Edith Layton Read Online Free

Edith Layton
Book: Edith Layton Read Online Free
Author: The Chance
Pages:
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thought.”
    “No, it’s me who’s sorry, m’lord. I was packing, on my way out, when I heard the door open. I come creeping downstairs wondering who it was. No one was supposed to be here. I was out all day making arrangements for my trip. I only came home to get my bags, then lock the place up tight for the duration.”
    Rafe’s eyebrows went up.
    “Uh…” Peck said haltingly, “since you were going to be gone, you gave me the month off, if you’ll recall? Told me so just before you set off to the countryside for all the wedding festivities. So I was off to visit my sister in Kent, but don’t you worry, I’ll send her word and have the place set right and tight in two shakes.”
    “No, don’t you worry,” Rafe said, his brow clearing, “I remember now. You haven’t seen her in ages. Time you paid a call, and past it. Off you go, my man. You think I’m such a poor specimen I can’t fend for myself here until you get back?”
    “But there’s your breakfast—and the house to keep up,” Peck protested.
    “I’ll eat at my club. Just send to the employmentservice and keep a housemaid coming every Tuesday and Friday, like always,” Rafe countered. He began to strip off his gloves, frowning at the filth on them as he made for the staircase to the upper floors and his bedchamber.
    “But—your jackets! Your cravats!”
    That did give Rafe pause. He’d be calling on Annabelle, and couldn’t afford to look shabby. Inspiration struck. “No matter,” he said airily. “Give me the name of a tailor or cleaner or what have you, and I’ll get them laundered and such. I can dress myself. I always do. Do you think I’m a fop? But before God,” he added as he paused on the stair and frowned down at Peck, “one thing I do demand of you, my man.”
    “And that?” Peck asked warily.
    “I’m for the tub now. If I was any dustier, you could plant marigolds on my blasted head. So bring me a bottle of that good sherry we hauled home from Spain. And a glass. On second thought, you can forget the glass.”
     
    Rafe woke early the next morning. He washed and began to dress. It took longer than usual. He was glad he’d talked Peck into leaving. The fellow would think he’d lost his mind during his travels if he saw him now. He himself wondered if he had.
    Rafe flung off a second ruined neckcloth and frowned at himself in the mirror. Fellows from the dandy set spent hours in front of their looking glasses, discarding neckcloths they didn’t think wereperfectly tied, casting them off like trees dropping leaves in autumn. They weren’t the only ones to fuss over their clothing. A fashionable man dressed his part in London these days. Poets passed as many hours over their cravats as they did over their sonnets. Even bucks and bruisers such as the Corinthians, men who favored athletics over fashion, had a style of their own and tried to look like others in their sporting set.
    Rafe didn’t trouble himself with fashion. His clothes had to be clean, but he dressed merely to go out, and chose his attire depending on where that was to be. That was it. Except this morning. This morning he was fretting over his appearance like a mincing fop, he decided, disgusted with himself.
    He usually got things right first go. But right and well done were two different things, he muttered to himself now. He held his breath as he finally, successfully tied his neckcloth, and let his chin drop so he could stare at his completed ensemble in the glass.
    The neckcloth was folded in a casual but correct fashion, and was crisp and white. His blue jacket and dark gold waistcoat were fitted close, but he could move his broad shoulders if he had to. The half boots on his feet were polished till you could see Wellington’s face in them—if he’d been there to see. Tan breeches were tight knitted and wrinkle-free. He couldn’t help the color of his hair, but it was brushed and neat, and he’d been careful to give himself an especially
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