“And the Duke of Azureford,” Noelle continued. “And Olive Harper’s famous stallion.”
“You’re right,” Miss Mitchell said. “Everyone says he’s an excellent stud horse.”
“‘Duke’ the stud horse?” Benjamin said in disbelief. “That’s one of your dukes?”
Noelle raised her brows. “You’ve heard of him?”
“Everyone’s heard of him,” Benjamin said, exasperated. “But he’s a stallion. The literal kind. You can’t count a horse as a duke.”
“Why not?” Noelle asked innocently. “I’ve certainly met dukes who are absolute beasts.”
He bit back a choked laugh. The insult was not even thinly veiled.
“Thank you again, Noelle. I’m off to work on the formula.” Miss Mitchell paused at the door before disappearing into the stairwell. “Don’t worry, Your Grace. I’ll select a more appropriate test subject in the future.”
Surely she didn’t mean that to sound so ominous.
“She’s a lady perfumer?” he asked Noelle after Miss Mitchell had gone.
“She’s a chemist,” Noelle answered. “Who sometimes makes perfumes.”
He decided against further questions. The answers were unlikely to illuminate the matter. He needed to focus on returning to Parliament as quickly as possible.
Benjamin fought a twinge of guilt at being away even this long. He had dedicated himself to prioritizing duty above all else, including his personal happiness. To making himself useful. To proving his life worthwhile.
If he were truly a noble man, his responsibilities to England would take priority over his mother’s locket. Above family. Above sharing a madcap morning in a counting house with Noelle.
It was just this one indulgence, he reminded himself. Once the heirloom was back in his possession he would return to the House of Lords, where he was most useful. Being alone with Noelle was a temptation he could ill afford.
He stood up. But before he could leave, a new shadow fell into the counting house.
Mr. Fawkes stood in the doorway, a jovial smile on his ruddy cheeks and the ubiquitous worsted cap clamped over his frizzy white curls.
“I knew I would find you here, son.” Mr. Fawkes beamed at Benjamin with a paternal warmth Grandfather had never shown. “I have come to help.”
Benjamin loved Fuzzy Wig like a father. He wished the old mancouldhelp. He had admired him for so long that seeing the slow deterioration in his journals felt like a vise around his heart.
He gestured to the freshly drafted summons for the aviary workers, who at these prices would have the last details completed by the morrow. “The aviary is sorted for now, but I thank you for the offer. You are most generous.”
Mr. Fawkes’s jolly face crumbled in obvious disappointment. “I’m no use at all?”
Benjamin’s heart twisted. “There is the matter of a partridge…”
“I know a partridge expert,” Noelle said quickly.
He doubted this. Who on earth knew a partridge expert? Noelle had been right to redo Mr. Fawkes’s books, but a man needed to feel helpful.Order a birdwas an easy task that would ease the old clerk’s mind by proving his aid undeniably useful.
Thus decided, Benjamin smiled at Mr. Fawkes. “I put you in charge of ordering the partridge.”
Mr. Fawkes gave a sharp nod. “I’m not surprised. Your grandfather appreciated a bowl of hot porridge on a cold day, too.”
Benjamin cleared his throat. “Not porridge.Partridge.”
Noelle gestured toward the ear trumpet in Mr. Fawkes’s hand. The older man immediately placed it to his ear.
Benjamin shouted into the opening. “We need a partridge for the aviary.”
The old clerk’s frown cleared in understanding. “A partridge for the aviary.”
