“He’s not, really, though I’d sooner attempt to persuade a feral cat to make friends with a rabid dog than reconcile you and Montford.”
“A feral cat! I do hope you’re not referring tome.”
“Would you prefer to be the rabid dog?”
“I prefer to be neither.”
Franny laughed. “Never mind that. What else did Montford say?”
“Let’s see. He went on and on about your cook’s roasted fowl, of all things, informed me Town is as dull as a tomb, complained that I was lecturing him about missing dinner, pried into my reasons for being in London, and held forth at tedious length about how every young lady in England is on the prowl for a wealthy, titled husband.”
“Well, he’s not entirely wrong about that last thing.”
“Perhaps not, but it’s neither here nor there, and I don’t care one whit about the Duke of Montford’s opinions. I didn’t pay attention to a word he said.”
“Clearly.”
Franny gave her a knowing grin that Prue chose to ignore. “In any case, it wasn’t what hesaidthat matters. It’s what hedid.”
“Well, what did he do, then?”
Did she dare? The earrings were right there, in her pocket.
But Franny looked so pale and tired this morning, and she had such a lot to manage, what with her schemes to see Prue married, and now Freddy’s colic. She didn’t need yet another thing to worry about. Wouldn’t it be best to simply put the earrings back where she’d found them? She could keep an eye on them and see to it they stayed where they were until Montford caught on that he’d lost them and came to fetch them.
Yes, that would be much better than burdening Franny with this nonsense.
“Prue? What did Montford do?”
“Oh, he, ah . . . he fell asleep in Basingstoke’s study.” The servants would already know that by now, so there was no sense in hiding it, as both Franny and Basingstoke would hear of it soon enough. “On the chaise, in front of the fire. Just as I left, I heard him snoring.”
“Snoring! My goodness.”
“Indeed. I found him there this morning. I’d forgotten some papers and returned to fetch them, and there he was, in nothing but his shirtsleeves!”
Not that she’d noticed. Much.
Franny glanced at the footman. “Groves, will you go to the kitchens and see if Cook has any more of those apricot tartlets? I do adore her tartlets.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Groves bowed and hurried out the door.
Franny waited until he was out of earshot, then turned back to Prue. “You mean to say you came upon the Duke of Montford half-dressed in Giles’s study? My goodness, Prue, you have had an exciting morning.”
“I’d sooner call it distressing. What does the Duke of Montfordmean, falling asleep in Basingstoke’s study and leaving bits of his clothing flung about?”
Franny’s eyes widened. “His clothing was flung about?”
“Well, no, but I, ah . . . I did find one of his gloves underneath the chaise.” Not gloves so much as rubies and diamonds, but the less said about the earrings, the better.
Franny frowned. “What were you doing under the chaise?”
“Nothing! I, er, I dropped a pillow on the floor and had to reach under the chaise to fetch it.” Anything else she may have done with that pillow was irrelevant to the story, and thus didn’t bear repeating.
“Is that all? Because you’ve gone as red as a peony.”
“Of course, that’s all! What else could there be?” Oh dear. Her voice had gone rather shrill.
Franny merely raised an eyebrow, however. “Why, not a thing, Prue, if you say so. Now, what shall we do today? Do you fancy a trip to Bond Street?”
