Page 77 of Duke in Darkness

“Beg pardon, but Mr. Ormsby and Mr. Jacobs are here,” said Norris from the doorway.

He nodded calmly. “Send them in.”

Minutes later, the two lawyers bustled in, all false smiles and bows.

“Good morning, Your Grace,” said Ormsby ingratiatingly. “We are delighted to see you looking so well on this fine day. One could almost believe summer is coming!”

“Quite,” said Gabriel. “Unfortunately Her Grace is in town…so won’t be joining us today. I asked my man Hobbs…to stand in as secretary.”

The lawyer’s smile grew wider, like a damned wolfhound. “Good morning to you also, Mr. Hobbs. Aren’t you a man of many talents?”

Hobbs grunted. “If you say so, sir. Not so good with numbers, but I’ll do my best.”

“Of course, of course.”

Gabriel nearly laughed. Hobbs had missed his calling to the stage. On campaign, one task allocated to him had been the regiment record keeping, precisely because his note taking and dexterity with calculations had been so superior. “Shall we begin? I am relieved to inform you both…the misplaced ledger has been found.”

The two visitors exchanged a swift glance.

“From the Sussex estate?” asked Jacobs casually. “I’m glad to hear it.”

“Entirely my fault,” said Gabriel. “Was here all along…and quite in order.”

“Never mind, Your Grace,” said Ormsby in a kindly tone, so much like the young jewelry shop assistant that Gabriel wanted to punch him in the nose. “These things happen. Please know we take no offense at being accused. Will you be returning all the ledgers to our capable care now?”

“Yes. In fact, I will deliver them personally.”

The lawyer stilled for the barest moment, and Gabriel quickly pasted a blank smile on his face. Hopefully the loathing and distrust he felt for the man hadn’t come through in the words, because he needed the sewer rat to believe all was well.

But Ormsby bowed. “As you wish.”

Damned right, he wished. Knowing the layout of the lawyer’s office, where files were kept, what kind of security they had and so forth, was integral to the next step in his plan. As was having a copy of the man’s schedule, so he could arrive at just the right time.

No one defrauded Gabriel Jordan-Ives. And finally he felt well enough to do something about it.

THE TROUBLE WITH MUSICALES, is that they were so rarely about music. More often, it was gossip. Or in her case, being interrogated.

Lilian took a tiny sip of warm, rather sour lemonade, and tried not to grimace at the sound of a pretty dark-haired girl enthusiastically pounding at a pianoforte. The elderly attendees of the event had a significant advantage over everyone else; they wore feathered turbans that partially covered their ears. With one of those, at least then she could pretend not to hear the sly remarks and pointed questions from the older women around her. Lady Kingsford, naturally, sat in pride of place on a raised dais, and everyone else sat in chairs to her left and right, the audience seating in the music room shaped like a semi-circle.

While a part of her couldn’t wait for Gabriel’s company, another part of her hoped he would never arrive. The other gentlemen here numbered less than ten, and in a run of stunning bad luck, one of them was Sir Roger from the Castlereagh ball. The dandy wore a truly eye-watering peach jacket, and obviously enjoyed being surrounded by so many attentive women.

When at long last the set finished, the girl curtsied and left. The attendees moved back into their groups, and the music room again rumbled with the sound of twenty different conversations.

“Sit up straight, Lilian dear,” her grandmother said, sotto voce. “You’ll grow a hump otherwise…”

Lilian gritted her teeth. Just like at the last audience at Kingsford House, that same sense of helpless frustration assailed her. Grandmother smiled, and her tone rarely changed, but the criticisms hadn’t stopped since she arrived.

“A red-striped gown? How…vibrant. And a little tight around the bodice, don’t you think?”

“You’ve changed your hairstyle to a chignon, I see. That coiled braid always looked so appropriate.”

“One berry tart is sufficient for a lady.”

Obviously Grandmother had not yet found it in her charitable heart to forgive her eldest granddaughter for the Castlereagh ball incident, or for being publicly tearful. And while both her friends Joy and Leah, and Pippa and Georgiana sent her sympathetic glances, they didn’t dare cross the grande dame capable of ending their social aspirations in an instant. She would be trapped until assistance arrived in the unforgettable form of her husband.

“Good afternoon, ladies.”

Thank heavens.