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“Her name is Miss Morris. I’ve met her. She’s charming and beautiful, and they’re both quite besotted.”
The latter may or may not be true but the former was my honest opinion. Miss Morriswascharming and beautiful. She was also intelligent and tall. She was perfect for Harry and unless he was blind and stupid, he ought to be in love with her.
It was a given that she was already in love with him. Few women didn’t fall under his spell upon first meeting him. And when he gave a woman his full attention…
I shoved the thought of our kiss aside. Now wasn’t the time to think about that heady moment when we’d kissed in St James’s Park. I needed to givethismoment my full attention or Uncle Ronald could make my life difficult. I wouldn’t put it past him to assign a chaperone to accompany me whenever I left the hotel.
Uncle Ronald’s face settled into its usual soft folds as his temper dissipated. “You should have mentioned Miss Morris earlier.”
I bit my tongue so as not to tell him that I’d been about to when Floyd interrupted. “If Harry requires my help with another investigation—and it’s by no means certain that he ever will again—then it won’t interfere with my social responsibilities. I’ll attend every party, dinner and picnic Aunt Lilian wishes me to attend. I’ll dance with whomever you wish, and I’ll be the most amiable companion for Flossy. When my aunt isn’t feeling well, I’ll be glad to be Flossy’s chaperone. I’ll be sure she only talks to gentlemen of good breeding.”
Uncle Ronald seemed pleased, even relieved, when I mentioned taking over chaperoning duties from my aunt. With her health not improving and the whirlwind of the social season leaving her more tired and fraught than ever, a back-up plan was needed. At twenty-three, I was old enough.
He grunted as he came to a conclusion. “Miss Morris won’t like it if Armitage asks you to assist him.”
It was a good point but I remained silent. I couldn’t speak for her.
He stroked his moustache and chin in thought. “Very well. You may work with him if he asks, and as long as it doesn’t interfere with your social engagements.” He waggled a finger at me. “Be sure he pays you fairly for your time.”
“I already do.”
He smiled. “Good girl. I expect nothing less from my niece.”
I refrained from reminding him that I was only his niece by marriage and that any traits we had in common were purely coincidental. I didn’t dare rock the boat now that he’d given his permission for me to work with Harry.
Uncle Ronald dismissed us with a flick of his wrist. I stood, relief making me feel lighter.
Thank you, Miss Morris.
There was a brief knock on the door and Uncle Ronald bade Mr. Hobart to enter. The hotel manager must have just come from his morning meeting with the senior staff. They held one every morning to discuss the day’s arrivals, departures and important events. Once a week, he also held a meeting with all the staff, including the maids, porters and footmen. He was a hands-on manager, and they respected him for it.
Mr. Hobart smiled at Floyd and me. We exchanged pleasantries before he approached the desk and handed Uncle Ronald a piece of paper.
“More potential guests for the dinner, sir. Did you have any luck with the first batch?” He indicated the list my uncle had been notating upon our arrival.
Uncle Ronald stroked his moustache as he looked over the new list. “Not a great deal, no. Most declined. I haven’t heard from the others.” He tossed the piece of paper onto the desk with a click of his tongue. “Blast it. We need them, Hobart. If they don’t come, nobody will care and the restaurant will be an utter failure. I can’t afford it to fail. Is that understood?”
Mr. Hobart swallowed. “Yes, sir.”
“Then get them to come!”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
Uncle Ronald muttered something into his moustache that nobody heard. It was probably just as well. He’d slumped into one of his morose moods. When there was a problem with the hotel, he tended to get angry and sort it out, or become glum if he didn’t know how.
Of all things that could have happened next, the most unexpected one did. Floyd stepped forward. “Is this a guest list for the restaurant’s opening night?”
“Not theofficialopening,” Mr. Hobart clarified. “We want to have a private dinner for select honored guests, serving the most delicious and exotic courses that’s ever been served in a London restaurant. It will be a spectacle for the senses.”
“It’ll be expensive,” my uncle muttered.
Mr. Hobart powered on. “It’ll be free for the guests, of course. The idea is to have it mentioned in all the newspapers. The more important the guests, the more the journalists will clamor to report on it. The resulting publicity will have everyone flocking to dine at the Mayfair Hotel’s new restaurant.”
“Can I look at the list?” Floyd asked.
Uncle Ronald didn’t move so Mr. Hobart scooped up both lists and handed them to Floyd. “This group is our first choice. The second group will be invited if the first decline.” He sighed. “Alas, it’s looking as though we’ll need a third tier.”
Uncle Ronald swore under his breath. “I don’t understand it. Why are they not interested?”
