gossip at all the balls and dinners? Do you know what must be done?”
“No, Basil, neither I nor Effney know what must be done.”
“Your son’s action could cost us this contract, dear brother. In fact, I’m certain of it. That contract is the only reason we have His Grace here!”
The Baron sighed. “I can’t think of a remedy, Basil.”
“
I
will think of one!”
The Earl called on Sir Everard Fawkner in his room. Fawkner asked his valet, who was unpacking his employer’s trunks, to step out of the room.
When the door was shut, Basil Kenrick wrung his hands. “Please convey my humblest and most urgent apologies to His Grace, Sir Everard.”
Fawkner removed his wig and propped it on the bedpost. “Who
was
that boy?” he asked.
The Earl took a deep breath, then said, “It was my nephew, Hugh.”
Fawkner barked once in amusement. “Oh! Well, that’s awkward! I suppose we couldn’t ask you to flog him and terminate his employment!” He paused and grinned at the anxiety he saw in the Earl’s eyes. “Well, Lord Basil, something must be done, some gesture must be made. A mere apology won’t do. His Grace must be offered a substantial demonstration of regret.”
“Yes, I realize that.”
“You must let me know what form that demonstration will take, Lord Basil, before His Grace can dine with you this evening. Before you leave this room, in point of fact. Otherwise, he will take his dinner in private, inhis quarters.”
The Earl went to a window and gazed out. He did not wish Fawkner to see the raging anger in his face. “I could flay that boy!” he exclaimed.
“Ah!” said Fawkner. “There’s a solution! Whip him. A hundred whacks with a cane!”
The Earl turned in genuine astonishment. “Sir Everard! This is not the
army
!”
“Nor the navy,” chuckled the secretary. Fawkner looked pensive. “Well, let us reconsider an apology, Lord Basil. Written in the boy’s own hand, and read by him to His Grace—in the company of some of those who witnessed the error. That would satisfy His Grace and heal his wounded dignity—and the incident will be forgotten.”
Basil Kenrick blinked. It was a simple enough remedy, but he could not imagine his nephew apologizing to the Duke. His knowledge of the boy made him doubt the likelihood. Something about Hugh forbade the scenario from ever taking place. He said, tentatively, trying to sound as though it were a mere rhetorical question, “And if an apology proves…infeasible, what may be accepted in its stead?”
Fawkner clucked his tongue and sighed. “Forty strokes with a birch rod,” he said. “Or with a cane. It matters not which. No, wait! We’ll be inventive
and
merciful at the same time! Thirty-one strokes! One for each of His Grace’s years! He’ll appreciate that!” He paused to smile at the Earl. “Witnessed by me, of course. And then I must have the rod to present to His Grace as proof of his avenged dignity—and the incident will be forgotten. But—such a drastic measure, I’m sure, need not be resorted to. A brief apology will do. The boy must compose it himself, and present it without assistance from his parents. Are we agreed on these details?”
The Earl nodded and walked to the door. “I will go now and explain the situation to my brother.”
Fawkner shrugged and began unlacing his shirt. “And when all this is past, Lord Basil, we might discuss the terms of this
wool
business. After dinner tonight. Can you have a plate of something sent up now? I’m famished!”
* * *
Basil Kenrick stood in the middle of his bedchamber while one valet dressed him in an afternoon frock coat, and another busily combed andpowdered a wig at the dressing table. “Send for my broth…Send for the Baron, Clayborne. I wish to see him immediately.” The valet gave one last smart tug at a sleeve, and went to the fireplace to pull on a tasseled velvet rope beside it.
Minutes later Garnet Kenrick appeared in the vestibule of the
“No, Basil, neither I nor Effney know what must be done.”
“Your son’s action could cost us this contract, dear brother. In fact, I’m certain of it. That contract is the only reason we have His Grace here!”
The Baron sighed. “I can’t think of a remedy, Basil.”
“
I
will think of one!”
The Earl called on Sir Everard Fawkner in his room. Fawkner asked his valet, who was unpacking his employer’s trunks, to step out of the room.
When the door was shut, Basil Kenrick wrung his hands. “Please convey my humblest and most urgent apologies to His Grace, Sir Everard.”
Fawkner removed his wig and propped it on the bedpost. “Who
was
that boy?” he asked.
The Earl took a deep breath, then said, “It was my nephew, Hugh.”
Fawkner barked once in amusement. “Oh! Well, that’s awkward! I suppose we couldn’t ask you to flog him and terminate his employment!” He paused and grinned at the anxiety he saw in the Earl’s eyes. “Well, Lord Basil, something must be done, some gesture must be made. A mere apology won’t do. His Grace must be offered a substantial demonstration of regret.”
“Yes, I realize that.”
“You must let me know what form that demonstration will take, Lord Basil, before His Grace can dine with you this evening. Before you leave this room, in point of fact. Otherwise, he will take his dinner in private, inhis quarters.”
The Earl went to a window and gazed out. He did not wish Fawkner to see the raging anger in his face. “I could flay that boy!” he exclaimed.
“Ah!” said Fawkner. “There’s a solution! Whip him. A hundred whacks with a cane!”
The Earl turned in genuine astonishment. “Sir Everard! This is not the
army
!”
“Nor the navy,” chuckled the secretary. Fawkner looked pensive. “Well, let us reconsider an apology, Lord Basil. Written in the boy’s own hand, and read by him to His Grace—in the company of some of those who witnessed the error. That would satisfy His Grace and heal his wounded dignity—and the incident will be forgotten.”
Basil Kenrick blinked. It was a simple enough remedy, but he could not imagine his nephew apologizing to the Duke. His knowledge of the boy made him doubt the likelihood. Something about Hugh forbade the scenario from ever taking place. He said, tentatively, trying to sound as though it were a mere rhetorical question, “And if an apology proves…infeasible, what may be accepted in its stead?”
Fawkner clucked his tongue and sighed. “Forty strokes with a birch rod,” he said. “Or with a cane. It matters not which. No, wait! We’ll be inventive
and
merciful at the same time! Thirty-one strokes! One for each of His Grace’s years! He’ll appreciate that!” He paused to smile at the Earl. “Witnessed by me, of course. And then I must have the rod to present to His Grace as proof of his avenged dignity—and the incident will be forgotten. But—such a drastic measure, I’m sure, need not be resorted to. A brief apology will do. The boy must compose it himself, and present it without assistance from his parents. Are we agreed on these details?”
The Earl nodded and walked to the door. “I will go now and explain the situation to my brother.”
Fawkner shrugged and began unlacing his shirt. “And when all this is past, Lord Basil, we might discuss the terms of this
wool
business. After dinner tonight. Can you have a plate of something sent up now? I’m famished!”
* * *
Basil Kenrick stood in the middle of his bedchamber while one valet dressed him in an afternoon frock coat, and another busily combed andpowdered a wig at the dressing table. “Send for my broth…Send for the Baron, Clayborne. I wish to see him immediately.” The valet gave one last smart tug at a sleeve, and went to the fireplace to pull on a tasseled velvet rope beside it.
Minutes later Garnet Kenrick appeared in the vestibule of the
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