“Basket? The bread basket on the sofa?”
“Yes. Mrs. Jordan didn’t bake any today. Put the blue blanket in there and we’ll have sort of a Moses basket.”
With a shrug, the viscount brought the basket and set it near the desk. “Just don’t test this in a tub of water or a moat. It’s not going to end well, Pharaoh.”
“I’m not putting this boy at risk, but the handle is something I can grasp and still maneuver with my crutch.”
His friend returned to the sideboard and scooped up his glass. “You seem awfully upbeat. Your nanny’s not here. The other woman is headed to corruption.”
Maybe he meant to empty the brandy this time, even smack it to his lips, but when Gantry was wound up, wound up tighter than a watch spring, it took him forever to finish anything. “Why again are we here watching a baby and not out galivanting like your subordinates?”
“Well, for one, you are still married.”
“Lady Gantry left me, remember? I’m as free as I wish.”
“Nonetheless, I need to be here when my nanny comes home. She’s obviously in some sort of pique. I think she pretended to be away to prove a point.”
He settled the snoring Lionel into the reed basket and covered him with a blanket. “A pique, a point. Women and games. What’s a gentleman to do?”
With a roll of his eyes and a hard shake of his head, Gantry began pacing again, back and forth across the room.
Why was he struggling?
His friend wasn’t trying to get Lionel to eat or struggling to determine the best course of action with Patience. That m-word,marriage, had started to rear its ugly head. It was a proper, convenient arrangement to share custody of Lionel for two people who needed to be in close quarters, in each other’s faces, every day to raise this baby.
Busick wanted to punch the desk leg, right on the curlicue scriptedJforJordan, and then his ownB.S.
Colin had been dead a few months, not the respectable eighteen months society wanted before anyone should become attached to the man’s widow. Well, he didn’t know LaCroy to be her when he became attached, but so was his luck with women.
His friend paced faster, the poor wound up clock.
Was he doing this for Busick’s sake?
“Spit out what has you so uneasy. My bread basket is full of a sleeping soldier, but my ears are open.”
“Six weeks, Repington. A full six weeks since anyone has seen Lady Gantry.”
“Yesterday was five weeks and six days of her being missing. Why is this evening different?”
Waving the letter, he started moving again. “My sister says she sent her a birthday present and gifts for the girls.”
“Nothing for you? I didn’t know you were the sentimental type.”
“I don’t want a present.” He stopped, dropped his head, clasping his neck with a loud slap. “I want her.”
“Then, what’s keeping you from finding her? If you are staying because of me . . . Don’t. I have things well at hand. Aren’t we good, Lionel?”
The baby snored, but pap milk was on his green pinafore as well as Busick’s cravat. He’d awaken soon, looking for the good stuff. “Bear with me, son, your nanny will be back soon. Or maybe we should go get her.”
“Son? You are in the family way, Duke. Has the bachelor father thought of his plans for the mother?”
“No. I still need to . . . verify—”
“You don’t need to verify anything. Your mother would know her. She’d make a point to see the woman at least once just to savor the gossip of Jordan’s foreign wife.”
His voice broke a little.
Then, Gantry returned to the sideboard and finished his half-finished drink. “In your gut, you know Mrs. LaCroy is Lionel’s mother. What are you going to do?”
