He was very afraid it was not, though.
But if it was not, that would mean that the young ladies had some foreknowledge of Lady Rosalind’s handkerchief flying out of her pocket. If they had foreknowledge of it, then it would mean they had arranged it.
That, of course, made no sense. One does not arrange to have oneself robbed. Nobody in the world had ever arranged to have themselves robbed. Even if one were to locate such a deranged individual who might arrange a robbery, Tattleton was certain to his bones that the deranged individual would not be a young lady.
And yet, had they not been in conference with Shrimps? If anybody in their sphere were to know a pickpocket, it must be him. Shrimps had probably been a pickpocket himself.
And had not that duke they talked about all the time, Conbatten, been nearby when the pickpocket had struck? Could he have been in on it too?
His instincts so rarely steered him wrong and his instincts were telling him that Lady Rosalind had wished to be robbed and then somehow found a way to be robbed.
But why?
If it were true, what were Shrimps’ and the duke’s involvement in it?
And even more spine-chilling, what was to come next?
As if he did not have enough to worry about! Those eight creatures below stairs were beginning to open their eyes. Sixteen beady eyes staring blankly. He could only imagine what they thought about. How to destroy the place, probably.
It would not be long before their legs started working and then, as far as he could see it, all would be lost.
Chapter Twelve
Rosalind had beenup in the middle of the night with a rather inspired idea. It had come to her suddenly, and she could not sleep for thinking of it. She had spent hours working out precisely how it could be done.
Now she and her sisters lingered in the breakfast room. She could hardly wait to tell them all.
“Tattleton,” she said, looking meaningfully at her sisters and her aunt, “we will stay in here with our tea for a bit, but we do not require anything else.”
The butler nodded, though he looked strangely worried about the idea of them lingering.
He retreated with the footmen and shut the door behind him.
“Poor Tattleton seems so nervous these days,” Juliet said. “Do you suppose he worries over the health of Bess’ pups? He shouldn’t do, they are all getting on very well, but he does have such a soft heart.”
“I am sure that must be it, my dear,” Miss Mayton said, still working her way through a pile of toast.
“I’ve had an idea,” Rosalind said.
Her sisters leaned forward. Miss Mayton set down her toast.
“What if some gentleman, some until now unknown person, a baron from the countryside, was to challenge Conbatten for my love?”
“That would be rather marvelous, but where are we to dig up a baron willing to challenge the duke?” Juliet asked.
“He would not be real,” Rosalind said.
“That’s too bad—I should like to meet a baron willing to fight the duke,” Cordelia said.
“So there would be no actual duel,” Miss Mayton said. “Just the idea of one.”
“Exactly,” Rosalind said.
“Very sensible,” her aunt said, nodding.
“You wish to have Conbatten accept the duel, though there is no duel,” Viola said.
“Yes, we could invent some fellow from the countryside who has always been in love with me and has now followed me to London. He will challenge the duke and if Conbatten accepts, then I will know he truly loves me.”
