“Your Grace, may I come in? It’s Mrs. St. Maur.”
“A moment, ma’am.”
The viscount located a pair of pearl sleeve buttons. “Is that the spy?”
“Not that one. Well, Mrs. St. Maur could be an accomplice. Their letters are on that chair.”
The invalid chair, where he’d spent a year, more when he had setbacks.
“Take those letters of recommendation and investigate. See if I need to terminate both women.”
The knocks became more urgent. Mrs. St. Maur beat upon the door. “I have fresh linens. They’re heavy.”
“Impossible, Gantry. The woman just took up the bedsheets barely an hour ago. They are in this together.” He started tying his cravat. “Come in.”
The door opened, and Mrs. St. Maur entered with a bundle of linens. “It won’t take me long to dress your bed, sir. And don’t mind the piles in the hall. I have a great deal of rooms to clean. We’ll have rooms for all your men. No need for tents.”
“Where did you find—”
“Your Grace, Mrs. LaCroy sent soldiers into the catacombs to retrieve trunks.”
Lips thinning as if he now put stock into what Busick said, the viscount fastened the sleeve buttons, one in each of Busick’s white cuffs. “How would she know where to look? Or even to look there? Duke, I guess she really is a sp—”
“Special, Gantry. The word isspecial. It seems Nanny LaCroy might be a little too clever.”
“She is clever, sir,” said Mrs. St. Maur. The maid beat at wrinkles in the bedsheets. “She’s very smart and very kind.”
“See that, Gantry, I’ve hired a clever and kind nanny.”
“Those are good requirements.” The viscount caught Busick’s arm as he tried to pass. “Do you know what you are doing?”
“Yes. It’s ten after one. I have five minutes to make it to the third floor to see my nanny. Wish her luck.”
Frowning, Gantry adjusted Busick’s collar, smoothing it. “For what?”
“That LaCroy passes inspection. I think it will be difficult to find another nanny so quickly. It would be a shame to terminate her on her first day.”
In the mirror, he saw his comment had the effect he wanted.
Mrs. St. Maur clasped her hands in prayer, but Jove wouldn’t save them. The women needed to know he was onto their games. He’d not be made a fool by anyone.
His friend stepped in front of him again. “You think you should be going up those steep stairs? I could bring her down to the drawing room.”
He punch-patted Gantry’s forearm. “No, mother hen. And you should head back to bed and sleep for a few more hours. Hopefully, Mrs. St. Maur—when she finishes up in here—will make some of the delightful bread she talked of earlier. Everyone needs a good dinner before the day ends.”
“Yes, sir.” The woman’s frown became bigger, and she slapped at the sheet like it was a person; hopefully not Busick. “But it’s Mrs. LaCroy who’s the bread maker.”
He powered through the threshold. “Off to my appointment.”
Gantry followed him out and again put a hand to his shoulder. “Sorry, Your Grace. I’m truly sorry.”
Busick’s jaw tightened, and he clutched his crutch tighter. “Just another challenge. You know I like challenges.”
His friend nodded. “You’re good at blustering through things.”
Gantry’s words stung, along with his glance. It wasn’t a soldier’s deference to his commanding officer, or soldier to soldier, or peer to peer. It was the fretful look of the doctor saying the leg had to come off.
He’d rather a look of annoyance than pity. “I’m fine, Gantry. Go get some sleep. You’ve earned it.”
