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his aunt getting her petticoats in a bunch and deciding to move out. Leaving the job of hostess wide open for say…someone else…like his mother.
    Thatcher shuddered, realizing that perhaps they both had plights that were best left unbroached.
    Meanwhile, Aunt Geneva sat waiting, her hands folded primly before her. “Now tell me about your visit to Miss Langley. I daresay she’s probably seen fit to leave Town by now.” Much to his surprise, she sounded quite worried at the prospect. Then he discovered why. “I do hope you didn’tleave her in a state of decline. I don’t want to see her name listed in the obituaries next month.”
    Of course. Such a thing would put a blight on their good name, and the one thing a Sterling never did was bring scandal down upon their family’s golden reputation. With the possible exception having been him.
    Aunt Geneva sighed. “Still, I suppose she was quite undone by her loss.”
    Thatcher glanced up from the laden plate that had just been put before him. “Hardly. When I left her, I do believe she was quite elated. She offered me a fine salary for my troubles.”
    She paused, her teacup halfway to her lips. “A salary? To be her husband?”
    “No. To be her new footman.” He paused and waited and then it came.
    Geneva coughed and sputtered, nearly dropping the Wedgwood piece. “Her what?”
    “You heard me perfectly,” he replied. “I am Miss Langley’s new footman.”
    Aunt Geneva laughed. “And here I thought the army had tamed that wretched sense of humor of yours. Truly, Your Grace, now that you’ve inherited, you need to remember who you are.” She glanced over at Staines and shook her head, as if to signal to the man that His Grace wasn’t truly a footman, nor mad, like the fourth duke had been rumored to be.
    “’Tis no joke. This is the Langley livery.” He held out his arm and smoothed his hand over the sleeve. “I fear the jacket is a little snug in the shoulders. Do you think Weston could do the alterations?”
    “I think not!” she declared.
    Probably also wouldn’t do to let his aunt know about the jacket’s rather questionable past. So instead he tucked back into his breakfast, happily chewing a large bite of ham.
    “The Langley livery, indeed!” Geneva huffed. “Now tellme what happened yesterday, and none of this falderal about footmen and livery.”
    “But it isn’t falderal,” he told her. “Miss Langley mistook me for some fellow an agency was sending over.” He tried the bacon and found it to be perfect. Mrs. Hutchinson had been right about one thing—it had been a while since he’d had a good and filling meal. “Apparently you were right about me calling on her before I’d had a chance to change into something more…more…”
    “Respectable? Fitting of your station?” his aunt suggested. “Your Grace, tell me you are joking about all this.”
    “I fear not,” he told her, taking another bite of bacon.
    “But Your Grace, this is ruinous. I warned you something like this would happen.”
    “So you did, and it has, but I don’t see anything ruinous about it,” he said, slathering a large helping of marmalade on his toast. “There might be a bit of a dustup, some good laughs at my expense, but I hardly see it worth this Cheltenham tragedy of yours.”
    “Have you thought for a moment how this will reflect on Miss Langley?” Hence on us , her words implied.
    He glanced up. “Miss Langley? What has this to do with her? I was the one who looked like a regular beggar.”
    Aunt Geneva drew a deep breath. “Why, her name will be cast about in the most unflattering of manner. She’ll be ruined.”
    “Really, Aunt Geneva, ruined?
    “Utterly, Your Grace! You must go over there as soon as you are properly outfitted and set matters to right.”
    He waved his hand at her. “There is no need to wait for the tailor to make me decent, I must have some old togs around here somewhere in the attic. Besides, if you must know, I had