Chapter 11
Finding the Duke of Rochford’s residence was ridiculously easy. All she had to do was go to Grosvenor Square, where all the aristocrats lived, and ask a chimney sweep which of the houses was Rochford’s. The boy pointed to a massive grey mansion at the corner of the square. She walked up to it boldly and tapped the brass knocker against the door.
After an eternity, the door opened.
The butler was long and spindly and looked down his hawkish nose at her. He narrowed his eyes.
Another one of those butlers.
Pen drew herself up. “I would like to see the Duke of Rochford. If you please.”
“The duke is not in residence. You may leave a card.”
Pen sighed. “I don’t have any.”
He began to close the door. Her foot jammed in quickly. “If he is not in residence, then where is he?”
“I would not know, sir. Now, if you please. Your foot.” He stared pointedly at her dusty boot.
She was well on the way to throwing a full-fledged tantrum. “Of course, you know. You just don’t want to tell me. You have no interest, care, nor heart to discover what might prompt me to enquire about where His Grace might be. No. You just want to get rid of me, like everyone else.”
She expected him to slam the door into her face, but oddly enough, he didn’t.
“May I ask who you are, sir?”
“My name is Pen Kumari. I just need to see what the duke looks like. If he is the person I think he is, then you will regret for the rest of your life how you’ve treated me. For I am his ward. If he isn’t the person I think he is, then never mind.” Suddenly Pen ran out of steam. She wiped her forehead with her sleeve. “Forgive my bad manners, for I am very tired of all this.”
The butler studied her for a moment, then he seemed to unbend. “His Grace is tall, has black curly hair and green eyes. Maybe this is of help. Now if you will excuse—”
A sick feeling spread in Pen’s stomach. “Tell me. Does he like his tea black, no sugar, no milk? He enjoys spicy food and can eat an entire chilli pepper without a blink. And his favourite treat is Turkish delight.”
“Yes, sir. Indeed. You are correct.” The butler studied her.
Feeling dizzy, Pen leaned against the balustrade. “It is him, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“It appears so, sir. However, one might argue that many gentlemen enjoy well-seasoned food and Turkish delight.”
Pen nodded, relieved. “You are right. I would not know for sure he is the person I seek until I actually see him.”
“You have to forgive me, but he really is not in residence. He hasn’t been in a good while.”
“Is he back in India?”
“No. He is in the country, but we do not know where.” He hesitated before he added, “He does this. Disappear.” He spread his hands as if entirely helpless. “Then, when you least expect it, he suddenly reappears as if nothing has happened.”
Pen nodded. “Please. Tell me. When he isn’t at home, where do you think he is? You must have some sort of idea. Even if you don’t know for certain, where do you think he might be?”
“I really cannot say.”
Pen chewed on her fingernail in deep thought. “Is he travelling? If yes, where to?”
“It would be unheard of for any butler to reveal such information.” He lowered his voice. “I cannot possibly reveal to anyone that His Grace has a marked preference for Madame Beaumont’s, for that would be most indiscreet, indeed.”
Pen looked straight into his eyes, which were overhung by bushy eyebrows. She pursed her lips. “Very indiscreet. One learns of that kind of information elsewhere. For example, at the clubs.”
“Most definitely, sir, at the clubs.”
Pen had to refrain from hugging the butler.
