The Postilion (The Masqueraders #2) - S.M. LaViolette Page 0,33
if he could afford to hire so many new servants.
Benna was surprised by how relieved that made her feel. She liked working at Lenshurst Park and would be happy to make it her last place of employment before she could finally seize control of her home and fortune.
The door opened and Mr. Bickford and two young serving maids laden with trays entered the room.
Benna and the earl took their seats while the servants laid out the food and poured the wine
“Thank you, Mr. Bickford, this looks excellent,” the earl said to innkeeper.
“So,” Lord Trebolton said, once they’d both served themselves from the impressive bounty arrayed before them. “Tell me about this gentleman you valeted for several years. You must have been very young. Didn’t you say you were just recently turned what was it—twenty?”
“That’s correct, sir. I started working for Mr. Fenton when I was fourteen. I assisted his valet and groom. Over time, Mr. Fenton fell on hard times and could no longer afford to employ three servants, so I took on both tasks.”
“Ah, so he retained you because you were the most efficient.”
“Rather because I was so inexpensive.”
The earl smiled. “Where did you live during this time?”
“Mr. Fenton liked to travel, so we often moved about.”
“A traveling gentleman?”
“Er, yes, sir. He earned his living by his wits.”
“I see.” The earl nodded and Benna saw the understanding in his eyes. “You say was—did he suddenly inherit a competence and was able to give his wits a holiday?”
“No, sir.” She hesitated and then added mendaciously, “He was quite an older gentleman and took ill last winter and died.”
Very droll, Geoff’s voice sounded less than amused.
They ate in silence for a few minutes, nothing but the clinking of cutlery, the crackling of the fire, and wind rattling the windowpanes.
“That’s an interesting change you made—going from a batman to a postilion.”
“I discovered that I’d developed a taste for traveling,” Benna was able to answer without hesitation, having already told this part of her story to Stephen Worth when the American hired her.
“But then you took a job with Mr. Worth after a short time, it would seem. Are you tired of traveling?”
“Mr. Worth made an offer that was difficult to refuse.” That was true enough. The man paid more than anyone she’d ever heard of. “It also turned out that the life of a post boy was far more grueling than that of an itinerant gentleman’s servant.” Not to mention a hell of a lot more dangerous, in more ways than one.
“Who taught you to play chess?” One of the earl’s jet-black brows arched. “Please tell me that playing chess was not how your itinerant gentleman made his living?”
“My father taught me the game but Mr. Fenton, er, honed my skills.”
“I’ve fallen in with a sort of chess sharp, haven’t I?”
Benna couldn’t deny it. “Let’s just say that I’d advise you against wagering any money on our games, sir.”
The earl laughed. “Duly noted.”
***
“Well damn and blast,” Jago muttered, staring at the board in some surprise. “How the devil did that happen so quickly?” he asked, looking up at his youthful opponent.
“I would argue it was a steady downward progression right from your first move, sir.”
Jago laughed at the understated taunt. Ben strongly reminded him of his erstwhile best mate, Brian St. John. They, too, had mocked each other’s prowess at various activities, although they’d been rather better matched at chess. Like Ben, Brian had normally been quiet and shy—until they were in competition over something.
Ria’s face rose in his mind’s eye.
“Do you wish for another game, my lord?”
Jago shook off his old memories. “I’m determined that we shall sit here until I’ve won at least one game.”
Ben’s lips twitched.
“Ah, I can see by your almost-smirk that you believe that might be a very long time.”
“You did mention that you have a meeting to attend at nine tomorrow morning, my lord.”
Once again the lad’s sly humor made him chuckle. “Impudent rascal.”
Ben allowed himself a brief smile as he went about setting up the pieces.
It occurred to Jago that he’d laughed more often in his young stable master’s company than he had in ages.
Ben held out his fists for Jago to choose.
“No, you play white—you won the last game,” he insisted at Ben’s hesitation.
Ben moved his pawn to king four and they played in silence for a few moments, until Jago began to get a familiar feeling—that of being trapped.
“I think I recognize your moves from an earlier game,” he said.