Which meant he was not lying about this.
But…what?
And that appeared to be exactly the reaction of every other soul in the room, including her mother.
“I’m sorry?” Mama said.
The servants just gaped.
Lord Christopher drew breath to speak, but Emmaline held up her finger right before his eyes. He focused on her and she matched his bright expression with a narrowed look of her own.
“First, what must we do?”
He took a breath. “I told you. Air the rooms. All of them. Now.”
Emmaline nodded, then turned to Chiverton. He was standing there as slack-jawed as everyone else, but he snapped back to himself when she called his name.
“Mr. Chiverton, please do as his lordship suggested. Air the guest room—” This was their London home and so they only had one. “And do we have any extra beds upstairs?”
“One, my lady, for a footman.”
“Get that ready as well, if you would.”
“Right away, my lady.” Then he turned and with an echoing sniff mobilized the staff lingering in the front hall.
Meanwhile, Emmaline turned back to Lord Christopher. “How much time do we have?”
He shrugged with a rather distracting shift of his broad shoulders. “I have no idea. Max was commanded to bring the girl here and marry her or at least appear to. The snooty official was declaring that he must see that her accommodations are adequate to her status.”
Mama pounced on that. “Whatisher status? Is she a princess?”
“Er, no. Merchant’s daughter, I believe.”
Mama blinked in confusion. “My son—a future duke—has been given a royal command to marry a merchant’s daughter?” Her voice rose in outrage with every word.
“Well, I gather he’s a rather important merchant. Or at least trying to be.”
Mama pressed her handkerchief to her forehead. “I believe I am going to be ill.”
“Then you are sharing your son’s feelings exactly, I expect. Oh,” he said, snapping his fingers as if he just remembered something urgent. “It all has to do with your relation in the EastIndia Company. Max will likely have a great deal of questions about that.”
“What relation? No Artanges works. Don’t be insulting.”
Lord Christopher raised his hands as if to say, I am only repeating what the Regent said to Max. That was a lie. He was doing what he always did. He dropped hints and half thoughts, then waited to see what information would spill out. If nothing did—as in this case—he merely passed it off as something he overheard. If something delightful came out, well then, he was in the perfect position to hear all the juicy details.
In short, it was a marvelous way to garner information while still appearing like a halfwit. Part of Emmaline admired the subtle manipulation, once she had caught on to the way of it. The larger part of her damned the man for the subterfuge. He was not stupid, and he shouldn’t work so hard to appear as such.
“Lord Christopher,” she said impatiently, “what was going on when you left Carlton House?”
“Oh yes, that’s what I was saying. Max was busy trying to get the whole entourage over here. It’s quite a crowd and they have to carry her on a palanquin—”
“A what?” Mama asked.
“It’s a—”
“A litter, Mama. Like the Romans used to be carried around in,” she said as she pushed her parent toward the parlor. “Lord Christopher, you can give more details in the parlor, yes? While I see to some tea for us all.”
Christopher turned to her like a dog scenting at treat. “Tea? Perchance—”
