“Oh,”—another clap from Prudence—“right. Be sure to tell him not to keep her too long. She’ll want to have time to change for dinner.”
Once Fitzgibbons nodded, she latched onto my arm, therefore I turned to her.
“We start cocktails around six thirty-ish, most everyone’s there by seven,” she told me. “We wander into dinner whenever Cook sends word it’s ready. Once you’ve changed, just go to your smart screen and hit the icon to call a member of staff. Someone will escort you to the parlor.” She gave me a big smile. “We’ll do the full house tour tomorrow.”
I got the sense from this that she wasn’t going to take me to her brother, Fitzgibbons was.
And the duke was calling.
Thus, I set down my teacup and moved a smile through all the ladies, saying, “Thank you so much, this was great. Looking forward to dinner.”
“I bet you are,” Temperance said in a tone that pretended she didn’t want me to hear it, but she did.
Oh, she knew they were putting on a show, and I was lapping it up.
And that begged the question of why she assumed the role of star of that show, if she didn’t want me to witness the production.
Chastity said nothing.
Prudence replied, “See you at dinner.”
I got up and followed Fitzgibbons out.
As we walked down the central wing, I looked into open doors to see a variety of rooms along the lines of what I’d already seen, with those to the front having grand views of the glory of the parkland, and those to the back having the same of the splendor of the gardens.
We turned into the south wing, and about halfway down, to the right side, the butler knocked on the only closed door we’d encountered along the way.
“Come,” a man called from inside.
All right, I had to admit, I was a little tingly.
I’d never met a real-life duke, for one.
I’d read about plenty.
Meeting one?
Nope.
Then there was the mystery. The lore. The history.
All of which, being an ex-librarian, current writer, I was super into.
And here I was, about to meet the keeper of it, a man who, no matter what he did, would not be forgotten in the annals of history just because of who he’d been born to be.
And that was all kinds of cool.
I almost rubbed my hands together like an over-excited idiot when Fitzgibbons opened the door, walked in, I followed, and the butler intoned, “Miss Dupree is here for your meeting, Your Grace.”
The man at the desk looked up from whatever he was writing.
And I froze solid.
I heard him say in a deep, lush purr, “Thank you, Fitzy.”
Some part of me processed the fact that Fitzgibbons walked out and closed the door.
But mostly, I was all about the man sitting at the desk.
