secured a titled client. ‘May I offer my condolences on your recent loss? A great man, hereabouts, your late father.’
‘Thank you,’ Ross said, his voice frigid enough to stop Empson’s gushing dead. ‘And the housekeeper in question is where, exactly?’ He gazed past Meg, who stood rubbing her elbow and trying not to gape.
‘Here, my lord. Mrs Halgate stands before you, my lord.’
The black eyes travelled up and down as though assessing her plain gown and modest bonnet. As though he had never seen her before. A perfect example of an arrogant lord, the clever man. Or perhaps it was not pretence. Perhaps this really was Ross. ‘Very well. She will do.’
‘We have not yet seen Mrs Halgate’s references, my lord,’ Mr Empson blurted, prudence finally overcoming his desire to offer his noble client immediate gratification of his needs. ‘We cannot guarantee…The reputation of the agency requires—’
‘If she turns out to be inadequate or dishonest, or her Portuguese grammar is faulty, I will return her to you.’ Ross sounded profoundly uninterested in Empson’s worries. ‘Mrs Halgate? We may discuss terms later.’
‘I believe you also require a valet, my lord.’ Ross, Empson and Meg all stared at the wiry young man who had got to his feet and was addressing Ross.
‘I do?’
The young man blinked in the face of Ross’s full, intimidating, attention, but stood his ground. Brave man, Meg thought. ‘If your lordship has a valet at present, may I make so bold as to observe that he is not doing his job.’
‘And you can do better?’
‘Most certainly, my lord.’
‘Your name?’
‘Perrott, my lord.’
‘Perrott was with the late Mr Worthington,’ Empson hurried to intervene. ‘A local gentleman of the dandy persuasion, if I might be so bold. A follower of Mr Brummell in his own way.’
‘And you think you can make a dandy of me, do you, Perrott?’ Not a line of Ross’s face indicated the slightest amusement at the prospect.
‘I would venture, my lord, that you would suit the severity of style advocated by Mr Brummell. That or uniform.’
‘I’ll take them both.’ Ross might have been referring to two new pairs of gloves. ‘They can come with me now to the Red Lion Hotel. We will travel to the Court this afternoon. Good day to you, Empson.’
Meg stared at the young valet, who looked back with a decided twinkle in his eye. What on earth was Ross about? He knew she needed employment: proper, paid employment. He might indeed require a valet, but his home, the name of which she had only half-heard, must be fully staffed already, surely? She was not going to take his charity.
And Lord Brandon? Why had he not told her that?
‘After you, Mrs Halgate,’ the valet said. ‘We must not keep his lordship waiting.’
Lord Brandon—would she ever get used to it?—was indeed waiting for them, radiating the impatience he seemed able to convey despite his outward calm. He clicked his fingers at her porter and set off with his small entourage straggling behind him.
And he was walking far too fast, his limp getting worse as he ignored the need for caution, or, presumably, the pain.
‘My lord!’
He stopped, turned. ‘Yes, Mrs Halgate?’
‘Would you be so kind as to proceed more slowly, my lord? I have wrenched my ankle on these cobbles.’ Meg managed a pained smile.
Ross narrowed his eyes at her, then turned and walked on at a more moderate pace.
‘He’s going to be a challenge to dress,’ Perrott observed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I don’t suppose I can persuade him to stay with the uniform. He’ll be selling out, I have no doubt.’ He walked on, studying Ross with frank professional interest. ‘At least I won’t have to pad anything.’
No, Ross certainly did not suffer from spindly calves, narrow shoulders or a pigeon chest. ‘You’ll need to talk him into a lot of shopping,’ Meg murmured back. ‘He hasn’t a decent shirt to his name.’
It did not
‘Thank you,’ Ross said, his voice frigid enough to stop Empson’s gushing dead. ‘And the housekeeper in question is where, exactly?’ He gazed past Meg, who stood rubbing her elbow and trying not to gape.
‘Here, my lord. Mrs Halgate stands before you, my lord.’
The black eyes travelled up and down as though assessing her plain gown and modest bonnet. As though he had never seen her before. A perfect example of an arrogant lord, the clever man. Or perhaps it was not pretence. Perhaps this really was Ross. ‘Very well. She will do.’
‘We have not yet seen Mrs Halgate’s references, my lord,’ Mr Empson blurted, prudence finally overcoming his desire to offer his noble client immediate gratification of his needs. ‘We cannot guarantee…The reputation of the agency requires—’
‘If she turns out to be inadequate or dishonest, or her Portuguese grammar is faulty, I will return her to you.’ Ross sounded profoundly uninterested in Empson’s worries. ‘Mrs Halgate? We may discuss terms later.’
‘I believe you also require a valet, my lord.’ Ross, Empson and Meg all stared at the wiry young man who had got to his feet and was addressing Ross.
‘I do?’
The young man blinked in the face of Ross’s full, intimidating, attention, but stood his ground. Brave man, Meg thought. ‘If your lordship has a valet at present, may I make so bold as to observe that he is not doing his job.’
‘And you can do better?’
‘Most certainly, my lord.’
‘Your name?’
‘Perrott, my lord.’
‘Perrott was with the late Mr Worthington,’ Empson hurried to intervene. ‘A local gentleman of the dandy persuasion, if I might be so bold. A follower of Mr Brummell in his own way.’
‘And you think you can make a dandy of me, do you, Perrott?’ Not a line of Ross’s face indicated the slightest amusement at the prospect.
‘I would venture, my lord, that you would suit the severity of style advocated by Mr Brummell. That or uniform.’
‘I’ll take them both.’ Ross might have been referring to two new pairs of gloves. ‘They can come with me now to the Red Lion Hotel. We will travel to the Court this afternoon. Good day to you, Empson.’
Meg stared at the young valet, who looked back with a decided twinkle in his eye. What on earth was Ross about? He knew she needed employment: proper, paid employment. He might indeed require a valet, but his home, the name of which she had only half-heard, must be fully staffed already, surely? She was not going to take his charity.
And Lord Brandon? Why had he not told her that?
‘After you, Mrs Halgate,’ the valet said. ‘We must not keep his lordship waiting.’
Lord Brandon—would she ever get used to it?—was indeed waiting for them, radiating the impatience he seemed able to convey despite his outward calm. He clicked his fingers at her porter and set off with his small entourage straggling behind him.
And he was walking far too fast, his limp getting worse as he ignored the need for caution, or, presumably, the pain.
‘My lord!’
He stopped, turned. ‘Yes, Mrs Halgate?’
‘Would you be so kind as to proceed more slowly, my lord? I have wrenched my ankle on these cobbles.’ Meg managed a pained smile.
Ross narrowed his eyes at her, then turned and walked on at a more moderate pace.
‘He’s going to be a challenge to dress,’ Perrott observed out of the corner of his mouth. ‘I don’t suppose I can persuade him to stay with the uniform. He’ll be selling out, I have no doubt.’ He walked on, studying Ross with frank professional interest. ‘At least I won’t have to pad anything.’
No, Ross certainly did not suffer from spindly calves, narrow shoulders or a pigeon chest. ‘You’ll need to talk him into a lot of shopping,’ Meg murmured back. ‘He hasn’t a decent shirt to his name.’
It did not
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