Or at least he had been.
Edmund’s gaze drifted back to Barnaby. “Thanks for the information.”
Successfully sidestepping the butler this time, he strode the length of the dining table. He’d been hoping to ask Gil about his supposed good news tonight, but in his current state, that might be out of the question. “Good evening, Gil.”
Gil faced him, the colour of his cheeks nearly matching the drink in his hand. How many glasses had he already downed?
“Good evening to you, Price.” He toasted his glass in the air. “Nothing but the best, eh, old man?”
Edmund clenched his jaw, the new moniker beginning to grate. “Never let it be said Price House doesn’t treat its guests well, and I would prefer you go back to calling me simply Edmund instead of old man.”
“Oh? Ha-ha! Why, the term is all the rage in London. Thoughwith you having been gone for so long, I suppose you’re not familiar with such things ... which is good.”
Edmund rubbed the back of his neck. True, he had been out of the country, but he wouldn’t have expected such commonalities to become trendy in his absence. Even so, he willed a pleasant smile. “Say, Gil, you didn’t happen to hire a second coach to bring your effects, did you?”
“Hmm?” His wide brow wrinkled.
“My butler informed me there was no trunk on your carriage.”
“Oh yes. Ha-ha! About that.” He slugged down the rest of his drink, then swiped his hand across his mouth. “Had a bit of a mishap on the way here. It appears my trunk was put on the wrong coach. I expect my suits are in Brighton by now, having a jolly holiday.”
“I am sorry to hear it.” He frowned as Gil snatched the decanter off the wine cart and refilled his glass. “I shall have Barnaby pull a few of my suits for your use until everything is sorted out.”
“Good of you, old man.” Gil slapped him on the back, sloshing wine onto the rug.
Edmund gritted his teeth. Barnaby hadn’t been jesting about his partner’s wine intake. “Some food is in order, I think.” He swept his hand toward the table. “Shall we?”
“Should we not wait for the divine Mish—em, Miss Dalton?”
While it was true Miss Dalton was pleasing to the eye, it annoyed him that Gil had noticed. “She will not be joining us after all.”
“Such a shame,” Gil slurred as he sank sloppily into a chair. “I think she rather fancied me.”
“I have it on reliable authority she only admires mummified corpses.” He shook out his serviette with a sharp snap. Somehow the thought of Miss Dalton preferring Gil over him stuck like a fishbone in his throat. Which only irritated him further. He didn’t have time to think about a woman. Lifting a finger, he signaled for the first course.
Gil motioned for more wine. “So how many buyers have you lined up for our ’Gyptian collection?”
“Only one thus far. I didn’t wish to get too far ahead of myself. It’s not even priced yet.” The rich scent of curry filled the air as the footman removed the lid from the mulligatawny.
Gil picked up his glass instead of his spoon. “Say, do you really think that little filly is up to the task? Maybe you ought to get someone who knows—well, well, here she is now.” The flatware on the table rattled as Gil grabbed hold of the tablecloth to steady himself while he rose.
Edmund glanced over his shoulder. In strolled Miss Dalton, hair loosely caught up at the nape of her neck as if she’d dashed across a field to get here.
And he wouldn’t be astonished in the least if she had.
He stood with a grin and pulled out her chair. “Miss Dalton, what a surprise. I take it you found your book in record time.”
“My—?” Her nose scrunched as she took her seat. “Oh. Yes. Well, you see, I didn’t actually go to my father’s office. I couldn’t reconcile taking time away from working on your cargo.”
“I hope you don’t feel you’re a prisoner here.” He frowned as he reclaimed his chair.
“If I am”—she smiled—“then this is a lovely cage.”
“Not half as lovely as you, my dear.” Gil planted his elbow on the table, chin in hand, eyeing her like a cream puff on a silver platter.
Edmund was tempted to knock away the man’s propped arm, not so much for the compliment but for the look in his eyes. What had gotten into his business partner to account for such a change? Clearly the spirits he imbibed played a role in his current mannerisms, but had something happened on the Continent that he was trying to drown out?
Miss Dalton lifted her chin, apparently ignoring Gil’s blatant stare. “Thank you, Mr. Fletcher.”
