“Well... I have no idea. But we are blameless, in that regard.”
“And we’ve Captain Hardy’s twelve pounds, anyway.”
“You charged him two additional pounds?”
“It was an arrogance surcharge.”
“So far our business is based on somewhat extorting two men. One for invisibility, one for arrogance,” Angelique mused.
“I cannot find it in my heart to regret that.”
This made both of them smile.
Chapter Nine
A mere two and a half hours later she and Angelique sat side by side in the reception room again.
“I don’t knowwhathe is, but he’s quite nice,” was how Dot had described the newest potential guest when she’d raced up the stairs to fetch them. “And loud.”
Dot was a savant, as it turned out, when it came to describing their arrivals. She was absolutely correct on all counts.
“I know I’m an unprepossessing sort.”
“Nonsense, Mr. Delacorte,” they lied prettily, in unison.
Perched on the settee, his feet just barely touched the floor. His black-and-gray hair was unevenly trimmed, and tufted out about his ears, which made him look incongruously like a baby bird. The toes of his boots were well creased, but they’d been polished, and the buttons on his waistcoat were nearly audibly straining. Delilah imagined the threads holding on to them groaning like tree branches stressed by a windstorm. One in particular looked moments away from launching.
She canted ever so slightly to his left, lest it take out her eye.
But the tailoring was good and his hat was brushed and tended and his greatcoat was new. Dot had taken them from him and laid them over a chair.
His clothes clearly had not kept up with his appetite.
His smile was vast, genuine, and rueful.
His eyebrows were bushy affairs.
His blue eyes were twinkly.
And his speaking volume suggested he was standing on shore shouting a farewell to travelers sailing away in a ship rather than sitting across from two ladies on the settee.
They quickly established that he wasn’t hard of hearing. Though demonstrating proper volume hadn’t yet encouraged him to calibrate his own.
“I like my food, you see.” His stomach gave a resonant thud when he smacked it.
Delilah kept a weather eye on the waistcoat button.
“We’ve an excellent cook,” Angelique told him. “And nothing makes her happier than watching someone enjoy her food.”
“I saw your advertisement in the apothecary and I thought, well, that’s the place for me! I like rules. I want a bit of civilizing, as you can see.”
“We could all use a little help now and again,” Delilah soothed.
“And I wanted a place what feels like home. Until I have a home of my own.”
“Well, that’s precisely what we offer our guests, Mr. Delacorte,” Angelique told him warmly. “And we feel the ten pounds per week is worth every penny.”
He didn’t blink, which meant he’d passed that particular financial test.
