“Excellent,” Mrs. White beamed. “Then I’ll expect all three of you in the foyer dressed for tea in precisely half an hour. Oh, and Daisy, dear….don’t forget your shoes this time.”
“They tricked me,” Daisy told to Sir Vincent as her mother and sisters flounced out of the drawing room.
The crow chattered in agreement–a rattling, throaty sound–and then hopped off Daisy’s shoulder to nibble the crumbs left behind on the table.
When she had found Sir Vincent two years ago, a ball of black fluff hoping across the lawn in broad daylight, she’d searched in vain for his nest. In her experience with rescuing wounded and lost animals, natural parents were always best, but in the case of true abandonment she was happy to take their place. Having already successfully rehabilitated and released a red squirrel, a fox kit, and a litter of dormice, she was confident that she could raise a single fledgling crow.
But in her research, she quickly discovered that Sir Vincent wasn’t just any crow, he was acarrioncrow. The cleverest, fearless, most adaptable of them all. And having already bonded with Daisy, Sir Vincent would never be able to be released into the wild. He was far too tame and reliant on humans, as evidenced by his ability to smell out a blueberry scone (his favorite) from across the room.
“Sir Vincent,put that down,” she hissed when a maid entered and began to clear the dishes. “We’re under enough scrutiny as it is. Come with me.” She snapped her fingers and the crow hopped obediently onto her shoulder. Together, they went to look for her shoes.
* * * *
In another parlor, several miles away, Everett Grim, the Duke of Aikens, cradled a near-empty bottle of brandy in his arm instead of a crow and let out a groan. “Why did I have a second glass? The Scots are devils for making a brew this strong.” He lifted the bottle and sniffed the contents. “Or geniuses.”
“Second?” Daniel St Giles, Marquess of Hollibrook, snorted without bothering to look up from the newspaper he was reading. “Try sixth. You were drinking like a fishwife.”
“Having met several fishwives, I object.” Everett struggled to sit up, grimaced when the little hammer pounding away in his head gave an extra hardthwack, and slumped back into his chair. “Six glasses, you say?”
“Six is when I stopped counting.” Hollibrook turned the page. “You are aware that yesterday was a Tuesday, and today is Wednesday. It’s the middle of the week, Aikens. Hardly cause for any excessive celebration.”
“What else is there to do in this Godforsaken place?”
“This Godforsaken place is the largest estate in all of Durham, second only to Cranbrook Castle. If there’s nothing to do here, then you’re more than welcome to return to your own household.”
“Can’t,” Everett grumbled. “I just received word that the renovations on the east wing are going to take at least another month.”
“Have your things moved to the west wing.”
“I don’t like it over there. Too drafty.”
“There’s a tavern down the road. Board, wenches, and all the ale you can drink.”
Everett mused that over, then gingerly shook his head. “No, I think I’ll remain here and be a thorn in your side until my architect sends word that the roof has been completed.”
“Wood?”
“Slate.”
Hollibrook frowned. “That’s going to take a long time.”
“So I’ve been told,” he sighed, plucking at a loose thread on the hem of his waistcoat. His jacket was across the parlor and his boots remained upstairs in his room, as the concentration needed to balance one leg in the air had evaded him. Usually his valet would see to the task of dressing, but Pickens had taken ill two nights ago after eating a raw shrimp dish on Everett’s behalf to gauge its digestibility.
It hadn’t gone well.
“I need a new hobby,” he said, closing his eyes. “And a cold cloth.”
“What youneedis responsibility. Your father has been dead over a year now, God rest his soul. You’re a duke, Everett. That title is heavier than one might thing, and carries with it a great duty. To your servants, your tenants, and your family name.”
“Are you trying to make my headache worse?”
With a low growl of frustration, Hollibrook finally laid aside his paper. A handsome man at the beginning of his fourth decade, he had clear, intelligent gray eyes and brown hair with the barest hint of gray at his temples. “What I amtryingto do is shove a bit of wisdom into that thick head of yours. Our sires were good friends, and I’d like to believe that we’re following in their footsteps. Have you ever heard of the Wayward Dukes Alliance?”
Everett opened his right eye and squinted blearily at Hollibrook. “Sounds like a venereal disease.”
“It is an informal collection of like-minded individuals whose goal is to offer assistance and guidance whenever a…situationarises.” Hollibrook stared pointedly at Everett. “Such as when one in our ranks has succumbed to the worst case of ennui that I’ve ever personally has the misfortune to witness.”
Ennui.
