“Don’t guess. Ask him.”
“Er, yes.” The man turned to the mandarin and spoke quickly—rather urgently, in fact—to the mandarin. The man responded, his tone as cool as the duchess’s, and Max felt his lips curve in a smile. There was nothing more entertaining than watching his mother put down a man who richly deserved it.
Ignorant of what was coming, the mandarin gracefully made it to his feet—not to bow, but to nod imperiously to the duchess as if directing a servant. Then he spoke in clear tones which made the captain pale in horror. There was more conversation, but the mandarin didn’t repeat himself except to stare coldly around him as if the room was no more acceptable to him than a pigsty.
Given that his mother had decorated this room herself, the man couldn’t have been more insulting if he tried.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but the mandarin says, um, he has indicated…”
“Do tell me his exact words.”
“Er, he, um, he said that he will inspect the miss’s room now. Um, to see that it is acceptable.”
“Of course,” his mother said with an arched brow. “And what else?”
“Er—”
“Try to be exact.”
“Exactly? Well, he said that his accommodations had best be of the finest quality or he shall report the insult. That, um, the Wong cohong will not share commerce with any country that gives him insult.”
Max wasn’t surprised at the man’s nerve. He clearly had a backwards sort of logic that offered a bribe at the same moment he demanded overwhelming deference. This nuance wasn’t lost on his mother either.
“Max,” she drawled, “have we, as a family, ever heard of the Wong cohong before today?”
“No, Mother.”
“And had the prince heard of them?”
“He did not appear to.”
“Very well.” She gestured to their butler. “Chiverton, please show the mandarin to his accommodations—”
“Yes, Your Gr—”
“—in the stable loft. I’m sure a bed could be made for him there, yes?”
Chiverton didn’t so much as blink. Indeed, he bowed and intoned, “Yes, Your Grace.”
It was the captain who choked, though Max thought there was a gleam of appreciation in the man’s eyes. Nevertheless, the captain was forced to try and moderate the insult. Max didn’t care to tell him that any objections would fall on deaf ears.
“Er, Your Grace, he is tasked with seeing that the lady, um, performs appropriate to her, um, role, so to speak.”
“Her role?”
“Her wedding, Your Grace. He can’t go home until he sees that. And he’ll carry tales. England enjoys good commerce with them. Silks, Your Grace. Some that, uh. Well, the tea and spices are top notch…” His voice trailed away beneath her withering stare.
“Do you know, Emmaline,” his mother began.
“What, Mama?”
“I find I prefer good English cotton. So much more comfortable. I believe I shall make it popular.” Her gaze skipped over the mandarin to the wingback chair. “Max, do help Miss Wong to the guest bedroom. I believe she would prefer to rest.”
The captain shifted uncomfortably. “He, um, will want to inspect her room. So he can report back.”
The duchess waved an airy hand. “By all means. Show him her bedroom and then show him his.” And with that, she departed the parlor.
Max did his best to hide his grin. He was well aware that he might regret his mother’s impolitic reaction. After all, Prinny had given tacit support to the man. The prince might view an insult to the mandarin as an insult to the Crown. But for the moment, Max appreciated his mother’s absolute confidence in the management of her household.
