Based on what Annis had told Cristabel, Adeline was loyal to her friends. “I would like to know that as well. He is trying to think of ways to make her want to marry him, and you know the sorts of ideas young men consider excellent.”
The other two ladies rolled their eyes.
“Only too well,” Annis remarked.
Sally held out her cup as well. “I would love to be able to tell you that I shall instruct Dorie to tell Adeline that Frederick is a good man, but telling her to do anything has always been fraught with problems. What I can do is to start planting seeds. Some of them will be about how ill-suited she and Frederick were, others about how it is not fair to keep a friend from the gentleman for whom she is suited.”
“Yes.” Annis nodded. “She must see the whole affair as a lucky escape for her.”
“And not as her being wronged,” Cristabel added.
“Those are both important points.” Sally took a sip. “Now, do we know of any specific thing he thinks is extremely important that Adeline likes as well?”
“Pigs,” Annis and Cristabel said at the same time, then glanced at each other and laughed.
“They discuss farm animals?” Sally looked aghast.
“According to Wivenly,” Annis said, “Frederick and Adeline were laughing so hard over them, she had to be taken outside to calm down.”
A sly smile formed on Sally’s lips. “I can guarantee you that Dorie would not understand what could be humorous about pigs.”
“I daresay not many of us could.” But that was exactly the type of thing that made Adeline perfect for Frits.
* * *
The previous evening, Frits had accompanied his mother, Adeline, and her mother to the theater. The play was amusing, and they all enjoyed it, but, as far as he could see, it had not helped him get closer to her at all.
He’d spent most of today hunting down Fitzwalter, only to discover he had begun much too early. By the time Frits finally thought to try the man’s rooms, it was almost three in the afternoon.
Using his cane, he rapped on the door and waited. As he was about to knock again, it was opened by a servant he could only assume was a valet. He handed the servant his card. “I wish to see Fitzwalter.”
“I am terribly sorry, my lord, but he has not yet left his bedchamber.”
That scobberlotcher. Frits was ready to ring the idler’s neck for all the trouble he had caused him. One way or the other, Fitzwalter would shortly be awakened. “In that case, it is high time he was up. Make some tea or coffee—”
The valet cleared his throat. “My lord, he drinks ale in the morning.”
“Not this morning he won’t. Bring coffee, and make it strong.” That should get the man going. “And bring whatever remedy you have for pot verdugo as well as food.”
“Yes, my lord.” The valet hurried off to wherever the kitchen was.
He stepped inside the small hall with a fireplace, and immediately found the parlor, off of which lay the bedroom. The rooms were not much different from the ones he’d had at the Albany. He slammed open the door to the bedroom, and it bounced against the wall with a satisfying crash.
“What the bloody devil is going on?” Fitzwalter poked his head out from between the bed hangings.
“Good morning.” Frits used a cheerful tone, but practically shouted the words, as if he was speaking to his great-great aunt, who was deaf. The noise made the other man wince. “Or, I should say, good afternoon.”
“Littleton.” Fitzwalter groaned as he fell back behind the hangings. “What the devil are you doing here?”
Knowing it was a sunny day, Frits opened the curtains before opening the bed hangings. “Bringing you back to the land of the living. I require help, and you are the only one in Town who can assist me.”
Fitzwalter slammed a pillow over his head. “If you want my help, you should be kinder. I’ve a devil of a head.”
“Of that, I have no doubt.” Frits remembered those days all too well. “Your man is bringing coffee.” He ripped off the pillow and tossed it across the room.
Fitzwalter rolled over and glared. “I prefer ale.”
“Ah, yes. The hair of the dog. I need you sober.” He eyed the younger man consideringly. “Do you require aid rising?”
