Sir Richard took a bite of toast, chewed, and sipped his coffee. “Next week. ’Twill be a small affair, I fear. Dinner and, er, perhaps a bit of dancing.”
“I fear we cannot promise you next week,” Shaldon said.
“Well, then. You and the ladies must come for dinner. Tomorrow night. I’ll not take no for an answer.”
Shaldon leveled a steady gaze on him. “We shall be honored.”
“Excellent.” Sir Richard caught Perry’s eye. “And I shall particularly like to make your acquaintance, my dear.”
Perry’s eyes narrowed. She set down her fork.
“Your mother was a childhood friend. Used to gallop across my land whenever the notion took her. Always a horsewoman, wasn’t she? Do you share her interest in horses, my lady?”
Perry washed down a bite of toast and glanced at her father before answering. “My brother runs the equine operations.”
“Well,” Sir Richard said. “Of course. No doubt finer than my own, though I dare say there are a few fine mounts in my stable. I should like you to feel welcome to come over any time to ride, and, er, Lord Shaldon, I’d be happy to have you ride any of my mounts.” He stood. “Well then, tomorrow night. Though I am but a widower, I dare say I have one of the best cooks in the county and can spread a fine table. I shall be happy to see you then.”
Fox walked out with him. At the door, Sir Richard turned on him. “Bit of a surprise, eh, his lordship showing up?”
The skin on his neck prickled again. Shadows hid Sir Richard’s expression, but he’d lowered his shoulders in a threatening stance. A tall man he was, about Fox’s height, and the flabbiness around him was, Fox realized, merely an excess of linens and coats crowned with a mask of stupidity. Strip him down to a dark jumper and one would find muscle and brawn and a keen intelligence.
The man tilted his head, the rabbit waiting to see what the fox would do.
Only, who was the rabbit and who was the fox here?
Fox nodded. “And good day, Sir Richard.” He held the door until the man passed, and then snicked it quietly shut, turning the lock.
Perry would not be going to that dinner, at least, not without him, not without Kincaid and Farnsworth, though none of them had been expressly invited.
Well, Sir Richard’s cook would just have to stretch the fare a little further.
