Page 59 of A Murder in Mayfair
“Don’t get any ideas, Mother,” he muttered.
“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, all innocence.
At that moment, Mr. Honeycutt appeared in the doorway and bowed with his usual grace. “Luncheon is served, milady.”
“Thank you, Mr. Honeycutt,” I said with a nod.
“Would you care to join us, Your Grace?” Petunia asked brightly.
“Alas, I cannot, child,” the duchess replied with genuine regret. “I’ve a prior luncheon engagement.”
Petunia turned to the duke. “Areyoufree, Your Grace?”
He glanced at his watch. “I believe I am.”
“Good. We’re having roast beef and potatoes.”
“And fairy cakes for dessert?” he asked with a teasing grin.
“Fairy cakes are for teatime,” Petunia said with mock severity. “But Cook made Madeira cake. My favorite.”
“What a treat that shall be.” Then, turning to the duchess, he added, “If there’s anything else you’d like to know, Mother, I’ll do my best to answer it honestly.”
Her Grace gave him a soft look, full of affection. “Thank you, Warwick.”
Petunia tugged at his hand. “We’d better get to the dining room before Holly and Ivy steal all the bread rolls.”
“Let me guess,” he said, following her, “they’re your favorite?”
“How did you know?” she asked with an impish grin.
“A wild guess.”
As they disappeared through the door, I turned politely to the duchess. “Shall I show you the way out, ma’am?”
“Not just yet.” She waited a beat, listening for the footsteps to fade. Then she turned to me, her expression unreadable.
“Whatever you’ve done to my son,” she said quietly, “I heartily approve.”
Confused, I shook my head. “I’ve done nothing, ma’am.”
“Oh yes, you have.” And with that pithy declaration, she made her way to the door and proceeded down the hallway—leaving behind the faint scent of lavender and something unspoken.
Chapter
Twenty-Five
A MATTER OF LEDGERS AND TEA LEAVES
After luncheon, Steele and I withdrew to the morning room to discuss our latest findings. I gestured for him to sit on the settee opposite mine. He declined, choosing instead to hover near the hearth—an embodiment of barely contained restlessness and unspoken thoughts. By now, I’d learned to let him pace. He would settle once his mind had burned off enough energy.
“Lady Farnsworth’s tea was a success?” he asked finally.
“I’d classify it as such,” I said, smoothing my skirts. “Though some of the truths were swaddled in silk and sugar.”
He raised a brow, silent but listening.
I explained how Claire had skillfully guided the conversation toward investments. “Lady Danforth spoke rather freely—after the second round of Darjeeling. She warned her in no uncertain terms to avoid silver mines. Her husband invested thousands and received nothing but regret in return.”
