Page 107 of The Dueling Duchess

“Well, I’d better get to work on that room if she is coming tonight. If you ladies will excuse me?”

“Oh,” Cecile said. “Will you put all the paste jewels from the storage room into the counting room?”

“Of course.” Guy turned to the hook on the wall where the key to the counting room was usually kept. “The key is not here.”

“I wasn’t the last to use it!” Cook called over her shoulder without even turning.

“Don’t look at me,” Guy said when Cecile looked at him.

“I know it was on the hook this morning because I put the silver back in there after polishing it,” Cook said.

Everyone turned to Blade.

She finished chewing and set down her spoon before turning to Angus.

Some sort of silent communication passed between woman and bird and then Blade sighed and began patting at the various pockets sewn all over her clothing. Her hand paused on her upper arm and she stuck her fingers into a slit in the fabric that was only a few inches from Angus’s beak and pulled out a small silver key.

“You thieving beast!” Cecile hissed, glaring at the bird.

Guy had to bite his lip to keep from laughing as the raven and Frenchwoman locked gazes. If he’d had to lay money on the confrontation, he couldn’t have decided who’d win.

“What’s the counting room?” Cat piped up, oblivious to the tension in the room.

“I’ll show it to you when you’ve finished your dinner,” Guy promised.

“I’m finished now.”

“No,” Cecile said, wrenching her gaze away from the bird and directing it to Cat. “You are not. If you take bread, then you should eat it.” She eyed the thick slice Cat had put on her plate.

Guy thought that was a bit draconian, but then he’d been raised in the lap of luxury compared to Cecile, so he kept his mouth shut.

He held out his hand and Blade gave him the key.

“I’m free after my set tonight if you want to talk,” Blade said.

He looked quickly at Cecile, but she was discussing something with Cat in a heated undertone.

“Here?” he asked.

“I think it would be better at the Greedy Vicar.”

Guy nodded; he knew the place, an ancient pub not far from the Fayre. It was a favorite haunt among theatrical folk.

The box room he was supposed to clear was right next to his room. Amazingly, it was even smaller.

Like everything in the house, it was neatly organized and stacked with crates that were filled with costumes and props. He assumed they were left over from the days when the prior owner used to host his own productions.

The first thing Guy did was find the jewels Cecile had mentioned. They weren’t hard to locate since they were in a gaudy gold cask encrusted with paste jewels, which must have once been a prop, itself.

Inside it was a tangle of sparkly stones that would only fool people from a distance.

Guy thought he might ask Cecile if it would be all right to let Cat play with them. She’d already given the little girl a fairy costume that was no longer in use. Guy recalled that his sisters—young and old—had a mania for paste jewelry, dressing up in fancy clothing, and playing pretend.

By the time he’d moved all the crates into another box room at the far end of the corridor, he was sweaty, covered with dust, and looking forward to washing up, even if it was in the basin of frigid water in his room.

One of the things he’d learned quickly when he’d gone from duke to laborer was that somebody—usually several somebodies—had worked to provide him with all the lovely steaming baths he’d enjoyed in his life and never gave any thought to.

He’d taken one bath thus far—hauling and heating the water for himself—and that was in the kitchen, which was where the only tub lived. It was difficult to find a time when the kitchen wasn’t crawling with people, so Guy normally washed his body using the poor man’s method—a sponge bath.