Page 97 of Beyond the Grave
Dear God, I hoped so. Otherwise, I was the biggest fool in England.
Andrew Buchanan slept late. When he finally awoke, the entire household knew it from his foul-mouthed shouts. Gus's responding shouts for him to calm down went unheeded, and it wasn't until Lincoln appeared that Buchanan quieted.
"Fitzroy! What the devil is going on?" he snapped from where he was pinned against the wall by Gus's forearm. "Who is this oaf? Where am I?"
"You're at Lichfield Towers," Lincoln said, nodding at Gus to release him. "Gus is my employee, as are Seth and Miss Holloway. We rescued you last night from Bedlam."
"Bedlam? Is this some kind of a joke?"
"I don't joke."
"It's true, he doesn't," Gus chimed in, earning a glare from Seth.
Buchanan glanced between each of the men then his gaze flicked to me. A small frown settled between his brows then he quickly looked away. The color rose in his cheeks. He stretched his neck and folded his arms over his nightshirt, as if embarrassed to be seen dressed like that. Along with his disheveled hair and stubbly chin, he looked nothing like the gentleman I'd first met at Harcourt House.
"There are clothes in your room, Mr. Buchanan," I said. "Perhaps you'd like to dress then join us for breakfast. Seth will assist you."
Buchanan stretched his neck again and looked down his nose at me. "You look familiar. Have we met?"
"My name is Charlotte Holloway. We met when I called upon Lady Harcourt."
He pursed his lips and shook his head. "Can't recall."
Not surprising; he'd been three sheets to the wind at the time.
"Miss Holloway is my assistant." The sharp edge to Lincoln's tone wasn't lost on me, but no one else seemed to notice it. "Get dressed, Buchanan. I want answers."
"You're not the only one," Buchanan muttered.
"Why are you his assistant and we are only employees?" Gus whined as he and I headed into the kitchen. Lincoln had gone to his rooms. "We assist too, and we been doin' it longer."
"You should bring it up with him," I said.
We'd all eaten breakfast so we only needed to prepare enough for Buchanan. I carried plates of bacon, toast, sausages and eggs on a silver tray and deposited it on the dining room sideboard.
Lincoln joined me. "I'm glad to see you wearing it," he said, touching the chatelaine at my hip. They were the first words, aside from "good morning," that he'd spoken to me all day. Perhaps, like me, he felt the awkwardness of our overnight conversation. It was one thing to bare one's soul in the dark; it was quite another to do so in the daytime.
"It's almost too beautiful to wear, but I couldn't resist. Thank you again, Lincoln. I'll treasure it."
Buchanan took that moment to stroll into the breakfast room, Seth at his heels. His jaw was clean shaven, his hair neatly combed and oiled, and he wore Seth's spare clothing.
"Come and eat," I said when no one else spoke. "Then we'll talk."
Buchanan gave me a slight bow and swaggered over to the sideboard, his step lazy and cocksure. At first glance, he appeared to be back to himself, but on closer inspection I noticed his eyes darting about and the slight shake of his hand as he helped himself to bacon.
Gus served tea then joined us at the table.
"Now, if you'll tell me what in God's name I was doing in Bedlam, I would be grateful," Buchanan said, slicing through a sausage.
Lincoln told Buchanan how the dowager Lady Harcourt had reported him missing and how we'd tracked his movements to Emberly Park but no further. He included all the details about the journal, Estelle Pearson and the baby, but he didn't mention my necromancy and Buchanan didn't ask how we'd learned about her involvement in the birth.
"You fought with your brother at Emberly, didn't you?" Lincoln asked.
Buchanan slapped a thick layer of butter on his toast. "He punched me, the turd. I hit him back, of course. Gave him a bloody nose and a black eye."
"He don't have no black eye," Gus said.
Buchanan bit off a corner of the toast and eyed Gus. "Are you doubting the word of a gentleman?" he said around his mouthful.
