“In particular,” he said, in no mood for arch games, “you discussed me and my—” Stud duty negotiations. “—relationship with Maris Garrick.”

This time Rumm moistened his lips. “Ah.”

“Yes, Rumm. Ah.”

“Sir—” Sighing, Rumm dropped his gaze to the kitchen’s beautifully scrubbed flagstones. “I apologise.”

“That’s a start, certainly. And now you can explain why I shouldn’t show you the door.”

Rumm’s gaze jerked up. “If I’m to be shown the door, sir, better it be for obeying his lordship than for openly defying him.”

That gave him pause. “You’re saying Lord Danfey ordered you to discuss my privy business with him? It wasn’t a case of him dropping a hint and you picking it up?”

Another sigh. “No, sir. The afternoon you and Mage Garrick went riding, his lordship woke from his restitutional and wanted to know where you were. I did try to be vague, sir, as you requested. Unfortunately I was not vague enough, and so was forced to reveal more than either of us would wish.”

Clasping his hands behind his back, not wanting Rumm to see his white-knuckled anger, Morgan nodded. “I see.”

“Sir, I would have told you—warned you—” Rumm said, his expression earnest. “But his lordship bade me hold my tongue on pain of dismissal.”

So he could sit back and brood and fester on the impertinence of a grown son keeping his personal business to himself.

Greve Danfey, sometimes you are a most unreasonable man.

“Sir…” Rumm’s voice was lowered. “If I might speak my mind freely?”

He snorted. “As far as I can tell, you always do.”

The master servant flicked a glance at the cook, still industriously knife-sharpening, and took a small step closer. “I understand your feelings in this, sir. Marriage is a delicate business, especially where a prominent family is concerned. And when a man has had his heart broken once already…”

Morgan stepped back. “That’s enough.”

“His lordship crowds you out of fear, sir,” said Rumm, heedless of his danger. “I know it seems he has no care for your sensibilities, but the truth is he cares so much it chokes him to a standstill. Don’t fault him for that, sir, don’t—”

“I said that’s enough!”

A gasp and a clatter, as the cook dropped his sharpened knife.

“Sir,” said Rumm, and stood there, a stubborn pride in him that did not belong in a servant, be he a master of the breed or no.