Stag it would have to be. He was used to it, because he didn’t string women along. He didn’t invite them to weddings—and there’d been a lot of weddings and christenings lately—or family events or dinner parties with his vendors and customers. Nothing that would give anyone ideas.
Naturally, he would be catering the dinner party. But he wouldn’t mind a little help. And Fernsby was a whiz at organization.
With the sun beating down on him and obscuring his phone screen, he left the pool deck to sit on one of the comfy chairs beneath the overhang, which was actually the balcony off the living room above.
Then he punched the button for a video call with his favorite butler. Well, Fernsby was the only butler he knew. And he was much more to the Harringtons than a butler.
The man’s austere face filled the screen. “Sir, how may I help you?” he said in his cultured British tones.
Then he set the phone down on a cradle, revealing the frilly apron he wore. It had been a gag gift from Gabby, but Fernsby always wore it to cover his pristine suit while he baked or made a meal for Troy’s older brother Dane and his girlfriend Cammie. Fernsby had been Dane’s butler for more than fifteen years; he was part of the family. With his stern façade and unsmiling mouth, he could have been anywhere from forty to sixty to, well, ancient. Fernsby’s age was one of the great mysteries of life, along with his first name. He was just Fernsby.
Though Dane paid his salary, Fernsby often did odd jobs for the other Harringtons.
Troy got to the point with the salient facts. “Dinner party coming up. Suppliers. Their wives. Desperately need your organizational skills to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”
He could hear Fernsby chopping nuts. While he was a butler, Fernsby was also a fabulous baker, having won first place on the TV show Britain’s Greatest Bakers. And he never let anyone forget it. That was why Gabby had commissioned his apron, which said Only Britain’s Greatest Baker. The two of them had an intense baking rivalry, and while he’d won on the TV show, it was, after all, only in Britain.
“And when,” Fernsby drawled, “is this gathering to take place at which you need my inestimable help?”
“A week from Friday.”
Fernsby stopped chopping and looked directly at the screen. “Sir, under any other circumstances, I would most certainly be there for you. But unfortunately, I have a prior engagement.”
Despite himself, Troy felt his mouth drop open in shock. Fernsby never said no. He was always there for whatever any of the family needed. Before he even thought about it, he burst out, “What else could you be doing? I know Dane doesn’t have any events planned.”
Fernsby didn’t enlighten him. “I’m so sorry, sir. It’s impossible for me to come.”
What could possibly take precedence? As far as Troy knew, Fernsby didn’t have a life outside the Harringtons. In his shock, he asked again, “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure, sir.” There wasn’t a single inflection in the man’s voice or a single expression on his craggy face. “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir? At the moment, I’m embroiled in making the perfect blancmange.”
Troy managed to say, “No. Except that I can’t do it without you. I’ll have to cancel the dinner.” He would have Betsy, his administrative aide, reschedule for sometime in July—and check the date with Fernsby first.
Fernsby’s lips twitched. It could have been a smile, but Fernsby’s smiles were so rare they made national news. “As you wish, sir.”
Then he was gone, leaving Troy in a state of shock he hadn’t experienced since Dane had damn near challenged him to a duel when Troy asked Cammie Chandler out on a date.
After that, they’d all known Dane was in love with his personal secretary, even if it took him another seven years—making it twelve total—to figure it out.
Troy sat unmoving for several long moments. Fernsby didn’t have a social life. If he wanted a night off, it could only mean that something was wrong.
He was suddenly certain that the man needed the Harringtons’ help.
For a fleeting moment, he had the oddest desire to talk to Michaela about it. But why on earth he would want to do that, he couldn’t say.
This momentous event required a family meeting. He didn’t have time to call for one of their masterminds. The family met once a month to discuss whatever issues might have come up, be they business or personal. But one or more members of the family had been known to call for a special meeting—the last one being for Clay when his protégé Dylan Beck had his art trashed by internet trolls. The real issue had been that Clay was falling for Saskia Oliver. But now the falling part was over, and his younger brother was deeply in love and had never been happier.
But this needed immediate attention.
He pulled on a pair of sweats over his damp swim trunks, tugged on a T-shirt, and headed to his home office. Headquarters for Harrington Sports International occupied a high-rise in San Jose, but Troy conducted a lot of business from his home.
He’d purchased the property mostly for the Olympic-size pool, but the location suited him too—the surrounding mountains, the trees, the ability to walk out of the house and find a hiking trail. The house itself was mainly an open floor plan, with a massive family room that opened onto a veranda overlooking the pool, a dining area that could accommodate twenty-four if he pushed it, a dream kitchen, though he didn’t do much cooking, six bedrooms with two primary suites, and an immense game room downstairs that led onto the pool deck.
It was a massive home for a bachelor, but he required enough room for when the family wanted to stay. He had yet to host a Harrington-Maverick barbecue, but he definitely planned one for this summer. The outdoor kitchen had two grills, and the kids would love the pool. The Maverick offspring were becoming quite numerous. He had hopes that one or another of his siblings would soon want to take the baby plunge.
His office’s picture windows looked out into the forest, and he caught sight of a deer munching on leaves in the shadow of the woods. Looking more closely, he made out the entire family—an older buck with large antlers, a junior still with the velvet on its growing rack, and a doe.
The wildlife in the area gave him more reasons to love the house. He’d seen deer, raccoons, skunks, the ubiquitous coyotes, and once even a bobcat. He’d installed a bat house as well as an owl box, though no owls had moved in yet. He’d been told it could take a year or two for the owls to decide to use the box for breeding. The bats, however, were fabulous at keeping the insect population down around the pool.