“It’s obvious you have worked among the Quality for a good many years,” James said. “Your accent is almost as lofty as Lord John’s.”
Duncan bit back a curse. Fatigued as he had been last night and this morning, he had forgotten to flatten his natural way of speaking, making it sound lower class. He’d trained with Mr. Tattle for just such a situation. But he supposed it would be easier to keep his voice natural. Lucy would most likely do the same as a nanny was expected to be well-educated and well-spoken.
“Thank you,” Duncan said. “I’ve worked on my speech for many years.”
“Not so many years,” Molly said, gazing at him with her blue eyes. “You can’t yet be thirty.”
“Nine and twenty,” he acknowledged.
“Off with ye,” said a short man with brown bristles for hair. Duncan recognized him as the butler immediately by his dress, not to mention the way the rest of the servants gulped down their tea and jumped up to begin work at his appearance. “Molly, nae flirting with the new man then.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it, McAlpin,” she said, but gave Duncan a wink before she sauntered away.
“And ye are the new man? Duncan Smith. Smith isnae Scottish, but ye have the look of a Scot about ye.”
McAlpin had a good eye. Duncan’s grandparents had moved from Scotland to London. But Duncan Smith had no such history. “All English, I’m afraid,” he said. “Though I have worked for the Duke of Argyll in Edinburgh these past five years. I have letters of reference in my room. Allow me to fetch them for you.”
McAlpin waved a hand. “Later. Now I had best take ye on the tour of the house and go over yer duties. In another hour, we’ll all be running to and fro with nae time for conversation.”
Duncan made a point of noting the windows and doors on his tour. He’d return later and examine them to see how sturdy they might be and how likely to keep out an intruder. After the tour he was summoned to the kitchen to carry trays of breakfast food to the dining room to set on the sideboard. Lord John was at the table with his paper and McAlpin introduced Duncan.
The prime minister, a middle-aged man in prime form, removed his spectacles and gave Duncan a long look. “Welcome, Duncan. Come to my library after breakfast. I’d like to speak to you in private.”
“Yes, my lord.” Duncan gave a quick bow and allowed McAlpin to usher him out.
“Either yer already in trouble or he’s taken a liking to ye,” McAlpin said. “Now, back to the kitchen with ye and see if Michaud—that’s the cook—needs anything fetched or carried.”
As it turned out, Michaud needed any number of items fetched and carried as did members of the household, and it was some time before Duncan was handed a tray with letters and instructed to take them to Lord John in his study. He made his way to the first floor and entered the airy, sunlit study. His gaze was immediately drawn to the large bay window, which offered a view of the gardens just outside. Roses were in bloom, and Duncan surmised this was one of the two rose gardens McAlpin had mentioned.
“My lord,” Duncan said, offering the tray with the correspondence. Russell looked up, took the letters, then motioned to the door.
“Close the door and have a seat.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Duncan did as was asked and Lord John removed his spectacles and sat back. “You make a convincing footman.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sure serving dinner to my family at our country house was not what you had in mind when you joined the Royal Saboteurs.”
“I wanted to serve my country, and if delivering letters and serving dinner is part of that, then so be it.”
Russell nodded. “Baron Keating recommends you and Miss Galloway very highly. I have not met her yet, though I did ask that she attend this meeting.”
“She is not particularly fond of mornings,” Duncan said.
“Ah. The children will cure her of that. They wake when the cock crows.”
Both men turned their heads as a light tapping sounded on the door. “This must be her now,” Russell remarked. “Come.”
The door opened, and Duncan blinked at the picture Lucy presented. He’d become used to seeing her in calf-length skirts and bloomers, a loose blouse, and a man’s waistcoat. Most days, her hair was carelessly secured in a tail down her back. She did sometimes dress for dinner, and she inevitably chose gowns in bright colors, wearing her hair in a riot of curls on top of her head.
He barely recognized the woman who entered now. She wore a dress so dark blue it was almost black. Her hair was neat and pulled into a low bun, secured at the nape of her neck. The severe style made her look younger, emphasizing her dark brows and large eyes.
But then she smiled, flashing her dimples, and she was the Lucy he knew. “Lord John.” She curtseyed. “A pleasure to meet you.”
Duncan had risen to his feet, but he saw now Lord John had as well. Fortunately, Lucy had closed the door behind her. What would the other servants think if they saw the prime minister standing for a mere nanny?
