Page 13 of A Duke Makes a Deal
“Aye, what about him?” the butler asked, his hazy eyes squinting suspiciously.
“I’m here to see him.”
“And who are you?” the butler asked, closing one eye as if that would help with his hearing.
“The Duke of Combe,” Silas repeated, slowly.
“Who?” the butler asked again.
“The Duke of,” Silas said, practically shouting, before stopping himself. Reaching into the pocket of his coat, he pulled out his card. “Here.”
The old man took it and squinted. Evidently his eyesight was just as bad as his hearing.
“A duke, is it?” the butler said, leaning back to gawk at Silas up and down. After a moment he nodded. “Aye, I suppose you are.”
Silas’s mouth fell into a hard line and he glared at the old butler. Who would employ such an insolent man?
“Woodvine!” the butler abruptly shouted over his shoulder, startling Silas as well as a couple who were walking on the street behind him. “A duke is come!” He turned back and nodded at Silas. “Right this way.”
The sheer unprofessionalism this ancient butler showed made Silas a little wary of entering, concerned about what he would find, but he was on a mission and he wouldn’t let a little peculiarity deter him. He followed the man into the house and into a large, empty parlor.
“He’ll be done in a minute,” the old man said before disappearing.
Silas stared after him, bewildered that he had just had such a strange introduction. Looking around the room, he noticed that it was rather sparsely decorated. There was only one landscape painting hanging on the far wall and there was hardly any furniture, save a very old, over stuffed settee and two wooden chairs. It was strange. Usually London homes were overtly decorated, especially by those with wealth like the Woodvines.
The soft echo of footfall sounded behind him and he turned around half expecting Mr. Woodvine. He was surprised then to see Miss Woodvine, dressed in a pale-yellow morning dress, her frizzy blonde hair wrapped with a matching ribbon. She gave the impression of innocence incarnate, especially when she noticed him.
Her grey-blue eyes were wide with recognition and she instantly frowned.
“Oh. It’s you,” she said.
Silas bowed towards her.
“Good morning, Miss Woodvine,” he nodded. She curtsied, but just barely as she kept her gaze on him.
“We did not receive your calling card,” she said, her tone neutral. “Had you let us know that you intended to call, we could have told you that my father is not at home.”
“He’s not?”
“No, he’s gone to his offices.”
“Ah, I see,” he said as he held his hands behind his back. “And your butler couldn’t inform me of that?”
Clara’s eyes softened at the mention of the butler.
“He’s rather senile, I’m afraid. He doesn’t always know what’s happening.”
“Then why not release him?”
She glared at Silas.
“Because, my lord, my family prefers to take care of those who take of us.”
Aware that the topic seemed a sore subject, Silas held his hands up in surrender, not wishing to offend her further.
“Well, it’s no matter. I didn’t truly intend to pay a call on your father. I was using him as a decoy.”
“A decoy?”
