—were quite reassuring.
    ‘Well.’ Mrs Milford untied the string around the brown-paper