Everyone laughed, even Warwick, who succumbed to a soft chuckle.
“I’m still waiting to hear the story of Lennox’s supernatural encounter,” Mansfield said, then drained his glass.
Rising, he strode to a table hidden in the corner of the room and retrieved a crystal decanter of sherry. After replenishing his cup, he walked around the table and filled each glass.
Lifting his glass, Levi saluted him. “Let Roxburghe and Grisham settle their marriage issue first.”
“What do you suggest?” Beaufort asked, his eyes sparkling. “Fisticuffs? A duel?”
A loud creak echoed in the room above them, drowning out Levi’s sarcastic reply. Swallowing, he lifted his gaze and stared at the ceiling. The creak came again, this time from the opposite side of the second-floor corridor.
Mansfield sucked in a sharp breath. “Could it be a maid?”
Shaking his head, Levi lowered his gaze. “Only Mr. Northcutt and Mrs. Grove are here this evening.”
“And where are they?” Mansfield asked, his eyes on the ceiling.
“Playing vingt-et-un in the kitchen.” At least, based on his earlier conversation with Mr. Northcutt, that was where Levi assumed they’d retired.
Arching his eyebrows, Mansfield leaned toward him. “You know this for a fact?”
Levi grimaced and drained his glass a second time. “I suppose we should investigate.”
Everyone but Warwick rose.
Beaufort nudged the chair. “We’re not leaving you alone here for Mr. Philbert to possess.”
“He wouldn’t want my body,” Warwick grumbled, banging his cane on the floor.
“Given his current circumstance, he might make the sacrifice.” Beaufort danced away from the tip of Warwick’s cane. “You’re not using your flesh for anything but scowling.”
The goad drew Warwick from his seat, and he hobbled after Beaufort, chasing him from the parlor.
Roxburghe clapped Grisham on the back as they followed Beaufort and Warwick toward the kitchen. “I’ve a scheme to determine who gets the wedding date.”
“Which is?” Grisham glanced at him.
“The person to evict Mr. Philbert’s ghost chooses the date.”
“No!” Levi, trailing behind them, shoved between both men.
Roxburghe turned, surprise lighting his blue eyes. “You wish for Mr. Philbert to live with you forever?”
“We haven’t determined the cause is Mr. Philbert.” Levi looked to Grisham for support.
The corner of Grisham’s mouth crooked. “We haven’t disproved that theory, either.”
Damn. Grisham favored Roxburghe’s ludicrous idea, and though there was still a chance Mr. Northcutt or Mrs. Grove caused the noise, Levi feared that somehow, Roxburghe’s teasing had corporealized Mr. Philbert’s malcontent spirit.
“Mr. Northcutt,” Levi said as he entered the kitchen, finding his valet and the cook less than three inches apart, their gazes locked.
“One moment, Your Grace,” Mr. Northcutt replied without breaking his stare.
He turned over a card, setting down an eight of hearts on the small table.
“Ten,” Mrs. Grove said, glee splitting her face, and flipped over her card.
Mr. Northcutt swore, slammed his palms on the table, and rose. Straightening his jacket, he bowed to Levi.
