“I do like a game,” the dowager said.
“Now that reminds me, duchess,” the duke said, “we don’t go in for sending the ladies to their tea while the gentlemen sit here with port and cigars. I cannot be bothered with jawing about politics or a horse somebody just bought. We bring the port and brandy into the drawing room. Shall you want either of those? Or perhaps sherry?”
“You know me too well, duke,” the dowager said. “Sherry is my preferred glass.”
“Charlie, go down to the wine cellar and fetch one of the bottles of sack that just came in from Perry,” the duke said.
The footman nodded, though he appeared deeply concerned to be sent down to the cellars. Apparently, finding the door ajar was still on his mind though the place had been searched. It was not particularly illogical. After all, if he were a strange butler hiding out in a house, he supposed the wine cellar would be as good a place to hide as any. One would at least be supplied with good drink to pass the clandestine hours.
The duke rose and led them through to the drawing room. Lelandreally had no idea what he was to face there, though he was grateful that he’d have a glass of port in his hand while he faced it.
*
Mrs. Right attemptedto read the expression on Charlie’s face. He’d just hurried down from the dining room and into the kitchens. He found her there attempting to help Cook bring order back to his staff of two hysterical kitchen maids. “Has the duke complained about the dinner?” she asked, knowing full well that there had never been a worse dinner sent up to him.
Charlie shook his head. “No, well, he mentioned it was dreadful but he blames it all on Lady Marchfield.”
“The duke is a man who sees what is what,” Cook said.
“He is very gracious,” Mrs. Right said, “but let us not try his goodwill by repeating the experience.”
“It would be easier to never repeat the experience if we did not have that lunatic fellow hiding somewhere,” Cook pointed out. “Who goes around appearing and disappearing?”
“Mrs. Right,” Charlie interrupted, “the duke is sending me down to the cellars to bring up a bottle of the new sack.” He stared at her meaningfully and she knew perfectly well what he meant. The wine cellar door had been left ajar. The footmen had searched the place and found nothing, but it was strange.
“I see,” Mrs. Right said, “I’d best go down with you. I imagine you boys have not even had the time to open those crates yet.”
“We have not. We did not think there was a hurry as he mostly only orders it for Lady Felicity and there are several older bottles still down there.”
“Bring the claw hammer so we can get the crate open. If the duke wishes for a bottle from the Perry shipment that is what he will get. We will not wish to disappoint him any further this evening.”
Charlie looked most relieved to discover he would not have to descend those dark stairs alone. Mrs. Right took the candelabra from the servants’ table, and they made their way down.
She’d not been down in the cellars in an age. Charlie and Thomas were well able to suggest wine pairings and retrieve them for the duke. It was as cold and damp as she recalled. It was as dark as she remembered, too.
She held the candelabra in front of her, descending the stone stairs into the gloom. “Where did you leave the crates?”
“All the way in the back, I’m afraid. I thought we should put the Perry bottles with the other bottles of sack and the duke does not ask for them as often as the claret and hock.”
“Makes sense,” Mrs. Right said. She had come down the last step. Rows of shelves holding hundreds of bottles of various shapes and sizes gathered dust in the gloom. She felt a chill go down her back and assured herself it was only the damp of the cellar and not the idea that Mr. Wicket might be down here somewhere.
Mrs. Right led the way, determined not to give away any trepidation she might feel. If the staff were to sense it, they’d fall apart. The crates were just ahead. Mrs. Right peered at the nails that held the lid closed as she did have a small idea that Mr. Wicket might be inside one of them, but everything appeared secure. Charlie began working to pry open the one on top. He popped the last nail and began digging through the hay packing for a bottle. As he did so, Mrs. Right looked warily around her.
Then her eyes scanned the floor. Just to the right of her shoe, there was a folded sheet of paper lying on the floor. At first, she thought it must be a bill of lading, until she squinted and read the first line.For Mr. Tobias Wicket.
Charlie fished out a bottle of Mr. Perry’s sack. “Got it,” he said.
“Excellent, Charlie. Go ahead, I’ll bring up the rear, we should not like to leave the duke waiting.”
Charlie nodded and proceeded toward the stairs. Mrs. Right swept up the paper and put it in her pocket before following him out.
*
Winsome had entirelylost track of her goal as she spoke to Lord Manderbey at table. She was supposed to be discovering if he was deep in debt from gambling. She was supposed to be finding out if he had the sort of temperament that would lead down a very dark path. She was supposed to be discovering if he could be trusted to care for a wife or whether he was on a dowry hunt to solve financial woes. She was supposed to be adding up the cold hard facts and if they ran against him, then she must dismiss him from her thoughts.
What had she done instead? She’d had a very interesting conversation with him about everything in the world but that. She’d been positively entranced when he’d spoken of Torquay—how she would like to see it!
Now, Valor and Grace had pushed the ottoman into the center of the room while Felicity and Mr. Stratton had directed the arranging of the chairs in a circle round it.
