Her husband was not nice. But perhaps there was at least a tiny bit ofgoodnesssomewhere very deep down in a man who had saved a turtle from the soup pot and given it a comfortable home.
Chapter Eight
Where the hell have you been?” Chris asked as Brooks entered his study at last. “I’ve been calling.”
“Yes; I know. The whole of the household heard you bellowing.” Brooks set down a silver tea service laden with several small dishes and removed a stack of papers from where they had been tucked beneath his arm to slap them down upon Chris’ desk.
“Then what kept you?”
“I wasbuttling, you arrogant arse. For your in-laws.”
Oh. He’d forgotten that Phoebe meant to invite them to breakfast. But certainly that had passed hours ago. What the devil had they been doing in the meantime? “And how did it go?”
“Well enough, for a while. They were dissatisfied with the quality of their meal, but that was to be expected, I suppose. I think they were pleased enough to find their daughter in good spirits and unharmed—at least until you started bellowing your fool head off. There is a bell pull, you know. Just to your left.” Brooks made a show of straightening the cuffs of his sleeves, his features arranged into a scowl.
Chris glanced to his left, to the bell pull that hung some distance away. “That would require me to get off—how did you put it?—myarrogant arse. Which I am disinclined to do.”Leaning forward to grab at the edge of the silver tray, he dragged it across the desk toward him, ignoring Brooks’ wince as the china upon it clattered. “Did her family overstay their welcome?” he asked as he poured himself a cup of tea.
“Not as such,” Brooks said. “Your wife gave them a tour. Inasmuch as she was able, when one considers she’s not yet entirely familiar with the house. They made a great number of lists.”
“Lists?” Chris inquired as he took a drink. “Damn,” he said in mild surprise. “Tea’s good today.”
“I believe your wife had something to do with that.”
Had she? Well, it seemed she had gotten a good start on wifely things, however a woman was meant to do it.
“Your in-laws were not impressed with the décor. I assume they’ve begun preliminary lists on corrections that must be made to it. As it is, they greeted several callers in the drawing room, which is the only room they deemed acceptably furnished—”
“Callers?”
“That’s what I said.”
Chris felt his brows pinch into a frown. “I don’t have callers.”
“That’s correct.Youdon’t. Your wife does, it seems.” Brooks slapped his hand over the stack of papers. “Or had you forgotten you posted a wedding announcement?”
He hadn’t, of course. It was just that he hadn’t expected much of anyone to care. At least not to the extent that would result incallers. “How many?”
“Too damned many,” Brooks said. “Your sister, for one. The Beaumonts, all. Several of your wife’s relations. And perhaps a dozen curious members of the aristocracy.” With one hand, Brooks dug into his pocket and withdrew a handful of calling cards. A damned overflowing handful.
“Give ‘em here,” Chris said, extending his hand to receivethem. Ah, hell—Stathamhad come to call—among too damned many others. “This one,” he said, handing Statham’s card back to Brooks. “You don’t admit him in the future.”
“May I ask why?”
“Because I don’t fucking like him.” Chris grabbed for the papers, thumbing through them to find that the few well-chosen threats he’d issued had done the trick. His marriage might be prime news, but the circumstances that had precipitated it had been tactfully left out. A scandal that would soon leave the public memory…if the public knew what was good for it. “Send Phoebe up, would you?” He’d like to hear her version of what had transpired in the last several hours.
“Not possible, I’m afraid. She’s gone out.”
“Out? Where?”
“Said something about the bookstore, I believe,” Brooks said. “For future reference, servants are not generally in the habit of questioning the comings and goings of their employers.”
Meaning, Chris supposed, that he ought not to expect Brooks to inform upon his wife. “Ah, well.” She’d be back sooner or later. “Tell her I want to see her when she returns, then.”
“Tell her yourself,” Brooks said. “She’s requested your company for dinner, if you can spare the time.”
“Oh? Might as well, then.” Chris shook out his paper. “Sounds pleasant enough.”
But the light laugh Brooks gave as he left the room suggested otherwise. Foreboding, in a sense. As if the damned butler knew something he didn’t.
