Free Listen to the Moon by Rose Lerner

to make further recommendation superfluous, but I’ve written you a reference. If you really want the position, you may tell Summers I should be grateful to him for considering you.”
    This, from one of the acknowledged patrons of the town, was a promise of great practical value. John bowed his thanks. Lenfield fished two sealed letters out of his pocket and laid them on the table. “The other is from your mother.”
    “Thank you, my lord. Was she well when last you saw her?”
    “Quite well.” Lord Lenfield pushed himself to his feet. “Your father…”
    John’s heart raced unpleasantly. He knew his father must be ashamed and angry at John’s disgrace. “Yes, my lord?”
    “He’s growing forgetful and irritable,” Lenfield said at last, reluctantly.
    John swallowed. Such a decline would be so hard on his father’s pride. “I see.”
    Lord Lenfield paid minute attention to the fall of his greatcoat sleeves over his gloves. “I thought you ought to know.” A button on one cuff dangled loose. John shut his mouth tight and said nothing.
    He didn’t see what he could do. He couldn’t make his father younger—or make him do anything else, for that matter.
    “If you wished to visit him, I would help you to arrange it when my mother is from home.”
    Oh. Of course. Visit him.
    He could imagine his father’s mortified fury at having to sneak his son in and out of his beloved mistress’s house when her back was turned. “Thank you, my lord. That is very kind of you.”
    “Well, I shan’t impose on you any longer.” The loose button wobbled as Lord Lenfield held out his hand. “You know where to find me. Should you be looking for a position again in future, please write. Mother’s too fair-minded to hold a grudge forever.”
    John thought the odds were even on that question. But he gave a small, warm smile back and shook his former employer’s hand.

Chapter Five
    The back door to the vicarage was opened by a woman of about thirty, who introduced herself with a faint, unfamiliar accent as Nora Khaleel, the cook. She was tall and very pretty, with large dark eyes, warm brown skin, and a commanding nose. When John explained that he had come to inquire after the butler’s position, her friendliness turned wary. “And is your wife with you, sir?”
    “I am a bachelor, madam.” John tried to sound deferential but firm.
    Her mouth set.
    The previous butler had treated the female servants ill, Lord Lenfield said. How ill? It wasn’t pleasant to know she was looking him over for signs of depravity, but he supposed it was still less pleasant for her.
    “Larry,” she called over her shoulder. Leaning against the jamb, she watched him in silence, waiting until he was safely under the eye of another servant. John silently commended her care for the security of the house. In the absence of a butler, management of the household must fall to her, as Mr. Summers kept no housekeeper. He would have liked a glimpse of the kitchen, to see if she kept it clean.
    Presently a heavyset footman poked his head in, wig askew. “Yes, Mrs. Khaleel?” The youth—blond, to judge by his eyebrows—would not have found employment in a grander house, being a few inches under six feet, but with his breadth he made an impressive sight in rose-and-gray livery. The gold facings might be dull and the silk stockings spotted, but those were minor infractions. And he spoke respectfully to the cook, addressing her properly as “Mrs.” as befitted her position.
    “Mr. Toogood, this is Larry, our footman. Larry, kindly escort Mr. Toogood upstairs and inform Mr. Summers that he is here to inquire after the position of butler.”
    Larry frowned. “Where’s his wife?” He looked at John as he said it, with nearly a glare. Protective of the female staff; a point in his favor.
    Mrs. Khaleel raised her eyebrows. “That’s for him to discuss with Mr. Summers.”
    Ducking his head, chastened, Larry realized his wig was loose and hastily