Tristan’s chin lifted. “Ah. He confided that to you, did he?”
“Yes, he did mention—”
Snick.
The office door opened and Mr. Fitzsimmons entered again, carrying a tray with teacups, a teapot, and a plate of shortbread. The crockery clinked as he set the tray on a small side table.
Both Tristan and Rutland stared at Fitzsimmons.
“The water is heating over the fire in the reception downstairs.” Fitzsimmons dabbed at the perspiration gathering on his forehead. “J-just in case Your Grace changes your mind about the tea.”
“I see,” Tristan replied, gravely. “An excellent dark blend, you said.” He glanced at the tea tray. “With shortbread.”
“Yes!” Fitzsimmons perked up. Even his mustache appeared to curl upward at the edges. “My wife makes a cracking shortbread. Best you’ve ever eaten. Melts on the tongue, it does.”
Tristan had a feeling that Fitzsimmons was biting his tongue to keep from sticking it out and showing them where the shortbread would melt.
Silence.
Truthfully, Tristan had never found himself in a situation like this before his marriage to Isolde—mostly because he would have considered such a visit beneath his purview—and therefore was unsure how to respond. Fitzsimmons’s intentions were kindly enough, though decidedly presumptuous.
He turned back to John Rutland.
“So . . . Mr. Ledger confided in you about his dismissal, Mr. Rutland?”
The younger man swallowed, glancing at his employer before continuing. “Just that he had been let go of his post due to Your Grace’s recent marriage.”
Fitzsimmons stood before his tea tray, making no motion to leave the room.
It seemed Tristan was to have an audience for this interrogation.
Lovely.
Suppressing a sigh, he focused on Rutland. “Mr. Ledger was dismissed in error. It was most certainly not my wish to terminate his employment. I am seeking him in an effort to make amends and offer Ledger his former post. Or if he wishes to move on, I will provide a favorable letter of recommendation.”
“Oh.” Rutland’s shoulders relaxed, and he pushed his glasses up his nose.
Fitzsimmons leaned forward. “That is so very gracious of you, Your Grace. I always say that a modicum of generosity never goes amiss when . . .”
The manager drifted off as both Tristan and Rutland stared, unblinking, at him.
“Pardon the interruption.” Fitzsimmons turned to the tea tray and began moving cutlery around.
“That is kind of you, Your Grace,” Rutland said, a flush rising up his cheeks, no doubt tied to his employer’s somewhat embarrassing behavior.
“It is the least I can do. Ledger has been a valuable, loyal employee, and it pains me to know that his loyalty was rewarded so poorly. Do you happen to know where I might find Mr. Ledger?”
Fitzsimmons moved two teacups, causing them to clink. Loudly.
Mr. Rutland winced. “I wish I could tell you of Adam’s whereabouts, but I haven’t the foggiest notion where he has gone. He came to me a few weeks back, saying he had just been dismissed and hadn’t the courage to tell his parents. They dote on him and will be sore disappointed when they learn of his dismissal. Adam asked to borrow a few coins and promised he would repay me once he found a new position. But he didn’t say anything further, and the money I lent was hardly enough to take him far. I assumed he would be staying with his sister and merely needed a few coins for hackney cabs as he searched for a new position.”
Dread settled in the bottom of Tristan’s lungs. “Ledger has not been to visit his sister or his parents. Mrs. Tolman was unaware he had been let go, much less where he had gone.”
“Blast!” Fitzsimmons interrupted.
Both Tristan and Rutland turned to look at him.
“God be thanked that this Mr. Ledger’s sister could point you to our humble offices, Your Grace,” Fitzsimmons continued.
