“No, I’d imagine not,” Lopez responded after a long pause. ButRoger was too irritated to contemplate whatever other sin the man believed he committed as the image of the mess rose in his head once more. Not to mention the litany of incompetencies and failures that marred his once sturdy, well-run home.
“I daresay there has to be some sort of tipping point,” he murmured. “Some place in time where an incompetent staff becomes more of a hindrance than a complete lack of one.”
Lopez narrowed his eyes at Roger.
“Staff member,” he conceded with a huff. “Or, in this case, several.” He wagged a finger at the other man. “But you know what they say about ‘bad apples.’ ”
A ghost of a sardonic smile graced Lopez’s lips. “I’ll endeavor not to be infected, sir,” he said. “And I’ll see to it that the matter is dealt with.” The servant gave another bow.
“That would be preferable,” Roger responded. “Thank you, Lopez,” he called as the man exited, leaving Roger to return to his office to work.
Peacefully and without interruption.
However, the universe was not on his side that day, as only an hour later, a voice interrupted his solitude, causing Roger to nearly jump out of his skin.
“How goes matters with Miss Adler?”
Roger glanced up to find Sol, top hat in hand, dressed in a dark green plaid coat and matching trousers, a cheerful yellow cravat tied around his neck, leaning against the doorframe, a sly sort of smile on his face.
“I thought you were supposed to announce guests,” Roger called to Lopez, who, apparently having returned from hopefully persuading the rest of his staff to do their actual jobs, was hovering just behind the other man’s shoulder.
“If you’d like me to be in more than one place at once, you’d betterlearn magic,” the man answered. “Or perhaps hire me an underling of my very own.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “I’ll be sure to place that request as a priority item on the new Mrs. Berab’s list.”
“You’ve committed her duties to paper?” Lopez inquired as Roger glanced up to find the valet holding out a stack of papers. More work, likely regarding the household. Just what he wanted.
Taking them, Roger scanned the first page. Household invoices and correspondence, just as he suspected. He set them down on the credenza behind him for later.
“It’s a turn of phrase,” he murmured.
“Good,” Lopez said. “I can’t imagine your potential new bride’s father would be pleased if you presented her with a physical rendering of chores.”
No, such a thing was only his own reality.
“I’m not a”—what was the word he was looking for? Villian, tyrant, ogre?—“beast,” he finally settled upon.
Lopez’s lip twitched. “No, but it might behoove you to shore up your castle before you meet, lest it frighten her off. Sir.” With a hint of a smile, he gave a bow, exiting.
“If you are a beast, you’re a rather dashing one,” Sol said, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Though graying around the temples.” He touched his own still dark brown hair as if to demonstrate. “To your earlier point, I’m not a guest, I’m practically family.” As if to prove the same, his friend traipsed into the room and flopped onto one of the two chairs beside his desk, slouching so much, it was a wonder his kippah didn’t slip off his closely cropped hair.
“How may I help you, Sol?” Roger asked.
“Well, first you can tell me about this ‘potential new bride,’ Lopez mentioned. Is a ‘mazel tov’ in order?” Sol waggled both of his considerable brows.
Part of Roger sought to deny it until the betrothal contract was inked, thwarting any attempt by the evil eye to undue his good fortune. Except he didn’t believe in such nonsense. Besides, it would be nice if someone would be properly enthusiastic for him.
“It isn’t official,” Roger said, lowering his voice, “So what I’m telling you is in the strictest of confidences.”
His friend raised a single palm. “You have my word.”
Roger glanced around once more, just in case either of his children lurked nearby, so as not to feed them false hope of a new mother. “Teres approached me.”
Sol knit his brow. “Teres?”
“About his daughter,” Roger whispered. “Lenore?” That was the correct name, right?
The other man frowned. “Leone?”
