Pritchard accepted this and moved on, saying nothing further until James had been efficiently relieved of his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt and was pulling on the fresh one. "The orange kitten was also seen in the kitchens this morning."
"Was he?"
"Cook asked me to mention that the kitchen latch was replaced a sennight ago." Pritchard's hands moved with practiced efficiency. "She wishes it known that she does not consider this a failure of the latch."
"What does she consider it?" James asked.
"A failure," Pritchard said, "of the cat."
James looked at himself in the glass. The cravat was, as always, exactly right. "Tell Cook the matter is noted."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Pritchard stepped back, assessed the overall effect, made one small adjustment, and stepped back again. "Will that be all, Your Grace?"
"Yes," James said. "Thank you, Pritchard."
Pritchard inclined his head the precise fraction that indicated acknowledgment without overstepping his bounds, gathered James’ discarded day clothes, and withdrew.
James stood alone for a moment. The castle would go on exactly as it always had. Some things did not change regardless of what else was happening. Marmalade would find another way into the kitchens. Hannah would find another reason to be wherever she decided to be. But…
Well, would Cori find her way to Bermuda or remain in England? The question still plagued him as he went to join the others for dinner.
Cori was going to be perfectly fine this evening. She'd decided that on the walk down from her chambers, and she intended to hold to it. After all, it was only dinner. She’d sat next to the man at a dinner table before and managed perfectly well. She could do it again. She might not even be placed beside him. Perhaps she’d be further down the table. Though she wasn’t certain if that would be helpful or otherwise at this point.
James was already in the drawing room when she arrived, standing near the fire with Daniel and Reese, a glass in hand. He didn't look up when she entered the room. But that was entirely unremarkable. It was. People didn't look up every time someone entered a room. That he didn’t look at her meant absolutely nothing whatsoever.
She reached for a glass of claret from a passing tray and was glad to find Emma Atherton near a window. They talked about the rain in England and the sun in Bermuda until it was time to go in to dinner, and Cori was grateful for every minute of distraction.
Mr. Atherton was seated to her left with Emma on her right. The turtle soup was dark and rich and warmed her from the inside, which the old stone walls of Acklan were never quite going to manage on their own.
“I have approximately fourteen hours of conversation left," Mr. Atherton announced, to no one in particular and everyone in general, as he abandoned his soup spoon. "I intend to use every one of them."
"It's eight o'clock in the evening, Arch," Emma said.
"Which means I have until dawn," Mr. Atherton replied with a bit of gusto. "And I have a great deal to say."
"You always have a great deal to say," Emma laughed. "Tomorrow will simply be a novelty."
"A cruel novelty," her brother agreed. "An unnatural one." He turned to Cori as though she were exactly the sympathetic audience he'd been looking for. "I ask you, Miss Beckett, is it not deeply unjust that a man should be silenced by a cat?"
"The cat," Cori said carefully, "was not in the terms."
"Exactly my?—"
"But you still fell," she finished.
Mr. Atherton stared at her as though she was Brutus to his Caesar. "You are," he said, with great feeling, "a very fair-minded woman and I mean that as a criticism."
From his spot, Lucien said nothing. However, the corner of his mouth moved almost imperceptibly.
"Gates," Mr. Atherton began, leaning forward to look past Emma. "You might show some magnanimity in victory."
"I might," Lucien agreed pleasantly as he dabbed at the corner of his mouth with his napkin. "However, I find I simply don’t have the desire."
Cori pressed her lips together very hard to keep from laughing. Emma appeared to be studying the ceiling.
Then Cori glanced toward Cara down the table. She seemed quieter than usual tonight, not unhappy exactly, but contemplative in a way she hadn’t been that morning. Had she learned that Chopwell had been spotted in France? Cori caught Cait’s attention, and relaxed a bit when her middle sister nodded ever so slightly. Good. Cait would deal with the Cara situation.
