Sir Belvedere Magnanimous Wainthrop had refused the offer of permanent residence at Buckingham Palace. Perhaps it was Queen Victoria’s salivating mouth, the ping of her metallic hands rubbing together, or just accumulated disgust, but he had smiled with the polite etiquette society still preferred and declared his own home his preference. This was a lie; Belvedere no longer had a home, at least, not to he.
Belvedere removed sufficient articles of clothing to suffice his needs, locked the front door to Wainthrop Manor and charged his groundskeeper with its general upkeep. Old Mister Terrington knew the man he had seen grow from a rambunctious scoundrel through to a true champion of the Empire. He, above all men, knew when Sir Belvedere’s mind was made up there was no changing it. However,
