Devil in Spring

“I probably will,” Pandora allowed. “After all, look at what I tolerate from my lady’s maid. A footman would have to be absolutely impossible for me to dislike him.”

Chapter 17

“My footman is impossible,” Pandora exclaimed a week after their return to London. “I have to find another one right away.” She had just come back from her first outing in her new carriage, and it didn’t appear to have gone well. Closing the bedroom door behind her, she advanced on Gabriel with a scowl while he unbuttoned his waistcoat.

“There’s a problem?” Gabriel asked in concern. He tossed aside his waistcoat and began to unknot his necktie.

“A problem? No. Many problems. A plethora of problems. I went to visit Helen and the new baby, and then I stopped at Winterborne’s, and—Good God, what is that smell?” Pandora stopped in front of him, sniffing close to his chest and throat. “It’s all over you. A sort of metal-polish smell, and a bit like something’s gone bad in the larder.”

“I’ve just come from the swimming club,” Gabriel said, smiling at her expression. “They added chlorine and other chemicals to the swimming bath to keep the water from turning foul.”

Pandora wrinkled her nose. “In this case, the solution may be worse than the problem.” She retreated to the bed and hoisted herself onto the mattress, watching him undress.

“You were saying about the footman,” Gabriel prompted, unbuttoning his cuffs.

He’d been prepared for a few objections about Drago, a former employee from Jenner’s, who was admittedly an unconventional choice for a footman. Drago had started working at the club at the age of twelve, and had risen through the ranks from messenger boy to night porter, and eventually to main hall steward. He had no family to speak of, having been abandoned at an orphanage with a note bearing his name.

Gabriel had known him for years. There was no man in London he would trust more to watch over his wife during her excursions about town, which was why he’d ended up paying a small fortune to hire him as a lady’s footman.

The role wasn’t as improbable a fit as one might have assumed. One of the requirements of a footman was to be well acquainted with the terrain of London, and Drago knew every nook and cranny of the city. He was a physically imposing man, large and muscular, with an air of quiet menace that would intimidate anyone who even thought about approaching Pandora. His disposition was steady, if humorless, and he was not easily provoked. It was second nature for him to notice details of people’s dress, postures, and expressions, and identify risks and problems before they occurred.

Although Drago had reluctantly accepted the position, his lack of enthusiasm had been obvious.

“Lady St. Vincent doesn’t pay attention to time,” Gabriel had told him, “so you’ll have to mind her schedule. She tends to lose things easily. Keep an eye out for dropped gloves, handkerchiefs, books, anything she might accidentally leave behind. She’s sweet-natured and impulsive, so for God’s sake keep swindlers, street-sellers, pickpockets, and beggars away from her. Also, she’s often distracted, so don’t let her trip on the pavement or veer into the street.” Gabriel had hesitated before adding, “She’s hard of hearing in her right ear, and it sometimes causes vertigo, especially in poor lighting when she can’t orient herself. She’d have my head if she knew I’d told you. Now, do you have any questions?”

“Yes. Am I supposed to be a footman or a bloody nanny?”

Gabriel had leveled a steady gaze at him. “I understand this may seem like a step down from working at the club. But to me, there is nothing more important than her safety. Lady St. Vincent is a young, curious, very active woman who doesn’t think in conventional ways. She has much to learn about the world—and the world has much to learn about her. Protect my wife, Drago. It won’t be as easy as you think.”

Drago had given him a short nod, the hint of annoyance fading.

Gabriel’s thoughts returned to the present as Pandora aired her grievances.

“I wanted a footman with twinkly eyes like Father Christmas, not the eyes of a Viking mercenary. Footmen are supposed to be clean-shaven and pleasant-looking, and have nice names like Peter or George. But mine is scowly and growly, and his name is Drago and he has a black beard. You should have seen when I stopped by the toy department at Winterborne’s. He stood by the door, glowering with his arms folded, and all the children grew nervous and started looking for their mothers.” She gave Gabriel a suspicious glance. “Does he know anything about being a footman?”

“Not much,” he admitted. “Drago has worked at the club in various positions. But the butler is training him, and he learns quickly.”

“Why can’t I have an ordinary footman like the other ladies have?”

“Because you won’t always be going to the places other ladies go.” Gabriel sat on a chair to remove his shoes and stockings. “You’ll be looking for factory space, and meeting with suppliers, retailers, and wholesale traders, and so forth. If you take Drago with you, it will ease my mind about your safety.” As he saw the mulish set of Pandora’s jaw, Gabriel decided to take another tack. “Of course, we’ll replace him if you wish,” he said with a casual shrug. He began to unfasten the buttons of his braces. “But it would be a pity. Drago grew up in an orphanage and has no family. He’s always lived in a small room at the club. He was looking forward to living in a real household for the first time in his life, and seeing what family life was like.” That last sentence was pure conjecture, but it did the trick.