Page 1 of A Perplexing Regency Romance (The League of Meddling Butlers #5)

Hugh Finstatten, the latest Duke of Greystone, had thought it would be a laugh to crew for Sir Edward Bromley, or Seddie as he called him, on The Contessa .

Lord Bedwick’s annual regatta would be held in a few days and the members of The Devil’s Den were determined to put forward some competition to the Duke of Barstow, who’d won it several years in a row.

At least, Hugh had thought crewing might be a laugh when he’d heard about it last evening. Seddie had talked him into it at the club. Of course, he’d been in his cups and had found everything in the world amusing.

The cold light of day introduced less amused feelings.

Seddie had dragged him out of his bed at dawn with his head pounding.

The rogue had already been to the stables to inform them that Hugh’s horse was to be saddled.

Then he’d sped down to the kitchens to upset his staff by insisting they required eggs, rashers, rolls, and coffee as fast as it could be made.

Hugh did not precisely know what went on in the kitchens so early in the morning, but he suspected that it was a time for the staff to have their breakfasts and otherwise enjoy their leisure.

Or maybe Seddie had dragged them from their beds.

There was no way to know until Browning told him in grim terms later.

Hugh had seen the look on Browning’s face, who had no doubt been roused by the irate cook.

They were not, generally speaking, an early rising household and his butler was clearly not entertained by the dawn hour.

Or entertained by Sir Edward. Or entertained by the notion that they were to set off on the Thames on Sir Edward’s boat.

Poor Browning was often looking grim over something or other, and particularly over Sir Edward. It had always been so and Hugh was very used to it. He would be far more surprised if Mr. Browning suddenly broke out in laughter.

At least his valet had been left abed. Hugh was perfectly capable of dressing himself and Richards was not worth waking up so early. The fellow would just have his revenge by tying his neckcloth too tight and then pretending it was a mistake.

He went downstairs and found Seddie already at the sideboard, helping himself to sausages.

He must be called Seddie, as it would be awkward to call him Sir Edward and even more awkward to call him Edward.

The name was some combination of sir and Eddie and they’d settled it long ago.

After all, Seddie did not call him Your Grace, but rather Finstatten.

When they’d been boys, they’d come to blows on the subject of names.

Hugh had pointed out he was a marquess and should be addressed as a lord while his friend was as of yet a nobody.

Seddie turned out to be remarkably good with his fists and they’d both ended bruised from head to toe before a settlement was agreed on.

He had no idea why they had not settled on using Seddie’s last name, Bromley, as they had on Hugh’s last name.

But then, they had been eight and not exactly brimming with sense.

At the moment, his friend was all enthusiasm and speed at this ungodly hour. He’d filled his plate, turned round, and then laughed raucously at Hugh. “What on earth are you wearing?”

Hugh looked down. He was dressed very usually, though he could not be entirely sure of the colors. At least, not the colors other people saw. He was colorblind, just as his father had been. Richards usually sorted that out for him, but Richards was still abed.

“Perhaps I might go above stairs and choose another waistcoat, Your Grace,” Browning said.

From that, Hugh presumed that his waistcoat the coat did not match.

He shrugged, as he really could not tell.

He’d not even known he could not see colors as other people did until he was seven or eight.

They were playing Taw and Seddie had told him he was blind as a bat when he could not determine which marble was yellow and which was green.

No sooner had breakfast been on the sideboards than Hugh had been rushed through it. Browning came back with another waistcoat and got him into it, and they were on their horses.

It was a chill, grey morning with spits of freezing rain stinging his cheeks. Heavy clouds scudded across the sky and an ill wind tugged at his hat. Some of the branches on the trees of the square showed a glaze of ice. His horse was entirely disgusted with it. Hugh was entirely disgusted.

They reached the river, and it seemed the Thames was entirely disgusted too. The water was a dark, cold grey and the waves, buffeted by the wind, were a deal higher than one would hope.

“We cannot go out in that,” he said.

“Nonsense,” Seddie said. “It’s perfect. Challenging conditions will prepare us. Then on the day, conditions are bound to be better and we’ll have the edge because we will have already been through the worst of it.”

Hugh was not certain he followed the logic. Seeming to see his hesitation, Seddie handed him a flask of brandy. Perhaps it was not the most ideal solution to his hesitation, but it did indeed soften the unpleasantness of the situation.

He followed Seddie to a twenty-two foot sloop tied up on the pier. Hugh looked around, but they seemed to be quite alone. “Where is the boat man?”

“What boat man?” Seddie asked.

“The boat man. The captain. The man who will oversee the operation.”

Seddie laughed. “The boat did not come with a man attached to it. I suppose it would have cost a deal more if it did. I’m the captain.”

“Wait. You bought the boat? I assumed you rented it.”

“Rented it? Finstatten, if one is to do something, one must go all in.”

“So you bought a boat for a regatta. Then what? What will you do with it after the regatta?”

This appeared to be a question that had so far failed to present itself to Seddie’s mind. Then he smiled. “I know what we’ll do.”

Hugh was a bit concerned at the use of “we’ll.”

“Remember when we tried to build a boat to sail down the Orwell?”

Of course, Hugh did remember that. It had seemed like an exciting idea at the time.

The day before, they’d trekked the half mile to the river and went fishing.

They’d come home empty-handed but while they were there, they’d talked of how glorious it would be to just set sail, captains of their own ship.

They might even dare to sail all the way into the Channel.

They’d been in an old and unused outbuilding that was their headquarters of sorts when they speculated on it.

Their eyes had settled on the stacks of old wood piled in a corner.

Then they’d got a hammer and nails and set to work.

On reflection, Hugh did not imagine the boat would have remained afloat for more than a minute, considering it was just planks hammered together that looked more a square box than a rounded hull.

On top of that, they had still to come up with an idea to plug all the gaps, how to move it to the river when it was done, and what to use as a sail.

It was all for naught, as they’d never got that far.

Somehow the duke got wind of it and put a stop to it.

He and Seddie had been delivered of a stern lecture, mostly to do with the height of the waves when the tide and wind ran against each other and how they would have ended two foolish boys drowned.

“You see what I hint at?” Seddie said. “We could go the other way. We somehow get the boat into the Channel, we could probably hire somebody to figure that part out, and then we sail up the Orwell as easy as you like.”

There were several problems with Seddie’s idea. First, whenever he used the word “somehow” there was almost always an insurmountable problem ahead. Second, whenever he claimed something was “easy as you like,” there was almost always an insurmountable problem ahead.

“Perhaps we ought to discover how skilled you are at sailing the Thames before we head out to the English Channel,” he said drily.

“Right you are,” Seddie said, all enthusiasm. “Do not worry about a thing, I’ve read all about it.”

He’d read all about it. Marvelous.

After boarding the boat, Seddie struggled to get the sail out of its canvas bag, which Hugh did not think a propitious beginning. Finally pulling it all the way out, four pieces of wood, all four of equal length, fell out of the bottom of the sail bag.

Seddie stared at the collection of wood for a moment. Then he said, “That’s right. I read about these. They’re battens. They go in holes in the side of the sail.”

“What are they for?” Hugh asked.

“I don’t know, they just go there. I presume they do something.”

They spent the next ten minutes searching for holes. One was finally found, which gave a clue as to where the other ones were. They still did not know the purpose of the battens, but they did fit exactly into the narrow slots so they supposed they’d got it right.

They were about to try to get the sail up when they realized the steering mechanism was lying at the bottom of the boat.

Seddie pretended he’d realized it all along and made a great show of explaining that the rudder had to be attached to the tiller and then the whole thing attached to the back of the boat.

That was another half hour in drizzling cold rain.

That done, getting the sail up was another palaver.

Seddie stared at the sail, and then the mast, and tried to remember what he’d read about it.

They finally figured it out. They got the sail up the mast and then the bottom of it tied to the boom.

The sail flapped back and forth as Hugh untied the rope at the front of the boat.

“You are at the bow of the boat,” Seddie said to him, very unnecessarily. “Best to start picking up sailor lingo. I am at the stern. I could also call it aft. I don’t know what the difference is.”

Seddie untied his rope and they both pushed off.