“The sick maids must be moved at once. Have Jameson settle his belongings in the house, then set the women up in his cottage. After that, no one but Mrs. Buckner is to have contact with them. Is that understood?”
“Without question.” Barnaby gave a sharp nod. “I shall see it carried out at once, sir.”
Barnaby strode away.
As did Edmund. With clipped steps, he hurried toward the breakfast room—only to be stopped in the front hall by a whistling tune and the ever-present wily grin on Bram Webb’s face. His friend held a travel case in one hand, his hat tilted at a jaunty angle.
Edmund’s brow bunched. “Leaving without breakfast?”
“I’ve an early train to catch. As always, Price, it’s been entertaining.” He shot out his hand.
Edmund gave it a hearty shake. “As much as I hate to see you go, my friend, I was about to ask you to leave anyway. There is illness in the house, so take a care should you start to feel poorly.”
“You know me.” He clicked his tongue. “Slipping away just ahead of danger is one of my virtues.”
“Always the cavalier, but beware. One day you just may getcaught in a dangerous net.” He clapped Bram on the back. “Thanks for valuing those coins. I owe you.”
“A promise I shall collect on in the future, Price. Until then, I leave you with your guests—or lack thereof, as the case may be. I’ll spare a quick good-bye to Ami, then let myself out.” With a mock salute, he wheeled about.
Ami?
The throbbing in his head banged all the harder. Her name on his friend’s lips was a punch to the gut, a blow he’d not take without knowing why.
“Wait.” The word came out more of a growl than a command.
Bram turned, one brow lifted.
In three great strides, Edmund closed the distance between them. “Is there something I should know about you and my employee, Miss Dalton?”
Bram chuckled, mischief flashing in his eyes. “Why? Are you jealous?” He waggled his eyebrows.
Oh, he was more than that. He’d lost many things to his friend—countless cigars, a prized antique snuffbox, too many card games to count—but old companion or not, on this he would stand his ground. “So help me, Webb, if you trifled with Miss Dalton, I swear I’ll—”
“Calm down.” Bram chuckled. “I know I’m devilishly handsome, but it’s not like that. I assure you the lady and I connected on a purely academic level. Turns out we have a lot of the same contacts thanks to her father’s position. But why such vitriol from you?” Bram’s eyes narrowed as he studied Edmund’s face, then widened. “Ah, I see.”
Despite his friend’s seemingly harmless explanation of his relationship with Ami, irritation still spread like a bruise beneath Edmund’s skin. “What do you see?”
“Something you fear.” An impish grin flashed across Bram’s face as he reset his hat. “Good-bye, Price.” Turning on his heel, he strode away, resuming his whistled tune right where he’d left off.
Blast that Webb! His friend ever had been too deuced cryptic,which had done him no good in his college days nor now. Scowling, Edmund set off at a brisk pace to the breakfast room, foul of mood.
And his ire only increased when Violet swooped over to him and linked arms before he had both feet inside the door.
“There you are, naughty fellow.” She poked him in the chest. “I’ve already finished my crumpet and jam and was hoping for a short stroll with you before you closet yourself away with my father.”
The viscount peered over the top of his newspaper. “Not now, daughter. Time enough for such diversions after he’s won the election.”
Across the table, Gil shoveled in a final bite of eggs, then dabbed his mouth with a serviette. “I’ll accompany you, Miss Woolsey.”
She cast him a dark look. “I must decline your offer, Mr. Fletcher. I wouldn’t wish Edmund to get jealous.”
Hah. No danger of that. He unwound his arm from hers. Clearly the viscount hadn’t yet spoken to her about his denial to marry her. He’d do so himself right now were he not trying to get them out the door posthaste. “I’m afraid there will be no strolling or any further discussion about my electoral platform. In fact, I must ask you all to leave.”
“But, Edmund!” Violet popped her fists onto her hips.
“See here, Price.” Bastion slapped the newspaper onto the table, rattling the teacups. “If you have any hope of winning, we must square away not only what you stand for but what you stand against.”
“Understood, my lord, but we will have to work out the finer details via correspondence.” He poured a stout cup of coffee and downed a few swallows, hoping the dark brew would ease the slight ache in his throat. “There is sickness in the house, and I would not have any of you taking ill.”
