Free Listen to the Moon by Rose Lerner Page A

straightened it. “Sorry, ma’am. If you’ll follow me, sir.”
    The hallway to Mr. Summers’s study supported the conclusion John had already formed: the servants here did their work just well enough. Everything was clean and in good condition, but like the scratched heels of Larry’s buckled shoes, it could use a good polish. There were more servants than strictly necessary in a household of this size—not unusual in the homes of widowers with married children—and that bred laxity.
    That was promising. There was something for him to do, and as yet he had met no one with whom he would dislike to share a household. In fact, he found himself taking a liking to Mrs. Khaleel’s shrewd gaze and Larry’s goodwill.
    It was a snug, comfortable house. Even the churchyard a stone’s throw from the door seemed…like a home, reminding him how long people had looked to this house for help and guidance. John’s senseless lust for this position was only growing. He tried to rein it in, reminding himself that first impressions often lied. Perhaps he was overlooking the telltale signs of discord, cold drafts and mildewed cellars.
    He did see dust and scratched, dull wood in the study, but as Mr. Summers’s papers and belongings were scattered everywhere, the servants were likely not to blame. The vicar himself bent over his blotter, scribbling away with great crossings-out and mutterings to himself. But when Larry gave him John’s card, he took off his round glasses and straightened with a welcoming smile. “Ah, yes, Lord Lenfield’s valet. Thank you, Larry, that will do.”
    John had never seen the vicar so near. He was perhaps seventy years of age, thin lipped, the skin around his deep-set eyes faintly purple. With the silver hair that remained to him cropped so close that John was impressed at his barber’s skill, he resembled nothing so much as grinning Death in an allegory, wearing the same expression of shrewd cynicism and good humor.
    John liked him at once. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Summers. Your preaching is remarkable.”
    The vicar folded his hands. “You flatter me, but I thank you,” he said with a hint of a smile. “Lord Lenfield recommended you very high, but as he must have told you, I have determined to hire a married man. I regret to have wasted your time.”
    No. This interview could not be over so soon. “A married man may be a rogue as well as a bachelor, sir,” John pointed out, with all the sincere respect at his command.
    “Mm.” The cavernous eyes crinkled. “But I find that nothing illuminates a man’s character so effectively as observing him with his wife.”
    “Very wise, sir.” John, momentarily distracted by guessing what strangers would think of his father after watching him with Mrs. Toogood, searched for arguments that wouldn’t reveal that Lord Lenfield had shared details of Mr. Summers’s domestic affairs.
    “But you disagree?”
    “I don’t disagree, sir. But I would respectfully submit that any man may dissemble anything for the space of an interview, and so may his wife. Lord Lenfield has known me since his birth, and he speaks for me. I can produce further references as to my good character, should they be desired.”
    The vicar steepled his fingers. “Why are you no longer employed by Lord Lenfield, then?”
    John felt the prickings of something like despair. This would be the sticking point everywhere. He had been proud of having spent his whole life in service to the Dymonds. He had thought it a great recommendation should he ever wish another place, that he had given satisfaction so long. Now he could point to no other employers, no other situation but the one that had been tainted.
    “I rose to first footman in the Tassell household at six-and-twenty. I became Mr. Nicholas Dymond’s valet when he went to university, served his elder brother for four years while Mr. Nicholas was in the Peninsula, and reentered his service in July. But he has decided to