The Valet and the Stable Groom: M/M Regency Romance (20 page)

“
W
hat have
you done with it, you usurping devil?”

Clement looked up in surprise from his lists of the wine cellar inventory as Mr. Midgley stormed into the servants’ kitchen. “Whatever can you mean, Mr. Midgley?”

“As though you didn’t know! You serpent! You villain! My
butler tray
.”

Clement was grateful for his complexion and the way it helped to hide the heat and drain of his cheeks following the muddle of confusion, mirth, irritation, and exasperation that he felt in the wake of that comment. Mr. Midgley’s butler tray was his greatest object of pride, a finely-etched silver platter which had been bestowed upon him by Lord Devereux himself. Mr. Midgley used it for all manner of tasks, foremost of which was the carrying of wine bottles up from the cellar to be decanted, a duty in which he took the utmost pride. When it was not otherwise employed in Mr. Midgley’s service, the tray sat upon the entry-hall table, where it served to collect calling-cards from any visitors who might drop by unexpected. Mr. Midgley received these with great dignity, combed over them and kept a detailed log—the only detailed log, in Clement’s observation, that Mr. Midgley bothered to keep—of the visitors and their requests, after which he delivered the cards to Clement to inform Hildebert and reply appropriately.

“Mr. Midgley,” Clement said, filling his tone with authority. “I have no idea where you may have misplaced your tray, but I am certain it cannot have wandered far. Enquire with the maids. Perhaps one of them took it to be polished.”

Drawing himself up to his full portly height, Mr. Midgley spluttered with offended indignation. “I… you… I polish it myself!”

Casting down his pen, Clement stood. “Then you may perfectly well find it yourself, Mr. Midgley!”

The two maids and one stable hand who were breaking their night’s fast in the kitchen went very quiet and still.

Mr. Midgley’s face had gone entirely red except for two white splotches just above his cheeks. “As though you have nothing to do with it! You devil!”

“For mercy’s sake, Mr. Midgley!” Clement’s face felt very hot, and he tensed his fists with determination to keep control of his temper. “I have no idea what has happened to your butler tray. Whatever your personal feelings toward me, it is unbelievably inappropriate of you to intimate that I would intentionally misplace your tray!”

“You—!” Mr. Midgley stamped his feet, shaking with impotent rage. “How dare you! You mock me!”

“I do not mock you, Mr. Midgley,” Clement said. He tightened his jaw, resisting the urge to vent his own pent-up frustration.

“All week, you have gone out of your way to sabotage my efforts! Nay, it is—since we arrived! Since I got my title! Everything you have done, it is to foil my duties and take them for yourself! You have done this, as you have done everything else, to make me seem incompetent.”

“Mr. Midgley,” Clement said, icy with rage and disdain. “All I have done has been in the interests of this household. I have taken—as I now hold—the title of under-butler in order to assist you in your duties, that you may not be overwhelmed. I tell you I have no idea what has befallen your tray, nor, may I say, do I care to know. I am seeing to the wine cellar inventories, which is your duty, a duty that you have left in shambles. I cannot be bothered to aid you in finding a
misplaced tray
.”

“This will not stand,” Mr. Midgley said. “I will not endure this. Your shameful disregard for authority. Your inexcusable behaviour. And now
theft
.”

Clement’s heart bubbled with rage. “Theft,” he repeated, fists tight with fury. “Mr. Midgley, I advise you to retract that statement.”

“I will not. In fact, I shall add to your list of crimes. You have misplaced my wine decanter—I found it among the fireplace ashes, filled with soot. You rearranged the dishes in the cupboard with a sort of haphazard madness. You set all the downstairs clocks to different times of the day. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing!”

Staring at him in befuddled shock, Clement’s jaw worked uselessly for several moments before he could find a response. “Mr. Midgley. Have you gone mad?”

“You would like to pretend that, wouldn’t you!” Mr. Midgley raged. “Is that your plan? Paint me as mad, send me to the madhouse, and then you shall have my title!”

Clement restrained himself from informing Mr. Midgley that he could perfectly well have Mr. Midgley’s title if he so much as asked for it, and had in fact declined the title of head butler for Mr. Midgley’s sake. “I tell you again, I have nothing to do with any of your concerns. If someone has taken upon themselves to tease you, then—to be entirely honest, Mr. Midgley—I cannot say I fault them for it, though I think it is certainly most likely that your troubles are entirely paranoid inventions.”

“
You—”
Mr. Midgley bellowed.

“In either case,” Clement said, speaking over him, “it is not my concern. You are the butler, Mr. Midgley. If you intend to come to me pleading that I fix the problems you yourself have created, then I advise you to make certain they are problems which are worth my trouble. Find your own tray, Mr. Midgley.”

“You think I will not report your villainy to our master?”

“Do so, I pray you. Do you sincerely believe that taking your paranoid rantings to either the master or mistress of the house would result in anything other than your dismissal?”

“So that is your plan!”

Seeing that reasonable argument was not going to aid the situation, Clement sat down and took up his pen. “Good day, Mr. Midgley.”

Mr. Midgley remained where he was, stunned with fury.

“You blue-skinned devil,” Mr. Midgley snapped, and stormed from the room.

The quill in Clement’s hand snapped.

With great force of effort, he set it down. “Miss Glenn,” he said aloud, addressing one of the maids. “Would you kindly fetch me a fresh quill?”

The maidservant scuttled off to obey. A minute later, the other maidservant and the stable hand slunk quietly from the room, leaving Clement alone in his frustrated anger.

O
nce he finished
with the inventories, Clement scrubbed the ink from his hands as best he could, then put his white gloves on to hide the stains. He found Mrs. Ledford in the workroom, pressing the table linens. “Mrs. Ledford.”

She glanced up, recognising Clement and nodding once in acknowledgement.

“May I beg a favour of you? Midgley is obsessed with some manner of paranoid fits, and I cannot have him causing trouble tonight, not with… with Mrs. Devereux’s… occasion requiring my attention. Yours is the only authority he recognises.”

“What will you have me do?”

“Send him away on some task, I beg you. Or ensure that he will be occupied.”

“His prattling strains my patience.”

Clement sighed and nodded, leaning against the doorframe. “I know it.”

“Mrs. Devereux’s requests are being handled. The menu is selected and the repast is being prepared.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ledford. I am grateful.”

“It’s a very odd request.” Mrs. Ledford set the pressing iron aside, eyes lingering upon Clement. “Mr. Devereux will be away this evening. The repast is for two, and yet I know not who will be partaking of it.”

“I…” Clement folded his arms, letting his posture become informal. “I have complete faith that I can trust your confidence, Mrs. Ledford, but I do not know that you would be pleased. If… if all goes well with tonight’s… occasion, I will reveal the details of it. Until then, I must impose upon your discretion.”

Her gaze was weighty and level. Clement did not allow himself to quail beneath it.

“As you please, Mr. Adair. I’ll ensure that Midgley knows nothing of it and that he keeps out of your way, even though it may mean that he will be in
my
way.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ledford.”

Sighing, Clement lingered a moment longer. He intended to set the linens for the table himself, and the ones he would use were already upstairs awaiting him. As much as he longed to begin his planned evening, he likewise dreaded that Hugo would walk into the conservatory, see Clement, and walk straight back out. “I do not know what I shall do about Mr. Midgley. I had hoped that my change of title would aid him. We’ll have a new valet up from London within the month, and I can devote my energies to the stewardship of the house and supporting Mr. Midgley in his role of butler. But it seems that having me officially as his assistant has only made all matters worse.”

Mrs. Ledford made no reply, but she also made no effort to dismiss him or quiet his talking, which Clement had seen her do readily enough on dozens of occasions. Her hand swept the iron across the fabric with brisk, competent motions. It was a soothing process to watch.

“He has become so paranoid that he sounds mad,” Clement said. “I am worried for his nerves, Mrs. Ledford. But I do not know what I may do to ease them. Any effort I might put forth would only worsen the matter, I am certain of it.”

“Clement,” Mrs. Ledford said. She lifted the pressing iron from the cloth and set it back upon the coals of the fire. “You cannot solve all the world’s problems. I advise you not to try.”

“I had hoped, at least, to be able to solve all the household’s problems.”

Mrs. Ledford gave a brief sideways tilt of the head which Clement interpreted as a sort of shrug. “There are some problems that not the most competent butler in the world can solve.”

Clement nodded. When she said nothing further, he pushed away from the wall and set off upstairs to fetch the linens for the conservatory.

O
nce the table
had been laid, Clement locked the conservatory. The only copies of the key belonged to himself, the gardener, and Mrs. Ledford, so the set table would be safe until evening.

The herd could be seen across the stew pond, grazing on the sweet meadow grasses in their enclosure. One of the stable hands was amongst them, but Clement could not tell, at that distance, which one.

He found Letty in the upstairs parlour, at work by herself mending a skirt hem.

“Letty,” Clement greeted her, shutting the door behind himself and coming over to take a seat.

She offered a smile. “Are you excited?”

“I am too busy to be excited, and otherwise too fraught with nerves.”

“Then I shall be excited on your behalf.”

Clement laughed wearily. “I do appreciate that.”

He relaxed into the chair, glancing out the window. “You may scold me for it, but I have not yet asked Hugo to dinner this evening.”

Letty sat up a little straighter, tone playfully arch, though she did not take her eyes off her mending. “His attendance is a significantly important portion of the evening’s proceedings, as I understand it.”

Clement smiled. “You are teasing me.”

“I am. What, will you avoid telling him until the evening is over and the opportunity lost?”

“Mayhap. I am afraid that if I ask him, he will refuse.”

“If you do not ask him, he will not be able to accept.”

“I thought,” Clement said, “that I might ask you to fetch him for me.”

“Shall I woo him on your behalf, as well? You’ll have to arm me with one of Hildebert’s poems. That will have him swooning into your arms.”

“Letty!” Clement shook his head, overcome with a fit of laughter. “When it is time, I would have you go and tell him he is needed in the conservatory. Do not say why.”

“Ah, so it is to be an ambush. A romantic ambush. I rather like that.”

“It isn’t an ambush. It is a surprise.”

“I am of the understanding that most ambushes are, indeed, a surprise.”

“Letty!” Laughing again, Clement got to his feet in much better humour than he had come. “Say you will do it for me.”

“Aye, I will fetch your wayward beloved to dine with you in your garden bower, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Letty,” Clement said, grinning. “Be careful about speaking in such a manner around Hildebert. Before you know it, we’ll have you to be our poet.”

“Oh, begone with you!” Letty complained, laughing. She threw a pincushion at him.

Pausing in the doorway, Clement looked back over his shoulder. “Letty…”

Her head tilted in the same way that Titania’s did when presented with a query.

“Midgley said something about someone misplacing his wine decanter, and that all the clocks downstairs had been set to the wrong times. Do you know anything of it?”

“Mischief on Midgley? Hum.” Letty lifted her brows innocently and returned her attention to her stitches. “If I did know something of it, Clement, do you suppose I would confess?”

“I suppose not. But, Letty, if you do know something about it, see to it that it
stops.
”

“A bit of mischief! Clement, pray, are you his preserver now? How you fuss.”

“The man is on the verge of a conniption. I should hope that any such perpetrator of mischief would be prepared for the blot on their soul if their mirth were to harry a man to his death.”

Letty rolled her eyes toward heaven.

A
s evening fell
, Clement went with Letty out to unlock the conservatory. He unlocked first the door nearest the house, and then gave the keys to Letty so that she might continue through and unlock the door nearest the stable, and then on to fetch Hugo.

The keys jingled in her hand, and she paused for just a moment, glancing over to smile at Clement.

Mrs. Ledford had completed her part of the arrangements admirably. The table was arrayed with a luxurious variety of little cakes and tarts, piled upon tiered trays. Red wine sparkled in a decanter, accompanied by two crystal goblets.

A single taper candle lit the centre of the table. Clement lifted it, going around the edges of the two crescent-shaped pools to light the waiting array of smaller candles.

The end result was a fairy-ring of lights, flickering flames reflected in the water of the pools. Clement’s heart quickened with anticipation.

He placed the taper back in the centre of the table, pacing in restless arcs along the tiled floor as he waited for Hugo.