Page 82 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
Forbes’s report contained the receipts and other business details. He would mention any problems as well, but Louis spent his evenings among the guests and saw things Forbes didn’t. The young man did not disappoint.
Most of it was ordinary. One fellow, howling drunk, had thrown a punch at Forbes when Forbes told the waiters not to bring him more spirits. A widowed countess had accused a man of making indecent advances to her, and Forbes had suspended his membership until Nick returned. Guillaume, the chef, had been caught in the butler’s pantry with one of the morning maids, who had become very flustered and broke into tears when Forbes asked her about it.
Nick frowned at the last one. The chef professed to have mended his ways, but his wife had indeed gone home to visit her family in Hertfordshire and not returned yet. Nick had enticed the man away from a wealthy banker’s household with an outrageous salary, but he wasn’t paying a chef who couldn’t keep his hands off other women, no matter how delicious his pastries.
“And Lord Fitchley’s been asking where you are,” Louis added.
“What did you tell him?”
“That it weren’t my place to say,” replied Louis. “He pressed again and I said I didn’t know—which I didn’t, not until Mr. Forbes told me right before he sent me here.”
Forbes and Grantham were the only people who’d known where to find him. “How did Fitchley take it?”
Louis hesitated. “He laughed. But he asked Mr. Carter and Mr. Forbes and even Monsieur Guillaume in the kitchen as well, and he’s been in every night since, as if he’s keeping an eye out.”
“Has he,” said Nick without surprise. “Does he still seem eager to speak to me?”
Louis thought for a moment. “Impatient, I would say, or even angry about the delay.”
“Has Forbes needed to speak to him about anything?”
“Not a once,” said Louis, “and he’s had me watching Fitchley every night. Mainly he sits and drinks in the parlor. Hasn’t even placed a bet in the book, which is very unlike him.”
A faint, satisfied smile crossed Nick’s face. “Excellent. We’re heading back to town tomorrow,” he told Louis. “You’re welcome to come with us or take yourself back now.”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll stay,” said the young man with feeling. “It was a hard ride down, and I’ve no aversion to a more leisurely return.”
“Very good.”
“Nick? Nick!” called Emilia from around the rampaging shrubbery.
Beside him, Louis perked up. Then Emilia came around the corner, and Nick nearly missed a step at how beautiful she was with the sun full on her face. Her hair was coming loose and the wisps glinted like polished jet in the afternoon light. Her eyes had never looked so blue. She shaded her face with one hand and caught sight of the pair of them. “Oh!” She started to turn away.
“Miss Greene.” He picked up his pace to catch her. “Allow me to introduce Louis Darlington, who handles the turf book at the Vega Club. Mr. Darlington, this is Miss Greene.”
She smiled and curtsied as Louis bowed, his eyes swinging so rapidly from Nick to Emilia and back that Nick wondered how the man didn’t lose his balance.
“I’ve just told him we plan to return to London tomorrow,” he told her. “Will we be ready to leave in the morning?”
“Er—yes,” she said, recovering from her surprise quickly. “As early as you wish to leave, Mr. Dashwood.”
Now Louis’s head was turning back and forth.
Nick grinned. “Very good. I will tell you in confidence, Miss Greene, that he’s just brought word things are proceeding as planned in London.”
“Oh?” she said, still flustered, then comprehension dawned. “Oh!”
“Are they?” blurted Louis in astonishment.
Nick slapped his shoulder. “Indeed. It’s going to be a grand show, lad. Like nothing you’ve ever seen before.”
CHAPTERTHIRTY-ONE
They stopped at the Bush Inn again on the way back to London. Emilia couldn’t help but think how much everything had changed since then.
Lucy seemed to have grown up years. Going back to Beaufort Hall hadn’t been the nightmare Emilia had feared. It was as if exploring the house with Charlotte and James, the rooms now filled with sunlight, had chased away some of the shadowy demons that had once haunted Lucy. The day before they left for London, Emilia discovered the three young people in the dusty, empty upstairs drawing room. James had located an ancient skittles set and they were whooping and cheering as they knocked over the pins and teased each other about errant throws.
Lucy had come running up to her. “Millie, I made a spare,” she declared in breathless excitement. “Charlotte’s made two, and James scored a strike!”
