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Of course, these days, Thorpe covered it up well enough to those who did not know him intimately.

He’d grown far taller than anybody would have imagined and he’d filled out.

Despite his penchant for weeping over the misfortunes of all and sundry, he’d managed to become a sportsman of sorts.

He was particularly known for his swordsmanship.

But most of all, Thorpe had taken on the mien of stern and reserved marquess.

Charles knew what was underneath that mask, though.

A full- grown man who would take on all the world’s tragedies and lament over them.

Charles intended to marry this season, not because he had a particular urge to do it, but because the duke had been pressuring Thorpe to do it for two seasons. It would be one more way to prove he was superior.

He gazed round the fine furnishings the duke had provided.

He might not be the heir, but he was most definitely the favorite.

He supposed Thorpe was made uneasy that he’d come to Town.

He’d be uneasy that Charles could, at any moment, decide to relocate out of The Albany and into the house with him.

The duke would have informed him of his younger brother’s determination to wed, which would make him uneasier still.

He was a second son, all the power he’d got was to make his older brother uneasy.

*

Though Serenity had wished for time to slow down, it had gone by just as quickly as it always did. The morning of their departure had come sooner than was wanted, but it could not be made to go back to yesterday.

It had taken them hours and hours to get going, which she was not sorry about.

Had Patience been on the scene, she would have lost her mind over it.

Winsome hid Verity’s pelisse twice and Nelson had been a bit too clever in hiding Mrs. Wendover.

The stuffed rabbit had finally been found in Mrs. Right’s sewing basket.

As they had left so much later than planned, they did not reach the inn they usually stayed in for their first night of the journey.

Rather, they stopped at The Wolf and Lamb, and that innkeeper had at first been surprised to discover a duke and his party at his doors.

Serenity was so attuned to the feelings of those around her that she could not have helped understanding his rapidly changing emotions.

The innkeeper had been delighted to hear that they must have rooms and a private dining room.

As the night wore on, that had changed—he had been chagrined.

By the following morning, he had looked rather angry.

Serenity supposed the duke’s brocabbage pie jest had not gone over very well. It was a Yorkshire staple, he said, and he must have it. After there had been much consultation in the kitchens, he’d informed them that it did not exist—he’d made the whole thing up.

Considering how they took it, her papa had been very naughty in changing his mind to Grassington Hambac, another nonexistent Yorkshire staple.

They’d finally heard the cook shout, “You tell His Grace he’ll be lucky if I don’t serve him some deadly mushrooms and call it a local staple!

I know where they are—I can walk into the wood and be back with them in a thrice. ”

Then of course, the footmen always took the journey to Town as a well-earned trip of merriment and relaxation.

Their ideas of merriment began with copious amounts of wine and ale and ended with singing in the innyard in the early hours.

They always looked very ill the following day, but that did not put them off it.

As Serenity tended to notice people’s feelings more than the rest of her family, she could hardly be surprised that her father thought the inn well worth visiting again. The duke told the innkeeper as much, and somehow did not notice the man’s downcast expression.

After several similar visits to various inns as they inexorably drew closer to Town, Serenity was beginning to get the idea that, as a general thing, innkeepers were not overfond of her father.

The last one informed the duke that he was closing up and retiring and the building was to be remade into a private house and on no account should the duke attempt to disturb the new owners.

Serenity was not certain she believed that.

Though she wished for one more night on the road, or one more year in the Dales, they did reach London.

She had, of course, been there in other years.

But it had not seemed so loud or busy or intimidating at those times.

Those times, she had been one of the daughters not out, there had been nothing at all to fear, and she could safely stay at home and watch the goings-on of her older sisters.

She’d even sat back and watched Patience, who was only older by minutes.

But now, all attention would be turned toward her and, she supposed, all fingers crossed behind their backs in the hopes that she would not make herself foolish.

As the carriage dodged traffic of all sorts coming from all directions, her eyes watered at the thoughts running through her mind.

Mrs. Right patted her hand. “There now, my girl, there is nothing to fear from this godforsaken pit full of rogues and harpies. You are with your family and you have our full support.”

“That’s right,” the duke said, “have you not witnessed the nonsense I have endured with your three sisters who have finally gone from the house? I stuck by them, though it was a trial, and I’ll stick by you even though I am certain it will be a trial.

What else can I do? Four more of you to get out of the house and my dream is within reach! ”

Serenity mopped her eyes. “Do stop, Papa, you are making me laugh.” He really was a sentimental father, though so few people could see it.

“Now, here we are and look at this, no Mr. Cremble in sight,” the duke said as the carriage slowed in front of the house in Grosvenor Square.

Serenity peered out. It was true, there was no new butler at the doors, as there had been in other years.

“Perhaps Lady Marchfield told Mr. Cremble what he could expect from me,” Mrs. Right said, “and he thought better of hanging around.”

“Hah!” the duke said. “That would be something—got rid of him before we even arrived. Well now, let us go inside and find out.”

As they had four carriages full of people and things, the getting out and going inside was like an army scattering under fire.

Thomas raced to the doors and used the key he’d been given to open them.

Serenity noticed he appeared delighted to do it.

As the senior footman and no butler wanted round the place, he’d been given the keys years ago and had carried them carefully, though he’d yet to use them.

Serenity and her sisters all piled inside, and just then, a tall and thin man came hurrying down the corridor from the direction of the servants’ stairs. “Your Grace, forgive me, I did not hear you arrive. I was deep in prayer just now.”

The duke looked Mr. Cremble up and down and said, “Prayer? In my house? Who are you?”

Everybody snorted over that question, but for Mr. Cremble.

“Your Grace, Lady Marchfield, she did inform me that you might pretend to have no knowledge of me, however she assured me—”

“I see. You are one of those . Lady Misery is rather free with her assurances, whatever they were.”

“One of those , Your Grace? Lady Misery?”

“The fourth of those , if my memory serves me. This is Mrs. Right, she runs the place.”

At the mention of the housekeeper, Mr. Cremble did recoil just the smallest bit. Serenity supposed he’d been told something of the stalwartness of their dear Mrs. Right. And how no other butler had been able to overcome her so far.

“Come, girls,” the duke said. “Let’s get settled. Mrs. Right will explain to this fellow how things are.”

They left Mr. Cremble looking as if he were very afraid to discover how things were.

*

Mrs. Right directed the footman and grooms to begin the onerous process of unloading the luggage carriage. The duke had very helpfully instructed her to explain to Mr. Cremble how things were. She planned to do just that. At least, how she wished them to appear to be at this moment in time.

“All right, Mr. Cremble, you heard the duke. We’d best take ourselves to the servants’ hall and have a tea tray. Cook should have installed himself days ago and I suppose he’s given you the lay of the land.”

She charged forward into the house knowing very well that Cook would have told him nothing.

Mr. Cremble jogged behind her. “Actually, he has not, Mrs. Right. I asked him several questions, but all he would say was that I would find out for myself. He said it in a rather disturbing tone and then got rather surly the last time I asked.”

“Disturbing? Surly?” Mrs. Right asked with an innocent lilt. “That does not sound like our beloved Cook at all.”

“I can assure you of the truth of it. Last evening, I was served toast for dinner. That was all, just toast!”

“You must be mistaken, Mr. Cremble,” Mrs. Right said, though she could not imagine how anybody could be mistaken over what they’d eaten for dinner.

They made their way down the stairs to the servants’ quarters and Mrs. Right spotted something new on the wall.

Mr. Cremble had found the temerity to hang a silver cross, just at the bottom of the stairwell.

She supposed the would-be vicar wished to remind the servants, as they were coming and going, where their real duty lay.

As always with these unwanted butlers, they threw her clues on how to rid the house of them. Here was a delightful clue. If there was one thing a churchman-cum-butler would find terrifying, it was an ungodly housekeeper.