Page 88 of The Trouble With Dukes
“That’sWorsthaven to you,” Rosecroft replied.
“And that’s enough out of you,Rosebud,” Westhaven shot back. “Shall we be seated? Keswick, you called this meeting, and if your formidable wife could not solve whatever problem plagues you, then it must be quite the thorny issue.”
They took chairs around a circular table that would have sat eight comfortably. Westhaven got down a tin from the mantel and offered it to Keswick, who sat on his right.
“The sweets in this household are always fresh,” Keswick said, helping himself, then passing the tin to Lord Valentine. “Never will you see grown men taking such delight in ruining their suppers as in Lord Westhaven’s household. It’s disgracefully juvenile.”
“Have another,” Lord Valentine said, waving the tin under Keswick’s nose.
“Don’t mind if I do. Leave some for our guests. We needn’t be entirely without manners.”
Apparently consuming forbidden sweets in the library was some ritual known only to titled Englishmen. Colin took a sweet and passed Hamish a nearly empty tin.
“Keswick,” Westhaven said. “You have the floor.”
“My thanks. I’ll be brief.”
“That’s not how Louisa describes you,” Lord Valentine muttered. Rosecroft smacked his lacey lordship on the arm, and Colin took another treat from the tin Hamish was still holding.
“I will be succinct,” Keswick said. “Murdoch must locate Garner Puget, one of the Earl of Plyne’s younger sons. The matter is urgent. Puget has behaved badly, probably in service to Sir Fletcher, who might well have coerced Puget into forging documents of an unfortunate nature.”
“I know Puget,” Rosecroft said. “He was a regimental scribe, for want of a better term. Had a lovely hand, and was always willing to write a note home for the men incapable of doing it themselves.”
“Which means,” Keswick went on, “Puget might also have drafted the occasional dispatch, requisition, or meticulous facsimile of same. Has anybody seen him in the past week?”
A general discussion followed, of where Puget might be found, and who might best look for him. Westhaven made a list of gentlemen’s clubs Puget belonged to, somebody volunteered the name of his tailor, somebody else agreed to chat with his landlady. To Hamish, that good woman would have been hard-pressed to spare the time of day. For the English aristocrats at the table, she’d dip her best curtsy.
Hamish put a piece of marzipan in his mouth without thinking, and was surprised at the richness and intensity of the flavor.
Rather like the surprise of finding out that Megan’s titled cousins were, in fact,gentlemen. Aid was being rendered without a lot of questions, and the relief of that was tremendous. Hamish would not have known which clubs Puget frequented, or to whom he’d given his sartorial custom.
“Are you hoarding the last of the treats?” Colin asked.
Hamish passed him the tin, and the meeting broke up shortly thereafter. A footman brought Westhaven a note, which his lordship barely had time to scan before Rosecroft plucked it from his hand.
“Moreland has summoned us,” Rosecroft said, passing the note to Lord Valentine. “He wants to consult with us on a matter of some delicacy.”
Westhaven snatched the note back. “Why he’d involve you two louts in a discussion of a delicate matter, I do not know.”
“I’m likely the matter in need of discussion,” Hamish said. “His Grace came upon me delicately prowling across his garden at an awkward hour.”
Conversation stopped, and four English lords all found it necessary to study the molding, the wainscoting, the books shelved in abundance along two walls. Doubtless, their children would be born as a result of divine intervention, so delicate were their lordships’ sensibilities.
“Moreland caught you beneath Megan’s balcony, and yet, you lived,” Rosecroft murmured, after what might have been a respectful silence. “His Grace is growing sentimental on us.”
“Perhaps the delicate matter is what to tell Sir Fletcher regarding his matrimonial aspirations?” Keswick suggested.
“Regardless,” Hamish said, shoving to his feet. “Ask the duke if he knows where Garner Puget has got off to. I have the sense Moreland knows more than God, and his duchess more than Moreland and God put together, at least about the doings of polite society—and their own family.”
Westhaven stared at nothing for a moment, then shook his head. “Involving His Grace is like involving the heavy artillery. No telling exactly where the ordnance will land or upon whom the shrapnel will explode. We’ll casually inquire if His Grace knows of Puget’s whereabouts. Any more pointed questioning risks ducal meddling, which is about as helpful as an outbreak of plague, cholera, and typhus all at once.”
Amid murmurs of agreement from the other Windhams, Colin rose, taking one last piece of marzipan. Hamish assayed a glower, but Colin popped the sweet in his mouth and winked.
Keswick joined them on the walkway, apparently spared from the ducal summons. “They’ll find him, Murdoch. Between the Windham gentlemen, their in-laws, their friends, and the people who owe them favors, Garner Puget is as good as found.”
No, he was not. “There’s a ball tonight,” Hamish said. “I want you and Lord Valentine to stay with Megan at all times, even if you have to alternate sharing dances with her.”
“I cannot possibly dance half the dances,” Keswick snapped. “I’d be lame for a week, and everybody would remark the spectacle of Megan Windham limiting her partners to her cousins.”
