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CHAPTER TWO

Percy

Perhaps I had been too blunt. Too forward. Too honest.

Henry needed to understand the world to which he was returning.

His white father had, against the objections of everyone, wed a Black woman.

William’s mother, the Earl’s first wife, had been white.

Upon her death, the Earl had gone to London and had returned with the woman who would eventually be Henry’s mother.

Henry had both white and Black blood running through his veins.

The vast Hartridge wealth had opened many doors for Henry, which would have been otherwise closed.

Although Black men were free in England, they were certainly not respected to the same degree as others.

In America, many Black men, women, and children were enslaved.

That idea repulsed me.

I did not see Henry’s skin. I saw only the man I had been in love with since we had both been thirteen years old.

Without thought, I assisted him into the bathtub.

He hissed as the heated water hit his skin.

Again, with my help, he submerged and held his breath as the water lapped over his beautiful face.

Finally, he emerged. He gasped in a huge breath of air.

I could not even imagine his thoughts at that moment.

Mine were of how this proud man would survive with the knowledge of his injury. Of the three deaths in six months. The awesome responsibility of a child.

I handed him the soap, and he set about cleaning himself.

With difficulty.

I winced. “Would your lordship?—”

“Henry.” He barked that.

“Yes. Henry. Would you like me to assist you?”

“It had to be my right arm. Because losing a limb was not bad enough.”

I had no response. I took the soap from him, lathered some, and began cleaning him. The dirt and grit came off his skin, but clung to his hair. At least he had had it trimmed recently, and I was able to soap it and wash off the residual mess. He should have worn a hat.

Perhaps he did not have one. You are going to have to take a good inventory and ensure everything he does not have is ordered forthwith.

Until now, I had been a footman. Following in my father’s footsteps, so to speak.

Upon news of Henry’s imminent return—as well as the nature of his injuries—I had been offered the role of valet. I was big and strong—both physically and emotionally. Whatever Henry might require, I could provide it for him.

A knock at the door had me hustling over. I thanked Martha for the bucket of steaming-hot water.

She closed the door, and I headed over to Henry. I added some of the lukewarm water in another bucket, then tried the water to determine the temperature.

“Just dump it on me.”

“I refuse to burn you.” I eased my fingers in. “This is very hot.”

“I can take it.”

“I dare say you can.” Since I was able to dip my fingers in, I slowly poured the water over his head—mindful if he said anything about it being too hot.

He did not.

Instead, he shook his head. Spraying water everywhere.

Including on me.

“Hellfire.” He gazed at my wet clothes. “I truly apologize.”

“Nothing that won’t dry. At least you’re clean.”

For the first time, he offered the ghost of a smile. “Yes, I am. You are right.”

When he went to lever himself up, however, his stump brushed along the edge of the tub and he swore.

I merely grasped him under his arms and hauled him up. I held tight until he was able to step out of the tub and use his strong leg to bear his weight.

He uttered more curse words under his breath.

I grabbed a towel and began the process of drying him. All the while studiously avoiding looking toward his manhood. I had seen plenty of men over the past few years. My father, unaware of my proclivities, sent me to London several times a year for various errands.

He likely thought I would find a wife in the large city.

Instead, I came home with more experience in my repertoire. Finding men like myself was not nearly as difficult as I had imagined it would be. So I had seen cocks before.

Just not Henry’s cock.

That thought contained truth.

Still, when he was sufficiently dry, I assisted him into lounging clothes. The lord would eventually need to sup at the table but, for tonight, he would eat up here.

When I had him situated, I made my way down to the kitchen.

Martha eyed me over the heavenly smelling food. “Two trays?”

“Yes. So I may be close to attend him.”

She grinned. “Of course. It is…nice the lord is home.”

“He will need time to settle.” Words that felt like an understatement.

The lord had been sent away to school more than fifteen years ago.

After the disastrous affair with Caroline and his brother, he had settled into a life of bedding and debauching young women.

Eventually, news of his rakish behavior had reached Crosswood Hall.

His father had summarily cut Henry off entirely.

With what little money he had left, he bought a commission in the army.

“I will ensure he descends when he is able.”

“Yes, that would be good.” Mr. Fortescue approached. “I have a long list of families who wish to greet his lordship properly. The Earl of Hartridge has responsibilities.”

My hackles rose. “He is grieving the loss of three dear family members. He is newly returned from the war with injuries that almost cost him his life. I will not allow him to be pressed into social niceties until he is ready.”

Mr. Fortescue arched an eyebrow. “I do believe the choice is not up to you. Lord Hartridge needs to be made aware of his duties?—”

“His duties?” I bit back the words I wanted to use. “His duty is to Isabella and the tenants and farmers. He owes nothing to society. When he chooses to meet these so-called obligations will be entirely up to him. On his schedule—not theirs.”

Martha’s eyes widened.

Right. She has never heard me speak like this. Let alone to Mr. Fortescue.

Said butler cleared his throat. “I will kindly remind you what your place is in this home, Mr. Dankworth.”

“To protect the earl. To ensure his every need is cared for. To see to his well-being. If he decides I am too overbearing, he has the right to ask me to go. Until then, I will stay at my post.” I nodded and headed up the stairs.

Only to find Henry sleeping soundly in his bed.

Poor man. He’s exhausted. The journey from London was not easy at the best of times, but in late November, the cold rain made the trip treacherous. At least he had arrived before the first snow.

When Joanie and Jenny arrived with the trays, I sent one back and put the other on the small table. I pulled up a chair and dug into the food.

The stew was superb, the bread delicious, and the butter churned to perfection. Even without a master for several months, the house ran like clockwork. We all knew our responsibilities and, under Mr. Fortescue, we did as expected.

If Henry needed time to recover, it would be his. Mr. Wiggins had the accounts in order. Cook ran her kitchen in military fashion.

Or so I understood militaries to be operated thus.

Mrs. Fernsby cared for Isabella and, even now, no sound reached this room. Henry could rest in peace.

If that was what he wanted.

Perhaps not. He had been active as a boy. We had played together as children—me with the chastisement to keep Henry in line. As the son of an earl, he had expectations heaped upon him. Even if he was merely the spare .

He had also been a scamp full of mischief.

I struggled to keep us both out of trouble.

Then he was sent away to school.

Remaining behind, I had been fortunate to continue to receive an education until the time came for me to train to be a footman.

Valet was a significant move upward. My close connection to Henry had been, I understood, the deciding factor for Mr. Fortescue.

Henry stirred.

I moved to his side. “Do you need…?”

“To piss? Yes, I do.”

With some effort, I was able to assist him.

He clearly was not pleased.

And, despite my previous efforts to avoid looking at his cock, now I got a view.

Impressive .

Once he was finished, I disposed of the contents of the chamber pot. “Are you ready for food?”

“Wine. Whisky. I don’t care.”

I hesitated.

“You said you were here to assist me. So assist me.”

“Of course. With stew. Cook wanted something easy but hearty for you tonight. She will recommence her regular meals tomorrow. Do you have any preferences?”

His expression was absolutely incredulous. “I have been living off army rations for years now—only occasionally able to eat…proper food. I will, with gratitude, take whatever I can get.”

He was slender. Like he had gone without. I had assumed that was because of his injury, but perhaps he was that way due to circumstances.

More guilt that I had been here, admittedly working, but away from the fighting. Helping keep Crosswood functioning hardly compared to a commission in the army. I snagged the tray.

“You ate my food?” No missing the amused tone.

I smiled back. “I sent your tray back to the kitchen. I have to say, the meal was delicious. I shall return in a moment.” I bowed, then headed out of the room and down the servant’s staircase. I could have rung, but I wanted to see to this myself.

The kitchen was empty, save Cook, who sat with a pile of papers.

I tilted my head.

“Deciding what to prepare his lordship. I was not here fifteen years ago, when he was in residence. I have no idea of his preferences.”

“I shall ask him. Although he did state anything other than army rations would be appreciated. The stew is perfect for tonight. Perhaps something lighter for tomorrow?”

“Chicken?”

“I believe he would be grateful. I can query him as to his preferences for future meals. We also are aware he needs to begin entertaining. Once he is better able to go up and down stairs.”

Cook moved to the stove, grabbed a bowl, and ladled some stew. Then she grabbed a roll and added a pat of butter in a small ceramic container. “Yes, please ask him. I wish him to be satisfied with the meals.”

“You always provide stupendous meals, and I am certain you will continue to do so in the future.”

She eyed me for a long moment before indicating I was free to take the tray.

I gave the older woman a peck on the cheek.

She swatted me away.

Her presence at Crosswood had been welcome—especially with all the illness the family had faced. Her steady hand in the kitchen had kept the house running. With Wiggins and Fortescue guiding as well. The estate had fared well, despite the upheaval.

I was almost out the door when I realized my mistake. The omission. “The master would like some wine or whisky.”

“He is not getting whisky with my stew.” Cook moved to the pantry and pulled out a bottle. “I retrieved this from the wine cellar earlier. We will need to replenish the stock. Mr. William…”

Ah yes. Henry’s dissolute brother. Is Henry aware?

I did not have a good answer to that. Instead, I accepted the tray with a goblet and the bottle of wine and then headed upstairs.

Henry’s eyes were shut when I arrived.

I laid the tray on the table and went to shut the door.

“I am awake.”

“As you are, might I suggest some food?”

His nose twitched. “That smells magnificent. Oh, and you brought wine. Good man.”

I can do what I am told . That said, I was glad the bottle was only half full.

I did not wish Henry to get rip-roaring drunk his first night home.

Or maybe that will be what he needs. Whatever.

Henry was a man of thirty-five. The Earl of Hartridge.

Master of Crosswood Hall and all the lands.

If he wanted to imbibe, my responsibility was to ensure he did not injure himself.

That decided, I poured half a goblet of wine and brought the tray to Henry.

He managed to sit up, so I was able to put the tray on his lap.

I pulled up a chair and grabbed a spoon.

He scowled. “What do you think you are doing?”

“Assisting you to eat…?” This seemed pretty obvious to me.

He snatched the spoon from me. With great strength. Using his left hand. “I am able to do a few things.” He continued to scowl. “Buttons are impossible. As are cravats. Not that I intend to wear them.”

“Ah, but when you entertain the Marstons, Lord Linwood of Lynchwood Hall, the Somersets from Waverly Park, and John Sutherland from Blackthorne Estate, you will need to wear a cravat.”

Now the scowl became a glare.

I pointed to the stew. “Before it gets cold.”

He took a mouthful. A little awkwardly, but he did not spill.

“You are the earl. You will entertain the prominent families as you are required to do. You will visit the tenants and farmers. You will ride on Maestro as you once did.”

His gaze shot to mine. “Maestro is still alive?”

“He was a colt when you departed. He is still very much alive. He will be pleased to see you.”

“I cannot ride a horse.”

“Cannot or will not?” I pointed to the glass of wine.

He snatched it and drank deeply. A bit awkwardly…but he managed.

“I will not ride a horse.”

Ah. So perhaps because of his injury. We’ll see about that .

“Eat up, my lord. Tomorrow you will be busy.”

“I instructed you to refer to me as Henry when we are alone.”

“Eat up, Henry. You have much work ahead of you.”

A ghost of a smile passed across his lips as he believed he had won this argument.

Oh, I have just started. You wait and see.