Page 35 of A Duke Never Tells
FIVE WEEKS LATER
“If anyone ever listened to me,” Basil Goodfrey said, tucking the ends of His Grace’s cravat into the depths of the knots he’d fashioned, “this would be an indoor wedding lit by candles at least four and not more than seven feet above the floor.”
“I’m going to regret this, but why between four and seven feet?” the duke asked.
“Light at head level minimizes lines and flaws on the face. We’ve discussed this before, Your Grace. Sunlight is horrible for one’s complexion. Everyone in the bridal parties today will be squinting, every blemish will be magnified, and worst of all, wind. What if a sudden breeze should tip over a spray of flowers or the archway or even, heaven forbid, your bride? She has fallen before, as you’re aware.”
“You make an outdoor wedding sound exceedingly dangerous. And Meg does topple quite a bit.” The duke nodded, looking at his reflection in the mirror one last time. “I’m quite excited to see which disaster will strike first, now. What was it you warned me about yesterday? Bees?”
“No. Bird droppings. Bees were the day before. If you would only listen, my point is that we’ve run out of days before the wedding, while I haven’t run out of reasons the ceremony should be held indoors.”
“I do listen to you, Goodfrey,” His Grace said, holding out his wrist for the first of a pair of emerald cufflinks. “I keep hoping that eventually you’ll realize I simply don’t care. If Meg tips over, I shall pick her up. I’ve done it before. The wedding ceremony is in less than an hour. Now go see to Elliott.”
“That man is going to have to hire his own valet, especially after he takes that house in Remiton. I refuse to ride back and forth attempting to make both of you look civilized.”
“I think he means to dress himself after the wedding.”
Goodfrey felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him quite lightheaded. “While still representing you and this estate? That cannot be allowed.”
“It’s not up to you. Now go away.”
Muttering a great many curses under his breath, Basil collected the spare neckcloths, the brush, comb, discarded nightclothes, and all the other detritus involved in dressing a duke, pretended not to see the lady’s slipper beneath the edge of the bed, and returned to the dressing table. James Clay had been a marquis, so he knew how to dress in an elegant manner, and except for the time he’d lost his mind and pretended to be a butler, he did dress well.
He would continue to dress well, if Basil had any say in the matter, which he did. The other one, Mr. Riniken, was a different story entirely. And while of course the man could benefit from learning how to dress, thank goodness that after today it would no longer be his responsibility to see to it.
A knock sounded at the door. “Enter,” the duke called, turning.
Randall Oberton leaned into the room. “The priest has arrived, Your Grace,” the servant said. “And the musicians are settled.”
“Thank you, Oberton. Our guests are all pleased with their rooms, I hope?”
“Yes, Your Grace. A great many compliments have been floating in the air today.” He shifted his feet. “If I might add one more, you have worked a miracle, Your Grace. Earnhurst Castle is worthy of the name again. It’s… stunning. And I will do everything I can to keep it that way.”
“That is why you’re the butler, now, Randall. Oberton,” the duke commented. “And a much better one than I ever made. I’ve already apologized for having to miss the staff card game this evening, but now I must also apologize for foisting Goodfrey on you. Please take him away.”
“I will take myself away,” Basil said, as he finished straightening the dressing table. “Though, of course, I will be close by if you should require a mended button or something.” Bowing, he left the master bedchamber ahead of the new butler.
The door to the largest guest suite was open, and he slowed as Lady Margaret Pinwell came into view. She’d chosen a stunning ivory gown of silk and lace that complemented her slender figure, and a simple veil that allowed her to wear a selection of flowers in her dark hair. Well done. She had definitely benefited from the arrival of her own lady’s maid, a silly young thing by the name of Nelly Prentiss.
The other one, Clara Bosley, strolled into view behind her niece, and while her gown was a much less elaborate, peach-colored confection, he had to concede that it fit her shape and her character quite well. She wasn’t an earl’s daughter or anything as auspicious as her niece, but she was gentry, and she showed well.
Why the women had ventured anywhere without someone to assist their dress in the first place, he would never understand.
Indeed, he understood very little about what had happened since he and His Grace had left London for Dorset, except that no one would have been able to manage planting a row of flowers, much less renovating the entire house and property, without his help and advice.
“Did you see what he brought me this morning?” Lady Margaret asked, turning to lift a platter off the dressing table. “Twenty biscuits from the bakery. He rode down to fetch them himself. If I wasn’t afraid I would pop out of my gown, I would eat them all.”
“You are going to be plump, you know.”
The almost-duchess laughed. “If that happens, I mean to see that James becomes stout right along with me. Though he has assured me that we will be getting a great deal of exercise after the wedding.” Her cheeks flushed. “Though of course I have no idea what he’s talking about, I am very much looking forward to it.”
Stout? Basil sniffed, ignoring the rest of her comments. That would mean an entirely new wardrobe. Ah, the things he suffered, and no one the wiser.
“No idea, eh?” Miss Bosley said, her own face going pink. “Neither do I.”
Lady Margaret laughed, grabbing her aunt’s hand. “Oh, my,” she whispered, her blush deepening. “I am a very happy bride.”
Of course she was. She was marrying a duke. Continuing down the hall, Goodfrey knocked at the door of the room formerly used by Riniken, then Mabel who was Lady Margaret, and now Riniken again. “Enter,” the man of business said, and Basil pushed open the door.
“Do you require any assistance?” he asked, carefully keeping the distaste from his voice. A valet of his expertise was not supposed to dress a commoner. No one had any idea of the indignities he’d faced since he’d accompanied the Duke of Earnhurst to Dorset.
“What do you think?” Mr. Riniken asked, facing him and indicating his cravat.
“I think you were wise to wear that gray coat,” Basil said, “as it was meant for you when you were a duke. That cravat, though, belongs on a solicitor or a banker. If I may?”
Pulling another cloth from the wardrobe, he disassembled the one around Mr. Riniken’s neck and replaced it with a much more fashionably tied one. He stepped back, viewed it again, moved it to either side and did it again, then returned to twitch one loop slightly higher.
“There.”
The man of business glanced at his reflection in the dressing mirror and nodded. “Thank you, Goodfrey. I couldn’t have managed either the ruse or getting married without you.”
Basil stopped. Finally, some recognition. “Thank you, Mr. Riniken. Perhaps I judged you too harshly.”
“You’ve taught me a great deal about dress and comportment. I mean to make good use of your generous instruction in the future.”
Well, he hadn’t instructed as much as he’d corrected disaster after disaster, but he did appreciate the compliment. Clearing his throat, he sketched a shallow bow. “I wish you every happiness in your marriage,” he said stiffly, and left the room.
His life was about to become much more complicated, but of course no one considered that. For heaven’s sake, the duke had already expressed the desire officially to share the master bedchamber with his wife, which would mean moving clothes yet again, developing a dressing schedule with silly Nelly so they didn’t tromp all over each other, remembering to knock at the door before he entered, and a dozen things that hadn’t even occurred to him yet.
As he’d done before, though, he would continue to suffer silently while rendering his best efforts for an ungrateful man. He already knew no one would ever thank him for his own part in arranging two weddings, repairing a castle, and organizing the new staff, but he would persevere.
And even if he only admitted it to himself, if he hadn’t gotten angry at the new duke’s lack of regard and kicked that stair railing loose the morning the ladies came to visit, Lady Margaret more than likely wouldn’t at this moment be heading downstairs to the garden and her marriage to the Duke of Earnhurst.
So much was accomplished by those in the shadows.