“I’ve longed for a bit of looking after, but it’s hard to find a wife, you see, when I travel so much for my work. A fine, sturdy woman who wouldn’t mind coming along with me sometimes, but who keeps a home waiting for me. I’d like a bit of domesticating, perhaps.” He sounded wistful.
“It sounds like a lovely dream, Mr. Delacorte. May we ask what line of business you are in?”
“I import cures for ailments and I sell them to surgeons and apothecaries up and down the coast of England. Chinese herbs and bits and bobs from India with unpronounceable names, ground-up horns and testicles of exotic animals and the like,” he said cheerily. “Make a fair penny, or two.”
Delilah and Angelique were startled rigid.
Mr. Delacorte twinkled at them.
His smile began to dim as the silence grew by seconds.
“If we may make a suggestion?” Delilah said gently.
“It wastesticles, wasn’t it?” he said disconsolately. “It’s just that all I ever talk to is men, surgeons and apothecaries and the like, and one begins to forget how to speak to women.”
“Well, here at The Grand Palace on the Thames we’ve a jar in the drawing room, and we ask gentlemen to put a pence in when they slip up and say a word that might be a bit rough in the presence of the ladies. We know how difficult it is, sometimes.”
“Oh, aren’t you clever! You see, a little bit of help now and again to knock off my rough corners, if you know what I mean. I don’t mind a bit of nagging at all, if I’m to win over the right sort of wife for me one day.”
Despite themselves, they were charmed.
“Why don’t you enjoy your tea, Mr. Delacorte, while Mrs. Breedlove and I have a quick word about the availability of accommodations.”
Angelique and Delilah stood in tandem and walked together to the opposite drawing room.
They stood in thoughtful silence.
They could hear Mr. Delacorte slurping his tea.
“Ahh!” he said, with great satisfaction.
“I think I would enjoy,” Delilah said slowly, finally, “seeing Mr. Delacorte and Captain Hardy in the same room.”
Angelique smiled slowly.
They returned to Mr. Delacorte, who looked up hopefully.
“Welcome to The Grand Palace on the Thames, Mr. Delacorte.”
Back at the Stevens Hotel, where probably every man—and they were all men—surrounding him in the restaurant was in the army or navy, Tristan had no compunction about abandoning his attempt to saw off a slice of chicken with the sad, dull utensil provided, and reaching into his boot for his knife.
It was clean and sharp. Tristan took excellent care of his weapons.
He handed the knife across to Massey, who grunted his thanks and sawed his own chicken.
He knew better than to do that at aformaldinner table. When in Rome, however.
“Lady Derring is one of the proprietresses of The Grand Palace on the Thames,” he told Massey. “Which is indeed a boardinghouse.”
Massey gave a low whistle. “That is interesting, indeed.”
The next challenge was chewing the chicken. They took a moment to accomplish this.
Tristan sincerely hoped Lady Derring’s cook was as good as she claimed.
“Is she pretty? Lady Derring.”
Tristan stopped to stare at him.
