“You know whom I speak of, Your Grace.”
“I do, andshehas a name.”
He heard his uncle snort and begin pacing the room. He frowned, wondering at the man’s attitude.
He seeks to protect Westvale. I do not think that loyalty extends to me were I to put the Westvale name at risk. It certainly does not to Georgia.
“Let me deal with this brother of hers, and then she can be off your hands,” Edric said.
“You have one item, Your Grace,” Rutherford finally answered from Keaton’s left.
Keaton turned to him. “What is it?” he asked.
“An invitation from Lambeth Palace. The Archbishop is pleased to hear of the Duke’s recent nuptials and invites Their Graces to the palace for a ball to be held in seven days. Is there a reply, Your Grace?”
“The very thing, eh, Uncle? First, your little soiree, now something much more public.”
“Capital. This might just be enough to seal your married status in the minds of the ton and enable us to bring on the end of this arrangement, post haste,” Edric agreed.
“Reply with an acceptance,” Keaton aimed at Rutherford.
“Yes, Your Grace. I will draft the appropriate response. There…wasanother missive, but it no longer appears to be in my possession.”
Keaton frowned. “Are you saying you have mislaid a letter?”
“My apologies, Your Grace, but that very much is what I am saying. I collected an invitation and a letter to bring to you, both were on my tray, but now there is only one.”
“You have obviously dropped the letter, Rutherford,” Edric added impatiently. “Paper is light, it blows away. Kindly retrace your steps and find it.”
“Yes, Your Lordship. My apologies again, Your Grace.”
The door closed behind Rutherford.
“Dash it all, there it is,” Edric exclaimed, “lying by the door. Well, the wild goose chase will teach the confounded man to be more careful in the future. Here.”
Keaton held up his hands. “Thatconfoundedman is my butler, need I remind you. Besides, it is no earthly use handing me a letter, Uncle.”
“Of course! Silly of me.”
Keaton heard the letter open and waited to hear what it contained.
“It is from a Mr. Aloysius Thorne of Cheapside, London. An acquaintance?”
“What does he say?” Keaton asked.
“Nothing. He regretfully reports no further progress on the matter and questions if there will be after the elapsed time.”
Keaton raised an eyebrow. “Curious. He has never been so pessimistic before.”
“Well, the fellow seems to have given up now. Whatever it is he’s about.”
“A project on my behalf,” Keaton answered vaguely.
There was a moment’s silence, and Keaton knew that Edric was waiting for an explanation. Keaton didn’t intend to give one. He had long ago discussed the employment of an investigator to look into the circumstances of the accident, and Edric had always been against the idea.
“You aren’t going to elaborate?”
“I am not, Uncle. I will have Rutherford draft a response in good time.”
