The Valet and the Stable Groom: M/M Regency Romance (12 page)

“Oh, very good, Clement. Very good. Why, I quite think that Hugo saved my life! All our lives! I do think he should be rewarded.”

“To be sure,” Clement said, scanning the crowd for Hugo. The workshop was still in flames, and the entire household was engaged in either fighting the fire or caring for their frightened guests. Hugo was nowhere to be seen.

“Excuse me, sir,” Clement said, disengaging himself from Hildebert and heading off in search of Hugo.

The shriek of a horse drew his attention, and Clement saw that the heavy smoke from the fire was being blown toward the stable, and must be spooking the horses.

He went in through the side door, coughing at the smell of smoke. “Hugo?”

“Through here!” Hugo called.

Hugo was in the main stable, directing one of the footmen to take two of the horses out into the paddock, while he coaxed another horse from its stall. He looked over, showing both worry and relief upon his face. “Clement.”

“I was worried when I couldn’t see where you’d gone,” Clement said, feeling foolish. He’d already known that Hugo wasn’t hurt, and didn’t know what he intended to do here in the stables.

“I’m not hurt.”

He had the horse by its lead rope. It shifted skittishly in place by Hugo’s side, eyes wild, but Hugo’s gaze remained on Clement. They were standing very close, and Hugo’s lips were slightly parted, as though he might say something.

Clement felt a reckless urge to kiss him.

And then… what then? What excuse could I offer for such a mad gesture? It might be believed as exuberance when I’d discovered them alive, or when I found he was unharmed, but now I…

“I,” said Clement. “I ought to be getting back to Hildebert. We’ve sent for the physician.”

“That’s good,” Hugo said, quickly. “I need to see to the horses.”

“Yes. To be sure,” Clement said. He took a step back.

Leaving Hugo to his duties, Clement left the stable. He hesitated upon the threshold.

Hildebert would be waiting, and he would need to be attended almost constantly until his nerves had settled from the incident.

Quelling thoughts of Hugo’s lips, Clement hurried back to where he had left his employer.

T
he party was variously considered
to be a disaster and a great success, but everyone agreed that it was the most
interesting
event to have happened in Herefordshire in years.

It took hours before the fire was completely out. All the guests were reassured and plied with syllabubs and tea, the tables were cleared away, and the physician confirmed that there were no injuries more serious than the minor sprains suffered in fleeing the explosion.

Hildebert had to be carried upstairs in his chair by a pair of footmen, which inspired him to proclaim that he felt like a “very grand poo-bah.” Clement watched this from the lawn with his nose wrinkled in helpless, fond befuddlement, and looked over to find that Mrs. Ledford was standing beside him, also watching.

Clearing his throat, Clement stood a little straighter and schooled his features into a more decorous state. “Mrs. Ledford.”

“Well,” she said, looking over at him. “At least the dessert was a success.”

After that she walked away.

Clement stared after her, wondering if that had been some sort of scathing criticism that he hadn’t yet sorted or if Mrs. Ledford was in possession of a very dry sense of humour.

The final tidying up was being done in the gardens under Mrs. Ledford’s competent supervision, so Clement left it and went upstairs. He found Hildebert happily installed in his bed under a mountain of quilts, with a pot of tea and a pile of books within reach.

“Sir,” said Clement.

“What a tragedy, Clement!” Hildebert sighed. There was what seemed to be a dish towel wrapped around his head. Clement knew he was not bleeding from any head wounds, and wondered whether Letty might have had anything to do with offering to wrap his head befitting a grand rajah. “My grand career as an inventor, curtailed in its infancy!”

“To be sure,” Clement agreed. His fingers itched to tuck in a stray fold of the dishtowel which flapped as Hildebert moved his head. “All your research and inventions, lost.”

“I’ll have to begin again from scratch!” Hildebert said. He lifted his hands, then flopped them disconsolately into the quilts. “All that hard work.”

Clement did not think that not quite two weeks of a hobby attempt at mechanical engineering was really all that much hard work to lose. “We would have to send for new supplies from London, again. All the same items. I shall explain to the supplier… ah, well, I shall think of something.”

“And let them think me a failure!” Hildebert said, groaning at the great tragedy of it all. “No, no. No one can know.”

Half the county of Herefordshire knew.

“Of course, sir,” Clement said. He refilled Hildebert’s tea cup and put it into his hands. “You’ve been injured. You must rest.”

“Rest,” said Hildebert. He sighed. His tea cup tilted precariously.

Clement steadied the hand with the tea cup, encouraged him to drink, and then retired to his room.

Exhaustion overwhelmed him the moment that he was safely inside his room. Lighting his solitary candle by the side of his little bed, Clement sat down upon the bed as he unbuttoned his coat and waistcoat. He stared out the dark window.

He remembered Hugo’s face, when he had smiled in reassurance, with a smudge of soot upon his jaw.

Getting up, Clement took off his coat. He laid it out for use tomorrow, and only then noticed that the elbow of his coat had been soiled.

Lifting it up again, Clement found that the mark upon the elbow was in the shape of a handprint, dark with soot, from when Hugo had clasped his elbow by the burning workshop.

Smiling to himself, Clement set the soiled coat aside, and laid out his second-best coat for use the next day.

“
C
lement
,” Hildebert said, when Clement brought in his breakfast tray, “I have decided to become a poet.”

Pausing only slightly at this announcement, Clement poured his master a cup of tea. “That sounds like a very admirable pursuit, sir.”

“I think so,” Hildebert agreed. He was still abed, even two weeks after the explosion in the workshop. Clement suspected that Hildebert’s knee was working just fine now, and that his employer simply liked the attention and luxury of staying in bed.

Clement went to open the curtains, letting in light in hopes that the bright, warm sunlight would tempt Hildebert enough to get out of bed and venture outdoors.

“The rebuilt workshop seems to be coming along nicely,” Clement said, gazing out across the lawns at it. The scorch mark upon the grass had been overgrown already, and the burnt remnants had been cleared away. Under Hugo’s supervision, a few local builders had been brought in to construct a new workshop upon the site, even though Hildebert still declared that he was permanently done with science and invention.

It would be nice to have the space,
Hildebert had said.
A retreat of sorts. A sanctum! Where I may pursue… er… I suppose I don’t know. Gentlemanly pursuits. I’ll decide on something.

Poetry, it seemed. There wouldn’t be any point in trying to convince him that he had a perfectly adequate study just adjacent to his rooms here, with a spacious desk and a comfortable chair, where any reasonable gentleman poet would be able to compose. It would have to be the workshop.

And, after all, that left Clement able to use the study to try and make sense of the old records and accounts. He’d had little enough time for it while Hildebert was convalescing. Hildebert constantly needed someone to fetch him books and refreshments while he was abed, and he rang for Clement every time he was bored.

“Is it?” Hildebert asked. He sounded disinterested.

“I’ll mention to Hugo that he ought to install a writing desk for you in your workshop, somewhere with plenty of light.”

“Oh!” said Hildebert. “Oh, yes. I suppose so. Won’t that be nice? Do tell him to have it overlooking the duck pond. I so love ducks.”

“I’ll be sure of it,” Clement promised. He bit the inside of his cheek, hesitating. Hugo had been so busy these past two weeks. Two of his horses were near foaling, and he’d had the construction of the workshop to occupy and exhaust him. “Shall I go now and mention it to him?”

“Now?” There was a plaintive note in Hildebert’s voice that made Clement’s heart sink. “Well, yes. Yes, I suppose so. And a nice chair, Clement. Padded. Red leather. No, blue. I am certain that Shakespeare wrote upon a blue leather chair. Don’t you think so?”

Clement had no idea what the fashion in poet’s chairs had been in Elizabethan England. “It seems entirely likely.”

“Fetch me the book of Donne’s poetry, will you, Clement? It’s there.”

It wasn’t in the stack of books Hildebert indicated, and Clement had to search through two more piles before he found it hidden under a discarded magazine. He straightened the magazine pile, brought the book over to Hildebert, and went out to inform Hugo of their employer’s new profession as a gentleman poet.

The new workshop consisted of a frame and two walls, with expensive large windows but no window-glass yet installed. The construction was wood, which came from the forest on Hildebert’s land. Clement thought that this was the best choice in case of further explosions. It would be more inclined to burn than stone, but less inclined to crushing anyone in the collapse.

Hugo was hard at work, with his coat discarded and his sleeves rolled up. He looked the part of a labourer, not a stable groom at all, but it was a very comely look on him, showing off the strength in his powerful arms as he lifted up a roof beam and helped to set it into place.

“Hugo!” Clement called, once he was near enough.

As soon as his hands were free, Hugo turned about. He grinned, swinging down from where he was perched on the unbuilt roof and walking to where Clement was standing. “Clement.”

Clement couldn’t resist the way his own lips split in a smile. “It’s coming along nicely.”

“The builders from the village are very skilled.”

“And they have a very competent overseer working alongside them.”

Hugo smiled and ducked his head bashfully at the praise. “You do me too much credit. I aid a little with the labour, nothing more.”

“Hildebert—I…,” embarrassed by his own informality, Clement cleared his throat. “Mr. Devereux has decided to become a gentleman poet.”

“A…” Hugo’s brows lifted, then furrowed, and then his lips quirked to one side. He cleared his throat likewise. “A gentleman poet.”

“Yes. He would like to be sure that you install a desk, once the workshop is finished. Something by a window, with plenty of light. And a blue leather padded chair.”

Hugo pressed his knuckles to his lips and nodded once. “I’ll see to it at once.”

“Thank you,” Clement said.

He wanted to stay, but he knew that he was already interrupting Hugo at his work.

“I missed you yesterday,” Clement said. “It was Friday.”

“Yes. I didn’t see you when I came in to dine in the servants’ kitchen.”

“Ah,” said Clement, sorrowful that their duties had caused them to eat at different times. “I must have come too early, then. Or too late.”

“You might come tonight,” Hugo said. “I have some strawberries from the village. And a bit of mutton.”

“I’ll try,” Clement promised. “Mr. Devereux… he may require my attendance.”

“Of course.” Hugo nodded his understanding. “If you can.”

“If I can.” Clement swallowed, lost in the warm brown depths of Hugo’s eyes.

“Hugo!” One of the other workmen waved to him, summoning him over to consult on some aspect of the construction.

“Excuse me,” said Hugo, ducking his head.

“Tonight,” Clement promised.

“Tonight.” Smiling at him one last time, Hugo returned to his task.

“
C
lement
, it is your turn,” Jane said.

Clement tore his eyes away from the clock and back to his hand of cards. “Is it?” He looked at the cards on the table and the cards in his hand. None of them seemed familiar. Choosing one to play, he glanced at the clock to check the time yet again.

It was late. The sun had set, and Clement had been imposed upon to dine in his master’s chambers with Hildebert, Jane, and Letty, after which they had begun upon a hand of cards. Clement was losing, rather embarrassingly. He was not even sure which game they were playing.

“Clement.” It was Letty this time.

Clement swallowed, and returned his attention to his cards, choosing one to play.

“Clement, the suit is spades,” Letty said. “What is the matter with you?”

“Forgive me. My mind is elsewhere.”

“But where is the else to which thou hast… thou hast…”

Letty and Jane both turned to stare at Hildebert.

“Ahem,” Hildebert said, cheeks reddening but chest still puffed proudly. “What rhymes with else?”

“Self?” Letty suggested.

“To which thou hast self? No, that makes no sense.”

“Is something occupying your mind, Clement?” Jane asked, returning the party to their earlier question.

“Nothing,” Clement said, eyes on his cards. “My duties. And… well, I still rather think that we ought to look into making further use of the lands of the estate. The orchards could be expanded. Sheep could be grazed on the farther lawns and meadows. The forest land could be a source of lumber…”

Hildebert groaned. “Clement.”

“Forgive me,” Clement said, and played a spade.

“Not at all, Clement,” Jane said. “I think the topic is quite interesting.”

Hildebert groaned again.

Jane firmed her lips, and played a card. “Perhaps later, then.”

W
hen Clement rose
in the morning and arrived downstairs to fetch Hildebert’s breakfast tray, he found the tray unfinished and the cook fretting.

Biting back a yawn, Clement looked around the kitchen to try to make sense of what had happened. “What the devil is the matter?”

“There isn’t any milk!”

“Why isn’t there any milk?”

“How should I know!” The cook threw a dish towel down beside the tray and stormed over to fetch the kettle. “What am I supposed to do? There’s no milk for the master’s tea.”

“Then the master will simply have to do without tea.”

“And the pudding for supper?”

“Change the menu. I’ll see what I can do about the milk.” Picking up the tray, without milk, he headed upstairs with it.

“Mrs. Ledford,” Clement asked, finding her tidying linens in a cupboard on his way upstairs, “there doesn’t seem to be any milk in the household.”

Mrs. Ledford’s shoulders sank while her jawline tightened. “Oh, dear.”

“Do you know why there isn’t any milk?”

“I have my suspicions. Mr. Midgley said that he’d see to it.”

Clement grimaced. “See to what?”

“The milk, of course. I’m afraid I don’t know the trouble. He had mentioned something about it, but when I inquired, he had insisted that he had everything in hand.”

“Ah,” said Clement. He wrinkled his nose in thought, looking to Mrs. Ledford in hopes that she would offer some easy remedy to the problem before them.

She returned the look with an expectant lift of her brow.

Clement sighed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He delivered the tray briskly to Hildebert, setting it on his lap in bed. “My sincere apologies, sir, but there isn’t any milk to be had this morning.”

“No milk!” Hildebert exclaimed.

“No milk.” Clement poured a cup of tea and put it into his hands. “It is good for poets to suffer privations. It gives them something to write about.”

“Oh! How wise you are.” Hildebert sipped at his tea and made a face. “I shall write of the difficulties of life without milk in one's tea. I don’t suppose anyone has ever written poems about that before.”

“No, I don’t suppose they have.” Clement pulled open the curtains for him, made certain that Hildebert had a stack of books within reach, and made his exit.

He found Mr. Midgley in the servants’ kitchen, berating a maidservant about the lack of milk.

“Mr. Midgley,” Clement interrupted.

Red-faced, Mr. Midgley glared at him. “Not now, Clement!”

“Mr. Midgley,” Clement said, louder, “where does the milk come from?”

“Why, from the village!” Mr. Midgley exclaimed. “And
she
is supposed to fetch it!”

The maidservant burst into tears.

“Here now, here now,” Clement said, coming forward and placing a reassuring hand upon her back. He cast a warning scowl toward Mr. Midgley, to warn him to keep his peace a moment. “All is well. Breathe. Now, tell me what it is that has happened.”

The maidservant hiccoughed miserably. “There isn’t any milk to be
had
, sir.”

“I understand that,” said Clement. “Can you explain to me why not?”

“Because,” said the maidservant, “the cow died.”

“Ohh,” said Mr. Midgley, quieter near the end, as though he hadn’t meant to say anything at all.

Clement glared at him.

“I may,” Mr. Midgley said, embarrassed, “recall having heard something about that.”

Clement rolled his eyes toward heaven and provided his handkerchief to the maidservant. “Surely there are
other
cows?”

“Well, yes, sir. In the village.”

“And where was the cow who died? Also in the village?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Will you kindly go to the village and see if you can find anyone else who keeps cows and who would be willing to supply milk to the estate on a daily basis? All the better if you can convince them to deliver it. Tell them they may apply here to either Mrs. Ledford or Mr. Midgley to settle the payment, once a week.”

Drying her tears, the maidservant nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. And be certain to tell Mrs. Ledford that you are on your way, in the circumstance that she needs to set someone else to complete your duties in the meantime.”

She bobbed a curtsey to him, thanked him, and went.

“Hrm, hrm,” said Mr. Midgley, clearing his throat.

Clement schooled his irritation to be as mild as he could manage.

“Yes, very well, Clement,” the butler said to him, making more “hrm, hrm,” noises. “That’s settled, then.”

“I’m glad,” Clement said. “Good day, Mr. Midgley.”

I
t took
two more days before Clement was able to escape long enough to seek out Hugo again.

The labour had finished on the workshop for the day, so Clement sought him out in the stables, instead. “Hugo?” he called up the stairs, heart quickening with hope.

“Along here,” Hugo called.

It sounded as though his voice was coming from the main stables, so Clement went that way, but the main stable room seemed empty of anything but the typical horses and dogs who occupied it. “Hugo?”

“Here.”

Clement peeked over two stall doors before he found Hugo behind the third, seeing to a newborn foal and its mother. “Ah, here you are.”

“Good evening, Clement.” Hugo smiled warmly up at him.

Clement had never in his life seen such a young horse. It seemed to be all legs. “Is all well?”

“Yes. The filly was born early, and small, but I think that she will turn out to be a stout, healthy little horse.” Hugo got to his feet, leaning against the stall door and smiling at Clement. “Are you here on some errand for Hildebert?”

“I have escaped errands for Hildebert for the evening. He is hard at work researching some secret project that he will not tell me about. He insists that it is something much grander than the book of poems he is working on, but I do not at all believe him. In all likelihood, it is some new poem. An epic, perhaps, or a ballad.”

“I look forward to hearing it.”

“If you do, you may later wish you had not.”

Hugo laughed. His laughter was a warm, rich sound, that rang in Clement’s head and quickened his pulse. “May you stay for dinner?”