Page 37 of The Not So Perfect Duke

In other words, children.

Damon’s gaze slid to the brown-haired footman. “Thomas?”

“I am Patrick, Your Grace. Browning never interacted with the staff, and we believe he had accommodations elsewhere, for there were days we never saw him. He rarely stayed in the room above the stables and never took his meals with us, either.”

Damon looked to the black-haired footman. “Thomas?”

“It’s as Patrick and Mr. MacClery said, Your Grace. He was a bully, helping himself to food from the larder, growling at the kitchen maids, and frightening them. I saw him shove the cook, Mrs. Canning, and I intervened. He had me against the wall, his hand around my neck before I could react. Browning said he would visit me in the night and slit my gizzard if I got in his way again.”

And the staff couldn’t very well go to the former duke, for Silas Browning was his father’s man. Browning held a position of inordinate power and used it to act as a tyrant.

“I want you to relay all that to Miss Galway at the first opportunity. Did my father have many visitors, other peers, or wealthy men of means?” Damon asked.

The footmen looked to MacClery. The butler cleared his throat. “Not so much in the past few years, as many of his acquaintances became ill or died.”

In other words, they were too old and sick to fornicate and make babies. Damon’s insides roiled further. “And yet my father had an orgy here a few months past.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” MacClery replied. “And it was all younger men in attendance. It was as if he were recruiting new blood. The men wore full masks, so I couldn’t describe them to you. The men were young, judging by their carriage and builds.”

“There were eleven of them, Your Grace,” Thomas interjected, “And as many women. They also wore masks and fancy gowns, so it was hard to tell if the ladies were hired or of the aristocracy.”

“We were told to stay below stairs for the night. Many of us left to either go to a pub or visit family,” Patrick said with loathing. “We weren’t even allowed to go to our rooms. Browning came down several hours later and told us to clean up. I nearly quit then and there. But I need the job, Your Grace. I’m supporting my mother and two sisters.” Patrick’s cheeks flushed. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to reveal that. About my family. Mr. MacClery said to be honest with you.”

Which proved one never knew what went on behind the elites’ closed doors. Or what a servant’s life entailed. Damon imagined servants in many grand houses could tell hair-raising tales of woe to shock the most jaded population.

“Your position is secure. All of you. I appreciate your honesty and will not forget it,” Damon said resolutely.

“And the rest of the staff, Your Grace?” Thomas asked, looking Damon in the eye.

“Thomas!” MacClery rebuked.

“No, it’s all right,” Damon said. “I have my staff at Clarendon Place to see to and those at Queen Anne’s Gate. I cannot keep on everyone; that is the reality. Some will be offered retirement or a transfer to Chellenham Park in Sussex, but some will lose their positions. I will do all I can to see them placed elsewhere with compensation and good references. Regardless of what you may have heard, I am not a complete heartless bastard.”

The carriage grew quiet, and the only sounds were the horses’ hooves clopping on the cobbles and the harness jingling.

“Your Grace,” Patrick said, his voice low. “It will be my privilege to serve you and the Chellenham dukedom.”

Damon was oddly touched by the statement.

“As am I,” Thomas added. “Your Grace.”

“Aye,” MacClery replied in his gravelly voice. “And me and all, Your Grace.”

“Good, and my sincere thanks. Because I am in quite a fix, thanks to my late father, I will need all the assistance you can offer.”

The carriage came to a standstill, and before they could even step down, Damon heard screaming and crying. He threw open the door and found Mrs. Seddon sitting on the ground, surrounded by squalling children. The oldest girl was kneeling next to Mrs. Seddon as if attending to her. The men rushed toward the rambunctious scene.

“Mrs. Seddon, are you injured?” Damon asked worriedly.

“That horrid man was here! Mr. Browning,” the older girl blubbered. “He hit Mrs. Seddon and knocked her to the ground!”

“Helena,” Mrs. Seddon said in a calm voice. “I will tell the duke what happened. If you could try to quiet the children. Take them inside and help unpack the groceries. Feed them bread and honey until we can arrange a meal.”

Something latched onto Damon’s leg.

What the hell?

He looked down, and a diminutive girl with an abundance of golden curls was hanging on to him for dear life. Damon’s first instinct was to shake off the annoying little waif or push her away. When had he ever interacted with children? In his experience, they smelled of sour milk and had perpetual runny noses.