But then the notoriously obtuse Lord Percy had just made the most flibbertigibbety observation possible, at least in Hannah’s esteemed opinion. Why would the dratted man even think about the recently ennobled duke, let alone wish for his presence?
“We do not mention either the name Malbarry or Foxglen in this establishment.” Hannah pierced everyone gathered around the table with a dark look. “I shall never forgive you all for not telling me his identity immediately. You let me lust after a bloody duke!”
“Well, technically, he was a marquess when you met him.” If Lord Percy’s statement wasn’t galling enough, he had the audacity to punctuate it with an absurdly cheeky grin.
Hannah whirled on the irredeemable rogue. “That is not the point!”
“Blackguard!” Pan cried from his perch in the rafters, using the insult that he’d hurled at Malbarry when the parrot had met the nobleman in disguise.
Hannah glanced up at her pet, thankful that someone comprehended her frustrations. “That’s right, Pan! I should have listened to you from the very beginning.”
At Hannah’s praise, Pan gleefully launched himself into the air. Unfortunately, the chaos-loving creature did not choose to return to his favorite rafter. Instead, he landed on the back of Ruffian Caesar, a dog of indiscriminate terrier origins. Although the little mutt seemed less excitable than many small pups, he clearly did not appreciate a parrot alighting on his back and screeching.
The dog scurried forward in an obvious attempt to dislodge the parrot. However, Pan merely whistled and hung tightly to the wiry fur. Everyone gathered for the wedding breakfast stood in an attempt to rescue the beleaguered canine.
“Gee-up! Gee-up!” Pan croaked out louder than any teamster.
Hannah lunged for the dog and the parrot. Unfortunately, Ruffian Caesar swerved sharply at just the wrong time and careened into her path. She narrowly avoided stepping on him as she stumbled. Her heart thudded as she pitched forward. Not wanting to fall and crush the pets, Hannah grabbed wildly for anything to stop her fall. Burlap scraped against her palms, and she desperately clutched it.
Small grains shifted beneath the rough material, and she realized that she was clutching the rice sack that she and Sophia had hung by the door to toss at the newlyweds. Before she could release her hands from the bag, it slipped off its hook. At just that precise moment, the door to the Black Sheep opened. Hannah stumbled forward, desperately trying to maintain her balance while keeping the satchel upright.
Unfortunately, she only managed to stay on her feet. The sack slipped from her hands, and its entire contents poured likea white waterfall straight into the silk-cladded midsection of the newcomer.
Mortified that she’d just pelted a customer with at least two pounds of rice, Hannah slowly lifted her gaze to the man’s face. If she hadn’t spent her life immersed in the unpredictable chaos of the Black Sheep, she would have gasped. Even with her unflappable constitution, her jaw dropped the teeniest bit. For there, in the doorway, stood the new Duke of Foxglen—his finely tailored suit an elegant contrast to the white grains cascading down the lower half of his body.
Hannah did not know if Foxglen being the hapless victim of the ricing made the situation better or worse. She certainly did not give a fig if she’d just offended the man, yet she also didn’t want him anywhere near her precious Black Sheep. She also didn’t like how her body instinctively heated at the sight of his muscles. Although she would never admit it aloud, the cut of his coat and his tailored breeches showed off his form even better than the linsey-woolsey clothes he’d worn when they first met.
The massive nobleman seemed unperturbed by either the deluge of grain or the dog-riding parrot careening in his direction. He calmly reached down and grabbed Ruffian Caesar around his belly.
Hoisting both pup and bird into the air, Foxglen carefully disentangled Pan’s claws from Ruffian Caesar’s fur. The nobleman seemed utterly oblivious to the rice pouring from his silk breeches and running down his stockings.
Pan, however, was not so cavalier. Hissing out his indignation, he released the terrier, only to alight on top of Foxglen’s head.
The duke ignored his feathered passenger and bent at the waist. Despite the fact that he still held the dog, he executed aperfect bow. Pan clung to his head like a diabolical, living hat. More rice rained from the folds of Foxglen’s waistcoat before he straightened with a solemnity that contained no hint of irony.
“I do beg your forgiveness for interrupting this celebration, but I wished to speak to all of you privately. I deduced you would be gathered here today,” Foxglen said in a calm, steady tone, which instantly irritated Hannah. How dare this man remain so placid when he made her feel like a top spinning on a string?
“I come to humbly ask for your assistance in locating my mother and older sister. They’ve been in hiding from the late duke since my father’s death when I was six years of age. Now that he’s dead, I want to reunite with my family.” Foxglen spoke the words without a hint of emotion. Yet despite the staid delivery, or maybe in part because of it, Hannah felt an unwelcome tug at her heart.
Family had always meant everything to Hannah. When her parents had retired to the Caribbean, she’d missed them sorely. But she’d been an adult, and they kept in constant correspondence. From time to time, they even visited London. And Hannah had Sophia—her cousin who’d grown up surrounded by the crystal blue waters of the tropics, but who’d decided to move to gray, foggy London to provide a place of refuge for people who society judged unfairly.
But what would it have been like to be ripped away from her parents at the tender age of six? Had Foxglen felt abandoned? If his mother and his sister had fled from the former duke, the old sot must have even terrorized his own relatives. Yet he’d been the one to raise the man standing before Hannah, who was all dignity despite the ridiculousness of the situation.
But Hannah didn’t want insight into Foxglen’s past because it would make it all the harder to destroy his family.
“Why did you come here?” Hannah asked, her voice sounding cantankerous even to her own ears.
“Because the members of the Black Sheep have unraveled at least two mysteries—one of which I personally witnessed being solved,” Foxglen said, his voice perfectly calm with just enough inflection to prevent it from becoming a monotone. He was the epitome of dukeliness.
“What my dear cousin meant to ask is why are you turning to us for assistance?” Sophia stepped forward, a conciliatory smile on her face. “With your new powers as duke, surely it would not be hard to locate your relations.”
Foxglen’s bearing remained stiff as he regarded the room. “My mother has likely made a life for herself in the lower rungs of London society where my grandfather held no influence. If I poke around in those corners, my title will only seal lips, not open them.”
Hannah vaguely recalled that Foxglen’s birth had been a scandalous one—not because he was a by-blow but because he’d been legitimate. His rebellious father had married an Irish tavern maid in a Catholic ceremony. But no matter the blood of Foxglen’s mother or the church where the vows were exchanged, the laws of primogeniture were clear, and even the late duke couldn’t disinherit his grandson.
“Will she not come and find you of her own accord when she hears of your grandfather’s passing?” Sophia asked.
Foxglen shook his head. “She may believe that I would threaten her like the former duke in order to suppress renewed gossip about my humble origins. Everyone says that I’m my grandfather’s shadow.”
