“A letter—yes, I see,” Graham said. He reached for the note and plucked it from the tray, frowning as he scanned the handwriting on the envelope.To His Grace, The Duke of Hertfordshire, it said in an elegant script. A smudge of charcoal on the back of the envelope caught his eye, left there by… perhaps an artist’s hand. “From Lady Bridget?”
Warren moved into the room as Graham gazed at the note, setting the tray down on the table beside the armchair. The butler nodded, gesturing through the window by way of explanation. “Their porter stopped by this morning with the letter,” Warren said. “He mentioned that Lady Bridget said it should be delivered urgently. Would you like to be left alone to read it?”
Graham frowned, anxious now to open the letter. Would she admit that her engagement was all a sham—that she would have preferred him instead? The fact that he was even imagining such things was inappropriate indeed, but he could not suppress the swell of hope roiling in his chest.
“If you’re not too busy, I would actually appreciate it if you would stay a moment,” Graham said. “Please, take a seat.”
It would have been unusual in any other household for a duke to converse with a servant, yet Graham had never had such pretensions. Besides, Warren had been in his life since the day he was born. The butler had served the Barnet family for decades and had always been a good listener and sounding board. Warren took a somewhat uneasy seat in the chair opposite his, while Graham tamped down the fire, which was growing quite warm as the sun came out again.
“I presume you brought no coffee of your own,” Graham said, his eyes flickering up to the old man.
“No, Your Grace,” he said. “You know I take my morning tea downstairs with the rest of the servants. I am quite all right, I assure you.”
“Of course,” Graham said. “If you would just give me a moment to read this.”
He opened the envelope with a certain reverence, running his thumb over the place where Bridget had left a smudge of charcoal. He could almost feel her hands grasping the envelope, a whisper of her delicate palms against his. He shuddered as he lifted the flap and pulled out a sheet of paper containing an elegantly written note.
Before he had even begun to read, he noticed her cursive. Some of the letters had long, looping tails like curlicues that struck him as evidence of the artistry in her, an untamed quality he admired.
He scanned the note as Warren looked on. The butler stayed quiet until Graham had folded the paper once again and slipped it back into its envelope.
“Is it an urgent matter, Your Grace?” Warren asked respectfully.
“She wishes to apologize for her fiancé’s rough manners yesterday afternoon,” Graham murmured. “And she wants to meet with me again to speak of Mary.”
“What happened yesterday, if you don’t mind my asking?” Warren said.
The old man always knew exactly when Graham needed to talk, and that he had no friends in Hertfordshire to speak with. All had taken up residence in London, or were off galivanting about the country for the Season.
“I was having tea with Bridget when her betrothed arrived from London with a special marriage license,” Graham said. He leaned against the windowsill to look out at the countryside, at the village far in the distance, and the Sedgwick house on the other side. “It was… quite strange, I suppose. I did not even know she was engaged.”
“My understanding is that the engagement was very quickly arranged. That is based only on the gossip of the servants, of course,” Warren said. “Indeed, Lord Sedgwick has been on the Continent for some time and has not even met the man his daughter will marry.”
Graham’s eyes snapped to Warren’s. Lord Sedgwick had always been an absentee father, but this was outrageous! “Truly?” Graham said. “But the man will inherit the estate! Lord Sedgwick has no other children.”
“So the servants say, though I have no way of knowing the truth of it,” Warren shrugged.
“What do you know of this Lord Bragg?” Graham asked. “He seems—”
“Coarse?” Warren finished as Graham trailed off. “Yes. That would be on account of how he won his fortune. Bragg hails from Liverpool, and has spent nearly a decade working for the East India Company in the Caribbean. The Sedgwick servants dislike him, and our own servants here at Foxglove Hall have no greater respect for him, that much I know for sure.”
“Why is that?”
“I don’t mean to alarm you, Your Grace, but he can be quite cruel,” Warren said. “Not to Lady Bridget, of course. But when one has made one’s fortune overseas, it appears one gains somewhat different notions of what is right and proper when dealing with servants.”
Graham frowned. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Harsh words, and he’s slapped a few of the younger servants,” Warren murmured. “Even… no, I cannot say. All I can divulge is that a girl’s reputation was put at stake.”
“That is incredibly troubling,” Graham said. “You’re certain you cannot share the intricacies of the case?”
“I wish I could, Your Grace, but it is a below-stairs matter,” Warren said. “I do hope you understand.”
Graham shook his head, sighing deeply. “I don’t like the sound of that. And frankly, if he behaves in such a way with the servants, it is only a matter of time before he harms Lady Bridget, I’m sure. Not that there’s anything I can do about it.”
Warren let out a loud exhale. “Yes, Your Grace, this is quite the predicament. The question is, will you meet with her again? If she feels the matter is so urgent, she might need something from you.”
“I’m inclined to say yes, but she is engaged, and her betrothed seems intent on keeping a firm grip on her,” Graham murmured. He stroked his chin, noticing a smidgeon of stubble, and reminded himself to shave. “Will she be able to escape his company?”