Page 72 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
“Your Grace,” he said with a stiff bow.
My gut clenched. “Is my brother here?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
I took the first easy breath of the night.
“But he’s in no fit state to be receiving,” Harrington continued.
“Why?”
“Lord Phillip has . . . overindulged.”
Drunkenness, I could manage. “How far gone?”
“Unconscious. He refused supper and took to the brandy. Two bottles in, he collapsed. He’s in the sitting room. I couldn’t rouse him to take him to bed.”
I pushed past him without a word.
The sitting room reeked of spirits and stale smoke. Phillip lay sprawled across the settee, one boot off, the other still on, a half-empty glass in his hand. His head lolled to the side, pressed against the velvet cushion, lost to the world.
“Let’s get him to bed,” I said. If he remained crumpled like that all night, he’d be useless by morning. And I needed him to be sharp.
Between us, we managed to haul him to his room. I left Harrington to settle him and returned to the sitting room to wait.
After what felt like an age, the valet reappeared.
“All tucked in?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Good. Pack his things. Tonight.”
Harrington blinked. “Sir?”
“He’s leaving for Yorkshire in the morning. You’ll accompany him. I’ll be here to see him off myself. Make sure he’s ready.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Without another word, I turned on my heel and walked out, the door closing hard behind me.
Chapter
Twenty-Six
PETALS AND PROPRIETYO
The next day, the Rosehaven carriage rattled along the tidy road to Kew, a hush of anticipation settling in as spring light spilled through the lace-curtained windows.
Claire and I sat side by side, facing Cosmos who was visibly pleased with himself, his gloves tucked neatly beside him, his top hat balanced on one knee. He looked, for once, not entirely distracted by scientific musings, though a familiar gleam danced behind his spectacles.
“Lady Edmunds,” he said with boyish earnestness, “I’m most grateful you accepted my invitation. There’s something I’d like you to see—a rather extraordinary specimen I’ve been helping to cultivate. It arrived only a month ago from Madagascar.”
“I so admire a man who can coax something rare into bloom.” Claire’s voice lilted with amusement. “One does tire of predictably English hedges.”
He blinked. “I simply enjoy watching things grow.”
Claire was toying with him. Again. And he, poor thing, had no notion how to deal with her antics.
