Chapter
Six

Raymond Allen stood with his hand on the knob of the door to his room in the bachelors’ corridor—the portion of the guest area reserved for unmarried male guests to keep them separate from the ladies—and observed the two figures at the other end of the hall: Benedict Clarke and his mother, Rowena, exchanging some words before retiring for the night.

When Raymond first received the invitation for a weekend at Porthampton Abbey, he’d been excited. He knew that the earl must be looking for a husband for his eldest daughter, which was excellent timing, since he himself was in need of a wife. Then, when he’d arrived and seen that his only immediate competition was Meriwether Young, a much older and rotund man, he’d been positively giddy inside. This was a war he could win!

The aftermath of the actual war, which had ended just two years prior, should have presented him with lots of opportunities. There were nearly two million more women in England than men now, not to mention that nearly two million of the men who had survived the war had come home wounded: so, a surplus of single women. Not to mention further, he was a duke! Being a duke was the highest ranking, short of being king, and there were not too many of them, certainly not enough to go around to all the well-bred young women in need of a wealthy husband. Why, with another two hundred thousand Britons dying of the Spanish flu right after World War I, there should have been even more opportunities for him—it was as though people were dying for his benefit and convenience!

He felt mildly ashamed of himself for thinking of it in that way, but then, he hadn’t started the war.

And yet for some reason, despite the presumably increased opportunities, it—it being romance with the prospect of marriage to follow—had never worked out for him that way.

But then the invitation to come here had arrived and with it, the idea of Lady Katherine Clarke. At age seventeen, she hadn’t come out yet. Her presentation at court was still a year away—not that there’d been any such presentations since the war had ended, although hopefully they’d start up again soon—but she was such a striking young woman, and he’d figured if he got in early, maybe he’d stand a chance. Since death hadn’t given him enough opportunities, he would need to make or take his own wherever he could find them.

And only Meriwether Young as competition? Laughable, how easy that should be!

But then…

But then…

Benedict Clarke had shown up unexpectedly.

Look at him, Raymond thought. Not only will he fulfill the entail, thereby making him the one Martin Clarke will want to have marry Lady Katherine, but does he have to be so handsome? It’s like looking at Apollo come down to earth. I can practically see the sun kissing his hair!

Speaking of which, now Benedict was bending over to lay a kiss on his mother’s cheek, and as he did so, Rowena touched a gloved hand to her son’s face, tracing a gentle caress there.

Oh, this really was too much. Good looks and a mother who loved him?

Raymond Allen had neither of those things.

Raymond heard Benedict say cheerily, “Sleep well, Mother!” and then, although Raymond immediately twisted the knob and pushed the door open, before he could slide inside, Benedict turned and caught him standing there.

Now Raymond was in for it. The other man would probably demand to know what he was doing standing there, maybe even accuse him of snooping.

Which he hadn’t been doing. Not really.

“Oh, hello!” Benedict called in a genial tone of voice. He began walking toward Raymond, lightly gliding his hand along the pink marble railing of the balcony, the gallery overlooking the entry hall far below. “I didn’t see you standing there! Were you waiting for me? Perhaps you’d like a glass of sherry? I have some in my room.”

As the other man drew to within inches, Raymond studied his face for any signs of the sarcasm he expected to find, either that or some other form of guile, but there simply wasn’t any. If forced to describe Benedict’s expression, Raymond would have to say it was open, honest, and overwhelmingly pleasant.

So on top of everything else, blasted good looks and a mother who genuinely loved him, Benedict Clarke was also nice? Oh, this really was too much.

“No, thank you for the offer,” Raymond said hurriedly, entering his room now, “but we all have an early day in the morning—the hunt, you know—so I’ll just retire now.”

“Very well, then! I’ll see you in—”

Raymond shut the door.

It wasn’t so much that he didn’t want to be friendly—in truth, it would be nice to have a friend—but it had already been such a long and trying day and night. And then there was the hunt in the morning. In these early postwar years, people as a whole were more reluctant to kill animals for sport. But it was still the done thing in big houses like this. Raymond didn’t care much for hunting, didn’t care much for guns in general really, but he’d heard Lady Katherine was a crack shot. Even if he felt his chances with her were greatly diminished since the advent of Benedict—probably hardly greater than zero, if he were truthful—he had to at least show up. He had to at least still try.

And they had said it was to be just birds and maybe small ground game; there weren’t even supposed to be any horses involved, so that shouldn’t be too bad. Not too bad.

But something that was bad?

“Parker?” Raymond called for his valet when he realized there was no one besides him in the room. He quickly strode to check the adjoining bath area, but there was no one there, either.

Like all good guests, Raymond had brought his own valet with him, so as not to place any undue strain on the household staff. While Raymond was at dinner, Parker would have spent that free time in the servants’ hall or perhaps in the kitchen courtyard, enjoying a smoke, but he should have been up here by now. He should have been waiting for Raymond so he could wait on Raymond.

He began removing one of his cuff links but then thought, This is preposterous—I’m a duke!

Immediately, he crossed the bedroom and yanked on the bell pull cord to summon the butler.

While he waited, he regarded his reflection in the long, standing mirror over in one corner. Well, he reflected, at least he was tall. Not for the first time, however, he found himself wishing that he’d been born into biblical times, when long hair on men had been the fashion. At least then he could have used it to cover his unfortunate ears. But as it were…

A discreet knock came at the door, followed by the entry of Mr. Wright.

“You rang, sir?” Mr. Wright said.

“Yes,” Raymond replied. “I wondered if you might send up my valet, Parker?”

“He’s not here with you?”

“Clearly,” Raymond said, stating the obvious. “Otherwise, why would I have called you?”

“I don’t know, sir, but I haven’t seen Parker since this afternoon, not long after your arrival and his seeing you settled in. I assumed you’d sent him into town on an errand or something.”

“Well, I didn’t. And even if I had, surely he’d have returned for his dinner.”

“It is odd, sir.”

“Yes, very,” Raymond agreed.

Except it wasn’t. Raymond had a history of not being able to keep valets for very long, a tendency he’d inherited from his mother, a woman who could lose a member of staff as easily as another person might lose a lace handkerchief. So the only thing remotely odd about his valet’s disappearing was that none of the previous ones had seen fit to quit without notice, departing without even asking for any money still due. And yet apparently, Parker had done exactly that, simply walking off into the sunset.

“I can send up one of the footmen to attend to you for the rest of the weekend,” Mr. Wright offered.

“Oh, but that will take time. Couldn’t you just…” Raymond held out a shirtsleeve wrist and jiggled it a bit so that the cuff link shimmied in Mr. Wright’s general direction.

“Oh no, sir. You’d be much better off with one of the footmen. And I know just the person for the job.”

Before Raymond could object further, Mr. Wright was gone.

So now, on top of everything else, he would be subjected to having a footman act as his valet. Oh, this was too hard. Everyone knew that footmen were handsome creatures. The finer the house, the more handsome the footmen—and Porthampton Abbey was a very fine house indeed.

If Benedict Clarke hadn’t made Raymond feel insecure enough about his looks, now a footman was going to come and finish the job.

In his frustration, Raymond sought again to remove one of his own cuff links. But he soon gave up, in even greater frustration.

He wasn’t supposed to have to remove his own cuff links.

He was a duke!