“My lord?”

So lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard his valet come in, he nearly dropped the brush he’d just picked up. Kelly swanned forward, elegant as if he’d never seen more than a speck of blood in his life, and took the item from his fingers. He’d watched the man efficiently skin a bear in less than ten minutes, but nobody would believe that if he told them now. “I beg your pardon, I didn’t intend to disturb you. I wondered if you required any help dressing.”

“Kelly, don’t ‘my lord’ me in private, if you would.” They’d love Kelly’s gentle Canadian accent below stairs. It would probably gain him a host of female admirers. Although just the wrong side of forty, Kelly was an upright man with a severe classical appearance that begged a woman to thaw him out. John had reason to know that his valet had great success with women. He’d had to smooth over the problems when two maids had come to blows in the kitchen over him in his house back in Halifax. That would not happen again, not if Kelly wished to remain with him, and considering his new position in society, he’d bet Kelly would prefer to do that.

“Kelly, where would one find a lady’s maid?”

“I know of several excellent register offices in the City, my—sir, but if sometimes the staff come from personal referrals.”

“I have the feeling her ladyship will need one. Someone who can handle the grande toilette. She’s lived quietly up to this point and Robinson won’t be up to the standard her ladyship needs now.”

“I see, sir. Would she know of your decision?”

He glanced away guiltily. “Not yet. I’ll tell her later. I thought I’d better initiate enquiries.”

“A wise move, sir. I’ll certainly put them in train for you.”

Kelly added a polish that John couldn’t achieve on his own. In a few minutes he made the gentleman an earl in truth, and although he watched, John still didn’t know how he achieved it. He smiled his thanks and left the room in search of his wife. On the way down to dinner, he made her aware that he’d enquired for a maid for her.

When she protested that she had Robinson, he reminded her gently that she’d be required to dress for balls and court. “An excellent lady’s maid can create the kind of show we’ll need,” he said. “Our campaign.”

She leaned closer as they reached the landing on the first floor and turned to enter the drawing room. “It is a campaign, isn’t it?”

“It is indeed.” He loved the way her eyes danced when she answered him, their conspiracy safe. “We’ll discuss tactics later.” He left her in no doubt of his intent.

Irritation filled him when he saw the liveried footman waiting to throw open the drawing room door, as if incapable of doing it on his own. He decided to take stock before he changed everything.

Considering the dowager had lost her sons, he would remember that, and allow her some leeway. Only when she crossed the line would he mention the fact. Because compassion was one thing, but he knew that if he gave her too much, she’d take it and a little extra, making it harder to regain ground. The damned footman could stay, even for family dinners, if she wanted that.

He exchanged a glance with Faith and realised his aggravation hadn’t transmitted to her. Her eyes were brimful of mirth. Her expression forced his mood away, so it disappeared in the face of her amusement. If the footman amused her, she would have him for every meal.

However, when they entered the drawing room, it became obvious they were not to dine en famille. A man stood to greet them, his head slightly bowed. Of moderate height, with smooth, dark hair brushed back tidily, no pretension to high fashion, and a modest mourning suit, John assessed him as a relative. After all, would her ladyship dine with a tradesman or a servant? She’d subjected him to her trenchant views on “Trade” before, so he doubted it.

“Ah, Graywood. Please allow me to introduce you to the estate’s man of business, Mr. Roker.” Right on cue, Mr. Roker bowed low.

“I hope you don’t object. Mr. Roker came to visit me to discuss my position now the earldom has changed and I took it upon myself to invite him to dinner.”

“This is your home, ma’am, you must feel free to ask whoever you wish to dinner.” Just don’t expect me to attend every one, he added silently.

Either the countess had wanted to ingratiate the man with him, or Roker had instigated the meeting himself. Rather than wait on John’s pleasure, until after he’d met with his own man, Roker seemed determined to get in first. John disliked being rushed.

Not a society meal, then. John knew Roker did not work exclusively for the Graywoods and while the earldom had much of his time, he had other accounts he dealt with. While he could not expect an invitation to a society dinner, sharing a meal with the family would be considered acceptable, by all but the highest sticklers. Even the King ate with his doctors. To be honest, he probably had little choice.

Instinct prickled the hairs at the back of his neck, and John had learned not to ignore that feeling. The times he’d done so, he’d lived to regret it. Even getting on that ship in Canada he’d felt it, and he’d been right. He didn’t like Roker. However, he might prove a good financial manager. He would see what his own agent had to say tomorrow.

He broke the news during the first course. “I wish to hold a ball to introduce my wife to the people she needs to know,” he said smoothly as he helped himself to parsnips. “Early in the season.”

Roker’s eyes opened wider, revealing a bloodshot pupil. It didn’t appear that he was a drinker, but he must have had a lot to deal with since John had broken the news of the brothers’ deaths.

Sleepless nights, then. John felt a little better about the man, if he cared enough to do that. “My lord, I’m not sure that’s wise...”

“I am. If you could help to arrange it that would save me some trouble.” A polite way of saying, “Do it.” It meant the same thing and politeness cost nothing.

“What’s that you say, Graywood?” the dowager said. Probably heard every word. No doubt had ears like a bat’s.

It annoyed him that he had to bellow from the other end of the table. “Lady Graywood, I wish to hold a ball to present my wife to society. I know you are in mourning, and I do not know if you consider it proper for you to emerge so soon.”

Louisa perked up, her cheekbones flushing pink and a light sparkling in her previously dull eyes. At twenty-two, she was too old for a come-out, but she still possessed the dew of youth. At twenty-four, her older sister would lose it before long. He found them too shy, too uncomfortable and they needed to rectify that if they were to find husbands. Every time he’d tried to talk to them, they’d stared at him, making their eyes wider. They listened and agreed in a way that made him want to demand that they express opinions of their own.

Thankfully her ladyship took the bait. “We may have a gathering here. The rooms on this floor will accommodate a considerable number. At Charlotte’s debut we had two hundred in the rooms, and turned away fully a hundred more.”

“A triumph,” he said. “But do you consider it proper for you to attend?”

Her ladyship’s eyes sparkled. “As long as the girls wear muted colours and black armbands with no coloured jewellery, for that one night it would be unexceptional. It is your presentation.” Lady Graywood almost cracked a smile. “It would be considered unusual if we did not attend.”

He knew thath only too well. Society would consider it a family breach if they didn’t make a token appearance. Another hurdle overcome. “Thank you. I hardly dare ask, but could you help to arrange the affair?”

“I would be so grateful,” Faith put in, her voice quiet and conciliatory. “I have no experience at organising something of that nature.”

“You have lived quietly,” the countess agreed, her manner condescending. “Very well, for you, Faith, I will do my utmost.”

He loved the way Faith said, “We should invite some younger men, so the girls do not become bored.” Faith’s diplomatic skills obviously consisted of the more advanced variety. Briefly, he covered her hand with his, then moved on to assist her to a dish of buttered mushrooms he couldn’t help but notice she had a partiality for.

They’d concocted a perfect bribe for the dowager. She would have to remain in mourning for most of the season. However a ball to introduce the new Earl of Graywood to the ton wouldn’t raise any but the stiffest eyebrows, especially if they remained in half mourning. Almacks would have to wait, as would appearances at the theatre and other places of public amusement.

Faith, though, would not have to do that. The duties of countess would supersede those considerations. He wondered how she’d appear in a rich blue and decided he wanted to find out sooner rather than later, even if she could not wear colours in public. Of recent years, ladies were dressing in richer shades, instead of the washed-out pastels of his youth. More substantial stays were definitely coming back with a vengeance and the waistline was returning to a place closer to its natural form. He approved, because Faith’s dark hair and pale skin would suit such styles better than the high-waisted, ethereal fashion of previous years. Women tended to assume that men knew nothing of fashion. Which was largely true, but it was also true that men knew what they liked and were perfectly capable of memorising their preferences for future reference. If she lasted long enough to come out of mourning and into colours.

However, he had learned that he preferred Faith naked. An entirely different consideration, for he had also determined that nobody else would see her that way except her maid.