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“My father is out of his favorite pipe tobacco, to his dismay,” Simon said, wincing.
“Ah, we cannot have that. I will send up an order at once.” Mr. Foster withdrew a notebook from the pocket of his coat. “What else, my lord?”
“A variety of sweets for the school children, to calm the hoard.” This was ridiculous. He felt heat rising up his neck. Someone was going to notice.
Mr. Foster nodded and made the notation in his notebook. “And anything for you, Lord Atella? Sir Andrew?”
Luca asked after mint pastilles; Mr. Foster would measure and fill a tin for him. Andrew asked after something with ginger in it.
“Ah, for something particular? Passing nausea, perhaps? Upset stomach?” Mr. Foster went behind his counter. “As a tea or a sweet? I find the sweets excellent in the moment, and tea better to take in more serious cases. Either way, ginger is an excellent way to calm a stomach.”
“Some of both then, please. On my account, but have it sent to the castle. Except—perhaps a small tin of the pastilles as well?”
Mr. Foster shuffled about, measuring and tutting to himself while the men waited. He put their purchases in bags and tins and made several notations.
As they were the only three in the shop, they had the apothecary’s full attention.
“Are you feeling unwell, Andrew?” Luca asked while they waited.
Andrew was studying a row of glass bottles filled with various small seeds. He answered somewhat absently. “Josie ate something that disagreed with her. Merely trying to ward off any other difficulties.”
Luca made a hum of understanding. “How has it been, having her settle in at Bytham?”
At this question, Andrew turned on his heel and grinned at them. “Josie has said it’s wonderful, and I have every reason to believe her. Instead of the army of servants someone like Her Grace would have to command, she has a small platoon of loyal men and women. She is free to entertain as often as she likes, which is almost never, and she spends most of her time in my office at her own desk. It seems the quiet life suits her best.”
“I find the opposite is true for Emma.” Luca chuckled and tucked his hands behind his back. “She flies through the rooms of the embassy every day, arranging parties, welcoming guests. I have told her she need not do so much, that we need not entertain so often, and she only laughs and plans another ball or dinner.” He grinned with obvious pride. “Our home is always alive with people, and I think we are both satisfied. That is the right word?” He looked at Simon as he asked.
Simon winced and shifted. “It seems to fit, from what I just heard.”
“Sounds like you’re more than satisfied,” Andrew put in. “It sounds as though you two are happy.”
“Ah, yes. Happy is better.” Luca grinned and seemed ready to speak again, but Mr. Foster took that moment to drop a final tin on the surface of his counter.
“Here we are. The small things you may take with you now, my lords and sir. I will send the rest up to the castle right away.”
With the highest rank among them, it fell to Simon to answer for their little group. “Thank you, Mr. Foster, for your assistance and lack of delay.”
From the corner of his eye, Simon saw Andrew cock his head to one side. Simon picked up the small pouch of sweets for the children and tucked it into his coat pocket, then shifted out of the way for the other two to pick up their filled tins.
Then he hastily led the way out the door.
“Where to next?” he asked. There were no rules against him speaking first. Miss Frost had only said he had to rhyme the last word someone else said tohim.
Luca pointed down the lane. “The stationers, I think. I must purchase more ink.”
“As must I.” Andrew glanced to the shop where the women doubtless still perused ribbons and buttons. “Onward, men.”
Simon had a moment to relax. Perhaps Andrew’s look hadn’t meant a thing. Except, the moment they stepped into the shop, he picked up a bottle of ink. “Ah. What think you of this, Simon? It looks purple.”
Simon completely froze.
What in thunderation rhymed withpurple?Simon opened and closed his mouth.
Luca stepped up to them to examine the glass bottle. “Why would you wish for purple ink? It seems unusual. Does a color like that have a particular purpose?”
So relieved was he not to have to rhyme the word purple, Simon answered perhaps too quickly. “It isn’t a color for which I need a surplus.”
Andrew put the ink bottle down on its shelf with more zest than necessary, making the other bottles clatter and the poor shopkeeper wince. “Ah ha! I knew you were doing something strange. Is this something to do with our wager?”
