He didn’t know what that was, but he was entirely certain it wasn’t what was on offer here.
He shuffled them to a table in the corner nearest the windows and wondered how quickly they were going to be able to eat their fare and get out of here en route to Harcourt’s office.
That was, of course, the cue for Malcolm to enter the fray.
“Ah,” said Jasper, lunging to his feet so quickly, it made all the glasses on the table teeter and the Templeton-Raths all stare at him. “A colleague of mine. I won’t be a moment.”
But it was too late. Malcolm was already striding over to the table, grinning widely as though nothing at all in the world were wrong. “Jasper, your clerks said you were down here to work today. I thought I’d find you doing numbers, not playing host. Good day.”
“Good day to you, young man,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath said, tilting her head and considering the fit of Malcolm’s finely tailored suit. “Are you also with the EIC?”
“I am not.” Malcolm laughed. “Malcolm Lennox, at your service. I am part owner of a smaller operation down the wharf.”
“Ah,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, nodding. “Limestone.”
“Yes!” he replied, eyes glittering. “Indeed. You must be the Templeton-Raths. Mr. Townsend has told me much about you.”
“We are,” Mr. Templeton-Rath confirmed. “I am John, and this is my wife, Agatha, and my daughter, Pippa.”
“Charmed,” said Malcolm, and he seemed to mean it.
“Join us,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath instructed, pointing to the seat across from Jasper. “We are sitting for an early lunch.”
“I can’t stay long,” Malcolm said apologetically. “I just came to ask Mr. Townsend where to deliver a barrel of quartz.”
“Me?” Jasper repeated, his mouth completely dry. “What?”
“For the chandelier,” Malcolm prompted, raising his dark brows. “For Libba’s playhouse. We want to have it done in time for opening night.”
“Oh, a playhouse?” said Mr. Templeton-Rath, perking up. “Opening night? What show is being put on?”
“No,” said Jasper weakly, as Malcolm’s voice barreled over his, announcing, “Romeo and Juliet, in fact! One of the Bard’s greatest.”
“Oh, Papa,” said Miss Templeton-Rath, accepting the pint glass that was being handed to her by the barman. “We must go! We never get Shakespeare in Galle.”
“Of course, dear,” said Mr. Templeton-Rath absently. “If you like.”
“I would like to go too, darling,” Mrs. Templeton-Rath said pointedly, while Jasper sank lower into the cushions. “Mr. Townsend, you must join us. And you must invite Her Royal Highness as well, of course.”
Malcolm paused, glancing at Jasper. “‘Her Royal Highness’?” he repeated, his eyes narrowing. “You mean Princess Xandine?”
“Ah, yes!” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath, looking delighted. “You have met her as well?”
“I have,” Malcolm confirmed, still staring down Jasper. “Many times. In fact, she enjoys this very pub from time to time.”
“A pub-faring princess, eh?” Mr. Templeton-Rath said happily. “That’s a rare woman, I think.”
“Oh,” Malcolm agreed, his mouth in a firm line. “Exceedingly rare.”
“Are you staying?” Jasper asked, misery in every syllable. “I can order another lunch.”
“I cannot,” Malcolm decided, straightening his shoulders. “I’ve urgent business elsewhere this morning.”
“Oh, that is a shame,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath. “Where are you off to, young man?”
“The Odalisque,” Malcolm answered pointedly. “My sister owns the theater, you see. And I need to have words with her.”
“My, but there are quite a few women-owned businesses in this town, aren’t there?” Mrs. Templeton-Rath marveled, oblivious to Jasper’s melting insides as he watched his best mate make hard eye contact with him, then spin on his heel and exit the venue.
