“Darrell, get Mr. Romley a cup of coffee and bring the sugar bowl over, too,” he instructed, remembering his man liked sugar in his coffee.
George’s eyes widened. “No need, sar, I jest—”
“Sit, George.”
“Yes, sar.” George took the seat to the left of Sir James. Darrell placed the coffee and sugar in front of him.
“You’re here sooner than I expected,” James said. He nodded as Darrell silently offered to refill his coffee cup.
“I know, sar. It were a’cause of Mr. Thornbridge, sar,” Romley said, intent on spooning sugar into his cup.
“Thornbridge?”
“Aye, sar.” Romley nodded.
“He is not injured or ill, is he?”
George looked confused. “Mr. Thornbridge? No, sar.”
“So, I take it you have seen him, and he is in good health.”
“Yes, I suppose, sar.”
“Excellent. Then I think whatever you have to say should wait upon Lady Branstoke.”
George thought for a moment. He may have thought the Indian woman was a light-skirt at first, but not for long. And Mr. Thornbridge did work for Lady Branstoke. “Yes, sar, Lady Branstoke will want to hear.”
“Darrell, please ask Lady Branstoke to join us as soon as she is available.”
Darrell bowed and trotted out of the room. James could hear him clatter up the stairs. He shook his head, amused.
“Help yourself to some breakfast, as well,” James directed Romley. “Cook makes food enough for a regiment.”
“I thank ye, sar.”
“How is everything else in London?” James asked Romley.
“Well, sar, savin’ Mr. Charwood, sar.” Romley shook his head. “I never seed him so bacon-brained a’fore.”
“Charwood?”
“Yes, sar. Makes no sense. Everything I need to tell ya and Lady Branstoke he says is a Banbury tale, and he toll me to tell ya not to believe it!”
“Interesting,” James said.
Romley nodded as he took a big bite of bacon.
“Ah, good morning, Mr. Romley. Darrell said you were here,” said Cecilia as she entered the room.
George scrambled to his feet, bowing, and pulling his forelock. “Lady Branstoke.”
James leaned back in his chair. “My dear, I believe that quiet you abjured is about to end,” he said placidly, his eyes at half-lidded attention, a look others might take as bored. Cecilia did not. She knew this was when James was at his most canny.
She looked from James to George. “You are here early in the day. What has occurred, Mr. Romley?”
George started to wipe his mouth with the back of his sleeve, then saw Lady Branstoke slightly raise one pale brow. He remembered himself and picked up the serviette to wipe breakfast crumbs away. She smiled at him.
He took another sip of coffee. “Last night, nigh dark, when I stepped outside to blow a cloud. I saw Mr. Thornbridge come down the mews with another figure. At first I couldna tell if t’were man or woman. Then I seen it were a tiny woman, like yourself, my lady, bundled in Mr. Thornbridge’s coat. An Indian woman.”
