No comment, Your Honour.
“I’ll see you later, Adelaide, Boris.” Alex nodded to us.
“Bye,” I said brightly.
“Goodbye, sir.” Boris bowed his head, still holding a dishcloth and plate in his hands.
“Why do you call him sir?” I asked, looking to Boris. “And not my Lord?”
Boris blinked at me with his dark hazel eyes.
“I’m sorry. That was terribly rude and improper of me.” I pressed my hand to my chest. “Forgive me.”
His wide mouth broke into a smile. “Not at all. It’s a fair question.” He set down the plate. “I’ve worked for the family for a great many years, and after his father’s passing, the duke asked me to call him ‘sir’ instead of ‘my Lord,’ as he believed that to be a greeting for his father. I was happy to abide by his wishes and still am.”
“Oh, that makes a lot of sense. Sorry. I’ve been wondering since I arrived, and I’m not quite sure why it came out so abruptly like that.”
Olympia grinned and got up, turning towards the pantry.
Boris didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t you worry, Miss Astley. I’m sure the household here is a lot less formal than you’re used to with your family’s seat.”
No kidding. My uncle was the current Duke of Leicester and, much like my grandfather, kept to a strict, very traditional way of doing things. In the week I’d been here, I’d learnt that Alexander was very much not like that—his staff were a part of his family, and he addressed the older women on his staff by their married names out of respect, but many others were by their first name.
I liked it.
“Adelaide,” I replied with a smile. “Or Addy if you’re feeling fancy.”
Boris chuckled. “Adelaide will do just fine, if you’re sure.”
“Perfectly so.” I took the last mouthful of my tea and set the mug down. I knew better than to wash it myself, but I would set it next to the sink to keep Boris happy. “I need to get ready—would you mind keeping an eye on Olympia while I do?”
A noise that sounded suspiciously like cereal scattering across a tiled floor echoed through the kitchen.
“Oh, no!” Olympia cried from the pantry.
Boris set down his tea towel. “Don’t you worry yourself, Miss—Adelaide. I’ll see to Olympia and clean up whatever mess is in there.”
Olympia popped her head out of the pantry. “The Coco Pops exploded,” she explained. “Addy, are you suuure I can’t have dippy eggs? You can make them, right?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, kiddo. If your dad said no, it’s a no. I can’t overrule that.”
She sighed. “I guess I’ll sweep up, then.”
“That would be a very good idea.” I winked at Boris. “I’d like you in the library at ten-fifteen, please.”
“What time is it?”
“Nine-thirty.”
She looked at me before looking away, but she never quite met my eye. “Can’t it be ten-thirty?”
“No. Today’s session will start at ten-fifteen sharp. The quicker you start, the quicker you finish, and the quicker you can steal Mrs. Bell’s brownies and use them to bribe Peter with.”
Her jaw dropped. “How do you know I steal the brownies for Peter?”
I tapped the side of my nose with a grin. “Please sweep up that cereal, and I’m sure Boris will help you with your breakfast.”
He inclined his head. “Of course I will. Come along, Olympia. We’re running a tight schedule here this morning it seems.”
I held my laugh back until I’d gone upstairs to the wing where my room was located. Bentley Manor was far closer to a castle than a manor house, but the name had stuck sometime around the early eighteen-hundreds when a minor aristocrat had married a British princess and the estate had been gifted to the newlyweds. He’d insisted on naming the estate after him, and so it was.
I didn’t know where the Winthrop in the Winthrop-Bentley came from, but I was determined to find out for my own nosey machinations.
I really should have studied history at university instead of teaching.
It wasn’t like my writing was getting me anywhere, either.
After all, if it was, I wouldn’t be here, tutoring Lady Olympia Winthrop-Bentley for some extra cash, would I?
Not that I minded—not exactly. I’d discovered quickly into my teacher training that I was not a fan of trying to wrangle a large number of children into doing what I wanted them to do. Dropping out at that point seemed futile, and I hadn’t wanted to disappoint my parents, so I’d completed the training.
Through it, I’d learnt that I did enjoy tutoring individual children. Especially those who had extra needs, and Olympia was most definitely one of those. She was dyslexic and would soon be assessed for high-functioning autism.
And she was quite possibly the best little girl I’d ever met in my life, never willing to let anything get her down.
Well, anything other than the dippy eggs her dad refused her because she didn’t wake up on time.