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His mouth curved, but he still did not look at her.
‘Thank you for telling me. Where is Jamie now?’
‘Upstairs with Nurse Moody. They are preparing Flops for the ball tomorrow. He has not yet accepted they will not be attending.’
‘Poor Flops. That does not bode well for Jamie’s temper when the truth sinks in that he will not be at the centre of the festivities. Tomorrow is likely to be challenging in more ways than one, Mrs Langdale. Are you prepared for the worst?’
‘I am, Your Grace. Is Mr McCreary about? We are setting a fine pace with the accounts and I am hopeful we might soon complete the review.’
‘He has gone to the village on some business of mine and I am about to go as well so you are welcome to the study.’ He went to pull out his chair and after a moment she went to sit down, pulling the ledger towards her.
He did not immediately leave, and she looked up, her heartbeat heading downhill again for no accountable reason. He smiled, but it was not the easy smile of a moment ago.
‘You look much better than McCreary does at my desk.’
‘It is the dress, Your Grace. Perhaps you should review McCreary’s wardrobe as well.’
He laughed and shook his head, his drying hair brushing the collar of his coat. It had grown since she had seen him in London. Time was passing, and each moment was becoming precious. If she was a brave woman she would stand and...and do something.
Instead she pulled the ledger to her and bent over it and stared blindly at the numbers. It felt like an eternity before the door closed finally behind him. Then she set to work.
Chapter Twenty-One
Everything was ready for the ball.
The hall gleamed, the sconces were all equipped with candles, the passage to the Great Hall, usually bare, was laid with deep blue carpets and the Minstrels’ Gallery at the end of the hall readied for the orchestra arriving from Kilmarchie. Mrs Merry was at her imperious best, her voice ringing up and down corridors as she held sway over the horde of servants hired for the occasion.
The Duke had every reason to be content with the state of his household. Except for one small issue.
Or rather one small boy and a rather serious issue.
‘Where the devil is he?’ Benneit’s growl sent two temporary footmen into retreat down the hallway. ‘Have you found him, Jo? Angus?’
Angus wiped his brow with a handkerchief the size of a tent and Jo shook her head.
‘Nurse Moody said his best shoes and his tartan coat are missing. Clearly he still plans to attend the ball, despite your interdiction,’ Jo offered and tried not to flush as Benneit’s glare turned on her. Angus jumped into the breach.
‘I searched the towers and those servants we can spare are looking outside, lad. Other than having Mad Morag throw an ewer at me and tell me not to come back unless I’m bringing a bottle, I found nothing.’
‘Blast the boy,’ Benneit cursed, raking his fingers through his hair. ‘As if we have nothing better to do today than search high and low for him.’
‘Perhaps...’ Jo stopped short. Suggesting the Duke should have allowed Jamie to attend the opening of the ball after all was not likely to be a productive contribution at this point. Instead she searched for something practical to do. ‘Perhaps we should check the cellars.’
Lochmore rounded on her.
‘How many times must I repeat myself? No one enters the cellars and certainly not Jamie. He might be spoilt, but he’s no fool. He’s run off outside the castle walls. And why the devil are you still wearing that grey dress?’
‘I will go and search the copse.’ Jo turned away, resisting the urge to tell Benneit what she thought of him and his manners. Angus trudged alongside her.
‘I’ll go to the rock fall. You mustn’t mind Lochmore in this mood, lass. He’s worried,’ Angus added unnecessarily.
‘I know, Angus.’
‘He didn’t mean that about the dress.’
She laughed a little bitterly.
‘Yes, he did. But he was in a foul mood even before he noticed my dress and before Jamie’s tantrum and disappearance.’
‘The present keeps moving closer to the future and he knows he can’t avoid it.’ He sighed, adding, ‘He was always a stubborn boy, a heart of gold, but stubborn.’
