Duke Looks Like a Groomsman Read online

  “I’m well aware,” Kendall replied with a curt nod. “The Season makes my skin crawl. Full of simpering maids and purse-eyeing mamas eager to show off their best behavior in the hopes of snaring a rich husband. I don’t want to find a wife that way.”

  “How else do you intend to find one?” Bell’s eyes were narrowed. The marquess was up to something, Rhys could tell.

  “I don’t know how exactly.” Kendall took another drink. “But this time I intend to find a lady who loves me for myself.”

  There it was. Kendall’s only allowance to the Lady Emily debacle. Well, at least he’d learned his lesson. Rhys, of course, had no idea how one would go about finding a woman who ‘loves me for myself.’ It sounded quite impossible to him, but at least it was the correct attitude. Thank Christ his friend was finally seeing reason.

  “Yes!” Rhys pounded his fist against the table, his voice filling with anger. “I think we can all agree that Lady Emily is the lowest of the low. There’s no excuse for what she did, tossing over one man for another with a better title. As far as I’m concerned, she no longer exists.”

  “Can we not discuss Lady Emily, please?” Kendall groaned and covered his face with one hand.

  The barmaid reappeared with the drinks and Rhys’s smile reappeared too. “Keep ‘em coming, Love,” he said to her, before turning back to Kendall and adding, “I’m merely pointing out that if you want a lady who loves you for yourself, the Season and its ridiculousness are the last place you should go.”

  “Yes,” Kendall replied with a sigh, lifting his mug into the air to salute Rhys. “Didn’t I already say that? The Season and its fetes are the last place I should go, which is why I’ve avoided it like the pox for the last two Seasons.”

  “Oh, is that why you haven’t attended the boring balls at Almack’s?” Rhys replied with a smirk. “I thought it was the tepid tea and small talk. That’s why I steer clear of them.”

  “You avoid them because they don’t serve brandy and we all know it,” Bell pointed out, staring fixedly at Rhys, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

  Rhys winked at his friend. He wasn’t about to deny it. “That and they won’t give me the bank that Hollister’s will.”

  Kendall scratched his chin and stared blindly at his mug. “If only the ladies of the ton didn’t know I am an earl, I’d have a much better chance of finding a match,” he grumbled.

  Rhys’s laughter cracked off the wooden beams on the tavern’s ceiling. “I’d pay to see that. An earl dressed up like a common man to find true love. Has a certain poetic ring to it, don’t it?”

  Clayton laughed too and shook his head, while Bell’s shrewd, narrowed-eyed stare intensified. “It’s not a completely outlandish idea.” He tilted his head to the side.

  “What’s not?” Kendall asked.

  “The idea of pretending you’re a commoner to find a wife,” Bell replied.

  Rhys slapped Bell on the back. “Are you mad, man? You’re not even drinking.”

  Of course Bell wasn’t drinking. The man never drank. Most annoying thing about him. The marquess preferred to remain in control of his faculties, and they all knew it. He’d always been the one to remain out of any fracas the other three got into, usually due to his sobriety.

  Bell leaned forward and stared at Kendall. “Given the right circumstances, it could work, you know?”

  “Pretending I’m common?” Kendall replied, blinking. “I don’t see how.”

  “Everyone in the ton knows him,” Clayton pointed out. “How would he ever manage it?”

  Hmm. Was Bell actually serious? Rhys stared intently at his friend. He was serious, wasn’t he? Why, this could be interesting. Quite interesting, indeed.

  “Are you suggesting he wear a mask or alter his appearance?” Rhys asked, narrowing his eyes just like Bell. Could this actually work?

  Kendall glanced back and forth between Rhys and Bell. “You cannot be serious, either of you. Clayton’s right. How would it ever work?”

  “No, not a costume.” Bell addressed his remarks to Rhys. “I was thinking something more like the right…situation.”

  “Such as?” Rhys replied, drawing out both words. He also leaned forward.

  “You two are frightening me, you know?” Kendall replied. “You seem as if you’re actually trying to plot out a way this ludicrous idea might work.”

  “Like a…house party,” Bell replied to Rhys, stroking his own chin and completely ignoring Kendall’s concern.

  Rhys inclined his head, his eyes still narrowed. “A house party, yes. I see what you mean.”

  “But it couldn’t be just any house party, of course,” Bell continued. “It would have to be one given by someone who was in on the experiment.”

  “‘Experiment’?” Clayton perked up. “There are few things I enjoy more than an experiment, and I just so happen to be about to send the invitations to my annual country house party.”

  “‘Experiment’?” Kendall repeated, blinking.

  Bell snapped his fingers. “Your house party would be perfect, Clayton.”

  “Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.” Kendall, who sat between Bell and Rhys, pushed against their shoulders with both hands. He was clearly becoming concerned that they were serious. And they were quite serious. “A house party isn’t going to change my identity. Ladies of the ton will still know who I am at a house party.”

  “He makes a good point,” Clayton replied, sloshing more ale down his throat. Leave it to Clayton to try to be reasonable. The man simply didn’t have the imagination Bell and Rhys did. Poor chap.

  “Not if you invite only the debutantes from this Season,” Bell replied, a smug smile tugging at his lips. “And not if you create the right circumstances.”

  Kendall sucked in a deep breath and pushed his mug out of reach. “The ladies may not know me, but some of their mothers do. More than one of them has already been to court with an older daughter making her debut.”

  “That’s where the right circumstances come in,” Bell replied, crossing his arms over his chest, the half-smile still riding his lips.

  Rhys scratched at the day-old stubble on his chin and smiled an even wider smile than Bell’s. “By God, I think you’re onto something.”

  “I refuse to wear a mask if that’s what you’re thinking. That’s positively medieval,” Kendall declared, shaking his head.

  “Not a mask,” Bell replied. He settled back in his chair and plucked at his lower lip, a gesture he often made when he was plotting something.

  “Or a costume, either,” Kendall continued. He pushed his mug farther away. Probably for good measure. No doubt the poor chap was trying to sober up. Ha.

  “Not a costume…precisely.” Bell exchanged a positively roguish grin with Rhys.

  “By God, I’m going to have the best time watching this,” Rhys said, nodding.

  “Watching what?” Clayton’s nose was scrunched in confusion. “I don’t know what in the devil either of you is talking about any longer.”

  “I’m talking about Kendall here pretending to be a servant,” Bell replied, still grinning.

  Kendall blinked. “A servant?”

  “Yes. It’s perfect,” Rhys added, nodding.

  Kendall turned to him and stared as if he’d lost his mind. “Perfect? Me? Being a servant? How is that perfect?”

  “That still doesn’t fix the problem of the ladies’ mothers recognizing him. Even if he’s dressed as a servant,” Clayton pointed out.

  “Ah, but it does,” Bell replied. “That’s the beauty of it. Most people don’t look at servants. They don’t pay attention to the majority of things beyond what they need and want. My training as a spy has taught me much about the human failure to notice details. I’d be willing to bet that not one of those ladies of the ton will look twice at Kendall if he’s dressed as a servant and performing servants’ duties. He’ll be wearing livery, knee breeches, and a powdered wig, after all.”

  “And it has the added adv
antage that a servant will be in a particularly excellent position to discover how a lady truly behaves,” Rhys added, sweeping his long dark hair off his forehead with his fingers. “I’d wager she’s at her best when addressing a potential bridegroom and at her worst when addressing a servant. God knows I’ve seen it time and again from my mother.”

  “You’re both truly mad, you know that?” Kendall replied, looking positively alarmed.

  “I dunno,” Clayton replied, tugging at his cravat. “But it sounds like quite a lark to me. I’m perfectly willing to offer my upcoming house party as a venue for such an experiment.”

  “You’ve gone mad too, then,” Kendall declared.

  “Think about it,” Bell said, turning his attention to Kendall. “It has the potential to give you precisely what you want. An unencumbered look at the latest crop of debutantes behaving precisely how they would when they don’t know you are watching.”

  Kendall narrowed his eyes on the marquess. “It’s positively alarming that you don’t see the problem with this plan.”

  Bell shrugged. “What problem? The risk is not too great. If anyone recognizes you, we’ll simply ask that person to play along. No doubt they’ll enjoy the game too.”

  “What if I find a lady I fancy?” Kendall replied. “Am I supposed to simply rip off my livery and declare myself an earl and expect she’ll fall madly in love with me?”

  “Not at all,” Bell said. “I’m merely suggesting that you get to know these young ladies on the basis of how they treat servants. I’ve no doubt the best-natured ones will be kind and pleasant. Once you have a few candidates, you will know who to court next Season.”

  Kendall shook his head slowly. He pulled his mug back toward his chest at last. Perhaps he was beginning to like the idea. “You’re suggesting that I choose a future bride on the basis of how she treats a footman?”

  Bell arched a brow. “How did Lady Emily treat servants?” His next words were slow and deliberate.

  Kendall clenched his jaw.

  Rhys pursed his lips. Now that had been a good point. Bell always knew precisely what to say. Lady Emily had snapped at a servant a time or two. They’d all witnessed it.

  “I see by the look on your face that you recognize my point,” Bell drawled.

  Kendall appeared to consider it for a moment. Rhys could tell by the dawning look on his face that he was beginning to see the merits in the plan. He had to be. The man needed a wife. How better to find one you could trust?

  “I’m willing to do it with you,” Bell tossed out casually with another shrug.

  “What?” Rhys snapped his eyebrows together. “Why would you do it?”

  Bell straightened his shoulders and settled back into his chair. “Because I’ve narrowed down my hunt for the Bidassoa traitor to one of three possibilities.”

  “The man you’ve been hunting for the Home Office?” Rhys clarified, lowering his voice.

  “Precisely the one,” Bell replied. “And if Clayton here will invite those three men to the house party, I will also pretend to be a servant to watch them.”

  Rhys tossed back his head and laughed. “I should have known you had another motive all along, Bell. His Majesty’s work is never far from your mind. Even when we’re drinking.”

  Bell’s grin widened. “Why shouldn’t we use the opportunity for two useful pursuits instead of one? I’ll admit, I was already thinking about this plan before Kendall informed us of his search for a wife, but if it helps both of us, all the better, I say. We will truly have to behave as servants, however. We’ll have to wait on the guests and do all the tasks servants must do.”

  “Hmm. I do quite like the idea of spying going on under my roof.” Clayton took another long draught of ale. “Gives the whole affair a bit of intrigue. And since I haven’t been a soldier or served His Majesty otherwise, I feel it’s my duty to say yes to this ruse. Not to mention my love of an experiment. Will you do it, Kendall?”

  Kendall hefted his mug to his lips and drained it. Then he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Now that Bell’s doing it with me, how can I refuse?”

  Rhys accepted yet another new mug of ale from the barmaid and flipped a coin into the air for her tip. He gave her a flirtatious grin before turning his attention back to the conversation. “I, for one, am so interested in seeing such a situation play out, not only will I attend to watch the spectacle, I will also settle a large sum on the outcome as to whether you two can pull this off. Care to bet me?” He gave them both his most competitive stare.

  Bell rolled his eyes. “Everything’s a bet with you, Worth.”

  “Perhaps, but you must admit, this is a particularly tempting bet.” Rhys lifted his chin toward the marquess. “Five hundred pounds say you are both outed by a keen-eyed mama within a sennight.”

  “I’ll take that bet!” Clayton declared, pointing a finger in the air. “You’ll be attending as a guest, I presume, Worthington.”

  Kendall’s snort of laughter interrupted Rhys’s reply. “Of course, he’s attending as a guest. Our mate Worth here could never pass for a footman.” He shook his head sympathetically toward the duke. “You couldn’t last one night serving others, I’m afraid.”

  Rhys gathered himself up and straightened his shoulders. “I take offense to that. If you two sops can do it, surely I can.”

  Clayton blew air into his cheeks and shook his head, not quite meeting Rhys’s gaze. “Hmm. I’m not exactly certain I agree with that, old chap.”

  Rhys crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his friend. “You truly don’t think I could do it?”

  “No,” Clayton admitted, looking slightly sheepish. “Not if you actually have to fill the role of a servant and do real chores. No.”

  Rhys’s gaze swung to Bell. “You don’t think I can do it either?” Was this truly what his friends thought of him? He knew he had a reputation to live down, but they didn’t think him capable of working as a servant for so much as a fortnight?

  Bell shook his head. “Not a chance. Apologies, Your Grace, but you’re far too used to being waited upon to wait on anyone else.”

  “But that’s how I know how to do it properly,” Rhys shot back, entirely disgruntled.

  Kendall snorted. “I’m afraid seeing one serve and actually serving are two entirely different things.”

  Rhys’s eyes widened. That hypocrite. “You’re a bloody earl for Christ’s sake. Why do you think you can serve?”

  “I may be an earl but I’m no stranger to hard work. I spent years in the Navy doing chores like picking oakum and deworming hardtack. And those two tasks were pleasant compared to some of my other tasks,” Kendall replied.

  Rhys slapped a palm on the tabletop. The mugs bounced. “Fine. One thousand pounds says I can make it through the entire fortnight as a servant too. Or at least I can last longer than either of you.”

  “Now who is being mad?” Clayton asked, waggling his eyebrows at Rhys.

  “I’m quite serious.” Rhys’s jaw was locked. If he was anything, he was competitive, and he was never more competitive than when someone believed he couldn’t do something. The thought incensed him. He’d win this bet if it was the last thing he did. “One thousand pounds, gentlemen. Who will take the bet?”

  “I will,” all three called in unison.

  Chapter One

  Viscount Clayton’s Country Estate,

  Devon, August 1814

  Thank Christ he’d finally escaped the house. Mrs. Cotswold, Clayton’s housekeeper, could be a frightening woman when she chose to be, and it appeared that she chose to be a great deal of the time.

  The older woman had been tasked with ensuring the three noblemen were fit to serve in Clayton’s household. She’d begun their training in London and had continued it here in the countryside. If Rhys had had any idea of the kind of strict discipline and watchful eye he’d be under while pretending to be a servant, he might not have been so quick to join the ‘experiment’ (as Clayton liked to call
it). But he’d made his bet, and he never backed down from a bet, Mrs. Cotswold or no. Besides, the kind of money Rhys had riding on this particular bet meant he couldn’t back down even if Medusa herself was employed as Clayton’s housekeeper.

  They’d even named their little experiment. The Footmen’s Club. Kendall had come up with it. It had a nice ring to it, only they weren’t all going to be footmen. While being fitted for their livery back in London, Rhys had announced to his friends that he intended to be a groomsman instead. Kendall had initially balked at the idea, until Bell had informed him that he intended to be a valet. Apparently, valeting would put the marquess in closer proximity to the men he needed to watch.

  If Bell could be a valet, then Rhys could be a groomsman. Kendall had grudgingly agreed. Besides, it was only sporting of them to allow Rhys to try his hand at service in the one role he might actually be good at. Horses and stables had long been his favorite place at any estate. And Clayton’s stables were particularly fine.

  Rhys had had enough of Mrs. Cotswold’s harping, however, and finally escaped to the stables to work with his direct supervisor, one Mr. Hereford, the stablemaster.

  Rhys was wandering around, wearing his new livery, carrying the bag in which he’d stuffed his clothing and a few necessities, when Mr. Hereford found him.

  “Mr. Worthy, I presume?” The older man stepped forward and offered a handshake.

  “That’s the name for the moment,” Rhys replied with a chuckle, offering his own hand.

  He liked the stablemaster immediately. Middle-aged with sparkling blue eyes and a ready smile, Mr. Hereford looked as if he’d give Rhys far less grief than Mrs. Cotswold. He’d clearly chosen the correct employment.

  “I take it Lord Clayton has informed you of my intentions?” Rhys asked next.

  Mr. Hereford nodded. “He did, indeed, Yer Grace.”

  “No. No, there will be none of that,” Rhys replied, shaking his head. “I’m to be Mr. Worthy and no one else while I’m here. No milord, no Your Grace, and no mentions of dukedoms, if you please.”