Page 87 of The Truth About Dukes
Not in the least, and thus she’d taken steps without informing Rothhaven, steps he might well oppose. She lifted her glass yet again to the happy couple, and prayed that she and Rothhaven might also earn that appellation, sooner rather than later.
“I tell you, Sparrow”—Stephen tipped his hat to a pair of passing dowagers—“between true love, married love, and frustrated love, Lynley Vale should have a rose-colored miasma hovering over its roof. I had to get away.” Stephen had also been entrusted with a letter to deliver for Constance, one she hadn’t wanted anybody else to see. Miss Abbott had taken the missive, thanked Stephen, and he’d had no pretext for prolonging the encounter.
Regular constitutionals along the walkways of York had failed to produce another sighting of the lady, and perhaps that was for the best.
Sir Leviticus was doubtless slowing his usual gait, the better to accommodate Stephen’s pace. He was astute like that, or Stephen would have sacked him years ago.
“Has the petition been served?” Sir Leviticus asked. “It’s been a good week since I heard Weatherby’s clerks complaining of his latest project.”
Weatherby, along with Philpot, had apparently made a cottage industry out of guardianships for profit. If Stephen lacked patience with any variety of criminal, it was the criminal who preyed on the helpless and was paid to do it with the victim’s own means.
“The petition was served the day after Lady Althea and Lord Nathaniel’s wedding,” Stephen said. “Cranmouth has been alerted to the situation, and Rothhaven pretends all is in hand.”
“All is not in hand?”
“His Grace has staring spells,” Stephen said. “I had no idea such an affliction existed. I was introducing him to a mount I’m training for his use and in the middle of a conversation, Rothhaven just…He went as still as a deserted cathedral. I babbled on, not even noticing the difference until, when I concluded my eloquence, he made no reply. Damnably awkward.”
Sir Leviticus paused on the steps of his club. “More awkward than a shaking fit?”
“Yes, in a way, because he simply stares at nothing, says nothing, and generally comports with some people’s notions of imbecility.”
“Does Cranmouth know of this condition? If I were representing His Grace, I’d certainly find it relevant.”
The lawyers’ club was the usual dark, carpeted, wainscoted bastion of male self-importance, the majordomo as pretentious as any at Stephen’s clubs in London.
“A quiet table, if any you have,” Sir Leviticus said.
“Very good, sir. Follow me.” The fellow collected two leather-bound menus and minced off with more dignity than the director of a state funeral. The scent of tobacco wafted from one of the reading rooms, while cooked beef perfumed the air nearer the dining room.
The whole place was tediously predictable, and Stephen’s appetite for steak and ale abruptly fled. He didn’t exactly miss London, and he certainly didn’t miss Love Nest Vale, but he missed something and someplace.
Or someone.
“Oh dear.” Sir Levi hesitated at the door of the dining room. “I suppose one ought not to jump to conclusions.”
“Jump,” Stephen said, remaining in the corridor and peering over Sir Leviticus’s shoulder. “What do you see?”
“Weatherby, Philpot,andCranmouth, all at the same table. Again.”
“Again?”
“Yes, now that I see them together I’m reminded that they shared a meal a week or two ago. That made an impression at the time because they aren’t typically social, at least Weatherby and Cranmouth aren’t. Cranmouth takes his consequence from his ducal client, you see, and limits his associations accordingly. I am permitted to break bread with him by virtue of my knighthood, but I rarely do.”
Stephen withdrew into the corridor. “Do lawyers opposing one another typically confer this early in the litigation?”
“Not in the usual course. Negotiations as the hearing approaches are common, but one needs guidance from a client before taking that step.”
Rothhaven would not have guided Cranmouth to settle anything. Cranmouth’s marching orders were to fight the petition by any and every legal means. Steak and ale did not qualify as courtroom weapons.
“Can you have somebody with acute hearing take a table near them?” Stephen asked. “I do not like what I’m seeing, and I suspect Rothhaven would hate it.” While Constance would rid the world of a crooked solicitor or two. Or three.
The majordomo hovered a few feet away, tapping the menus against his palm. “If I might make a suggestion, sir?”
“Please,” Sir Leviticus said. “I trust your discretion, Monmouth.”
“Judge Framley takes his midday meal here without fail by one of the clock. I can seat him at the table next to Mr. Cranmouth’s. I believe you and His Honor are on amicable terms.”
“He’s a retired judge,” Sir Leviticus said. “We play the occasional hand of cards, and he is godfather to my eldest.”
