Page 15 of His Grace, the Duke
“Sorry, sir!” the boy called, not slowing his steps.
Two more servants swept past him, cleaning buckets on their arms. Down the long hallway, the housekeeper emerged, a maid trailing behind her.
“Ah—Mrs. Robbins!” Tom called. “Where is Miss Harrow?”
The housekeeper’s smile was warm and inviting. “Bless my eyes, is that you, Mr. Renley? My, how handsome you look in your officer’s uniform.”
“Yes. I—”
“Renley!”
Tom turned to see James striding towards them. “When did you arrive? Is Burke with you?”
“I just got in,” Tom replied, looking around at all the scurrying servants. “Where are they?”
James gave a look to Mrs. Robbins, dismissing her. She bobbed a quick curtsy and took off. “They’re not here,” he replied, voice low. “I arrived home to find Mrs. Robbins in a state.”
“A state?” Tom didn’t like the sound of that.
“Aye, apparently Burke barged into the morning room while Rosalie was being fitted for gowns and demanded to see her alone. Then they up and left.”
Tom’s gut twisted. He was too late. “Where did they go? Are they—they’re coming back, right?”
“The footman said they were going to Cheapside,” James replied.
That gave Tom some relief. “Her aunt lives in Cheapside. They must have gone to visit her.”
“Where have you been?” James demanded.
Tom tugged off his hat and tucked it under his arm. “I was seeing Marianne home, and—”
A side door burst open and a trio of men staggered through balancing a heavy rolled carpet between them.
“’Scuse us, m’lord,” the front man muttered as they passed.
James sighed. “Come to my study. If we talk here, we’ll likely be run over.” He led the way down the hall to his study. Tom glanced around as he entered. The dark blue walls were lined with cases of leather-bound books. The curtains were tied back, letting a shaft of late afternoon sun slant over the large desk. James sat behind it, reaching for a decanter andtwo glasses. He poured a measure of port into each glass and slid one across the desk at Tom. “Go ahead and say it.”
Tom sat, snatching up the offered glass. “You shouldn’t have taken off like that. Do you have any idea the storm you’ve left in your wake?”
“How bad is it?” James muttered, eyes focused on his glass.
“I believe the word ‘pincers’ were used . . .”
James grimaced. “And Miss Harrow?”
“General sentiment was that you must have kidnapped her. The Swindon sisters thought it appropriate to act it out last night to everyone’s general amusement.”
“Bloody perfect,” James muttered.
“The focus is on you at the moment... not her.”
“Thank God for that.” James drained his glass. “The story is that we are planning a surprise engagement party for George and Miss Nash. We’ll celebrate here with a large party on Friday. The wholetonis to be invited.”
“Ah... that explains the chaos,” Tom said, taking another sip of his port. “James... why did you do it?”
James sighed. “I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And now?”
