Page 79 of A Murder in Trinity Lane
He wore a scowl, of course. The stiff set of his shoulders spoke volumes, his disdain for the situation worn as clearly as his cravat. But he was dressed and climbing into the carriage.
I watched him go, a flicker of unease threading through my chest. He wouldn’t thank me for this. In fact, he’d resent every mile between London and Thornburn Abbey.
But at least he’d be alive.
The carriage would take him to King’s Cross Station, where the train to Yorkshire awaited. My secretary would meet him there—discreetly—and accompany him north, whether Phillip liked it or not.
He wouldn’t know it, but he would be watched. Just as I’d promised.
After taking one last pull of coffee, I rose. With Phillip out of immediate danger and the noose tightening elsewhere, I now had other matters to attend to.
Rosalynd, first and foremost.
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
BISCUITS AND BLADES
Ireturned home shortly after two. With no dire news awaiting me for once, I ordered luncheon to be served in my study. Once I satisfied my appetite, I intended to speak with Rosalynd about her reckless excursion to Saffron Hill.
I’d just bitten into a slice of roast beef when a brisk tapping of small feet echoed down the corridor, growing louder with each determined step. After a brief knock, Milford opened the door with his usual quiet precision. But there was a distinct gleam in his eye, one that spoke of long experience and quiet amusement.
“Lady Petunia, Your Grace,” Milford intoned with impeccable decorum. The faint upward twitch of his lips and the gleam in his eye suggested he was not entirely surprised.
She swept in with a dainty curtsy, her cheeks flushed from the afternoon chill and her hat askew, as though she’d put it on in a hurry. “Duke.”
I rose and bowed. “Lady Petunia. Are you here to inspect more bedchambers?”
“That would be silly. I’ve already done that.” She seated herself in the chair opposite my desk with all the dignity of aseven-year-old. “I came to check on your welfare. I was quite worried after your bout of fisticuffs.”
“I see.” She was the only one who’d cared enough to inquire. Her sister certainly hadn’t last night. She’d been too busy casting daggers in my direction. “Well, you needn’t worry. As you can see, I’m well and hearty.” Not quite. My right side still twinged with pain.
She flashed a smile—one tooth conspicuously missing. “That’s excellent news, Duke.”
She deserved a reward for her concern. “Would you care for something to eat?”
“Biscuits would be acceptable. The iced kind. And fruit punch, if you have it. No lemonade, though.”
I rang for Milford and conveyed her wishes.
As it would be impolite to eat while she had nothing herself, the roast beef remained untouched.
“How are your brothers and sisters?” I asked.
“Rosie and Cosmos are visiting Kew Gardens.”
“Ah.” Good. That meant she wasn’t off investigating something else. She wouldn’t dare with her brother present.
“Laurel is reading another of her scary tales—The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” Her voice dropped. “Rosie would not approve if she knew.”
And she’d be right to do so. That tale was hardly suitable reading for a twelve-year-old.
“Fox is minding the orangerie. He’s trying to crossbreed oranges with lemons. I have no idea why. Oranges are perfect as they are.”
“And your other sisters?”
“Chrissie is pining for Lord Sefton, a totally inappropriate gentleman I heard. And Holly and Ivy are planning a grand Guy Fawkes celebration.”
