“Where are you going?” she called after him.
“To bed,” he said, not bothering to turn around. “You should consider the same. The hour is late, and I don’t see you as the sort to wake at a fashionable time. Thus I’m sure the household would prefer you in a better, not worse, humor.”
She stared after him, wondering what exactly had happened. No. Bed, it was time to go to bed.
Roger stretched as he finished his sentence with a flourish. Another perfect line if he didn’t say so himself. Done with a pounding head too—no more gin for him for a while. Regardless, correspondence was an art form. While personal conversation required skill, memorializing one’s words into writing, where the consequences of offense increased trifold, entailed the sharpest of minds.
Fortunately, he’d been trained by the best and never permitted anything to leave his desk that couldn’t be waved in the king’s face and receive a smile. How anyone believed that another Ellenberg or Strauss or Friedland—or others of their ilk—could replace him… He tutted. People had no sense. Or had become too comfortable, too complacent, too enamored with their current benefits to remember what had been, and had to be done, to ensure that all would not be taken away.
This was who he was, damn it, and unlike Miss Adler, he had not limited himself but instead expanded the possibilities for them.
Really a pity about the woman. How someone who was so intellectually gifted could fail to see that—crash.Rising to his feet, Roger marched out into the seemingly empty hall. Strolling to his bedchamber, he opened the door to find… nothing. Or at least nothing amiss.
He opened the parlor door, uncovering the same. Shaking his head,he returned to the hall. Had he just imagined the noise? It had seemed quite real, but he hadn’t been sleeping well, so perhaps—thump.
No, that was most certainly real. And coming from his late wife’s bedroom. He raced down the hall, swinging that door open to reveal the greatest mess he’d ever seen.
Mercy.
The bed was rumpled, the pots on the vanity were toppled, and the curtains hung askew, with every door, lid, and drawer agape. Not to mention the fact that every inch of the finely stained floorboards and soft rugs was covered with silks, wools, ribbons, powders, and an unfortunately large array of feathers.
If she were present, his late wife would’ve swooned. Before sacking half the household.
A tempting thought, as his daughter was currently sitting in the middle of the disarray, instead of in the nursery, attending to her studies. And the fact that she was not where she was supposed to be was a clear failure on the part of several persons to whom he was paying quite a sum.
Backing away slowly, Roger returned to the hall, shutting the door, the soft, metallic click of the bolt pinging through the silence as a frustrated rage bubbled in his gut.
Détruirai, détruiras, détruira, détruirons, détruierez, détruiront.
“Lopez,” he called, his balled fingers digging into his own flesh as he struggled to keep his emotions in proper check.
The servant stepped out from around the bend and gave him a small bow.
“You summon, sir?” he asked.
Roger ground his jaw. “Do you know what is behind that door?” He gestured as he continued to fight his frustration.
“No,” Lopez responded, dragging the word out a touch.
Roger raised a brow, and with a sigh, the older man stepped towardthe door, opened it, and popped his head in followed by a series of maneuvers rather similar to the ones in which Roger was just engaged.
“Ah,” Lopez said, and Roger could not help but feel a small twinge of satisfaction at the older man’s horrified expression. Though, like him, Lopez was well trained to rise above such things, and the emotion quickly disappeared, replaced by the professionalism to which Roger had become accustomed.
“I shall have that taken care of at once,” the man assured him.
“At a minimum,” Roger paused, working to think and assess, instead of merely reacting. “I suppose you’re going to advise against sacking the governess and the maids who were assigned to the maintenance of this floor? Argue that given our present circumstances, replacing the same would not be easy or quick, even with salary increases?” The logical though frustrating facts and arguments threaded through his mind. “Not to mention that, considering we have a guest, are not in a position to be half-staffed?”
A disaster.
Both as it would certainly be contrary to his obligations as a host and because Miss Adler would take the same as evidence of her lowest opinion of him.
Not that her opinion mattered, as, besides being incorrect, she was unimportant. However, he did not need more aggravation.
“Why should I, as you made the argument so eloquently, sir?” Lopez asked, his tone serious. He paused for a long beat. “Though I imagine you might be forgetting something.”
Roger frowned. What was the man speaking—oh.
“Miss Teres,” he said quickly. “Yes, I imagine she’d prefer not to be tasked with hiring an entirely new staff upon the moment she takes up residence here.”
