“Just confirmation of your suspicions, and the amounts. I’m still awaiting news on the possible . . . awareness said person could have of past circumstances,” Heathcliff answered cryptically.
Lucas nodded. “Have you interviewed the Barrots’ staff?”
Heathcliff frowned. “No, but that’s a good idea. I hadn’t thought of it.”
“I hadn’t either until just now,” Lucas admitted.
“I’d wager they have at least some insight. While the one person in question isn’t a member, the other is quite loose lipped when brandy is involved. I’d suspect someone has heard something of note.”
Lucas nodded. “I agree. We have several hours before the hordes arrive. Why don’t you take a few of the staff aside and question them? It might make the night easier if we have more information to use.”
Heathcliff scolded his friend. “The staff are already overworked preparing for the event tonight; I’ll not add to their workload by taking up their time. This is too important an event, and they need time to do their jobs.”
Lucas twisted his lips. “You’re quite the compassionate soul.”
“I’m nothing of the sort, I’m simply more practical than you. I’m thinking with my mind, you’re thinking with your willy.” Heathcliff chuckled.
Lucas gave a lewd gesture to his friend, but grinned. “Be that as it may, I’m anxious to end this whole sordid mess.”
“I’m anxious for it to end as well, just to get you off my back and onto . . . someone else who would appreciate it.”
“Are you quite finished?” Lucas asked in an exasperated tone.
“No, I’m sure if you give me time, I’ll come up with another inappropriate remark.”
“Lucky me.”
“That’s what—”
Lucas interrupted. “Enough. Aside from the side entrance, what other information do you have?”
“Be sure to wear the mask, you look like hell.”
“Thank you, you’re so entirely helpful. Anything I’m not already aware of?”
“One thing . . .” Heathcliff stepped a little closer to Lucas. “We had a late request for membership. One of which you’d like to take note.”
Lucas nodded. Membership was by invitation only, and the invitations were always sent out at night, returned by the next night via their private courier. Only after your membership was approved could you attend and become acquainted with the other members—provided it wasn’t a masquerade, which it usually was. People were so much more comfortable when they had privacy on their side. “Who?”
Heathcliff whispered the name. “Chatterwood.”
Lucas frowned, meeting his friend’s sober gaze. “Why in heaven’s name does he reply now? We sent the invitation over a year ago, and he never replied, so we assumed he refused.” They had welcomed his rejection; they felt obliged to extend an invitation to one as powerful as a duke, but didn’t truly wish he’d attend.
“Apparently he had a change of heart,” Heathcliff said.
“He kept the invitation for a year, and then submitted it? Bloody hell, how?”
Heathcliff twisted his lip. “Apparently the duke had it sent by private courier. It was left with the butler and then Lord Barrot opened the missive. It wasn’t in the usual envelope.”
“Interesting. So he will be attending tonight?” Lucas asked, thankful that the event would be a masquerade. It would be helpful to be less recognizable.
“That is my assumption.”
“And Greywick?”
“Yes.”
Lucas blew out a tense breath. “Who needs Vauxhall fireworks when you have this intrigue afoot? It’s far more explosive.”
