Anita Mills by The Rogue's Return

Author:The Rogue's Return
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

10

Supper was a strange, stilted affair, with the marquess presiding at one end of the long, highly polished table, Bertie Bascombe at the other, and the two women in between. A footman moved silently to serve them, and much of the time there was little sound beyond Bertie’s determined slurping of his soup, Miss Mitford’s occasional furtive sighs, and the clink of silver against china.

Dominick Deveraux was nowhere to be seen, and it seemed as though everyone was taking care not to remark it. Even Bertie appeared unusually subdued, and between him and Miss Mitford there was not a word. In fact, aside from asking Anne to pass the peas, the girl said nothing to anyone. Trent, on the other hand, punctuated the silence with comments to Anne, and she tried heroically to carry the conversation to the others. It was a futile attempt and was soon abandoned in favor of merely eating.

Finally, as the dessert plates were being removed, Trent cleared his throat. “Would any of you care to join me in the saloon? Wilkins assures me there is ratafia for the ladies.”

Miss Mitford bowed her head before shaking it. “I am rather tired, my lord,” she mumbled. “I should like to be excused.”

“I dashed well am too, Miss Mitford,” Bertie agreed, eager to escape. “Think I’ll retire early. Got to, you know—me and Miss Morland got to get back to Nottingham in the morning, don’t you know?” Waiting politely for the pale girl to rise, he turned back to Anne. “Wilkins says the Royal Mail departs for London at ten sharp.”

“Miss Morland?” Trent inquired politely.

“I rather think I ought to look in on Mrs. Deveraux again.”

“Has there been any change?”

“Well, I did not stay, of course, for Betty insisted I should sup with everyone else. However, Mrs. Deveraux is now unresponsive.”

“What do you think?”

“My opinion has not changed, my lord. I still believe ’tis too early to know much of anything.”

Trent cleared his throat again. “Miss Morland, I should like nothing more than to go home to my wife,” he declared, “but in good conscience I cannot leave Dom at a deathwatch with naught but Miss Mitford for support.”

“No, I suppose not,” she agreed noncommittally.

“I do not suppose that you could be persuaded somehow to stay?”

“Not above a day or so, sir, for there is still the matter we spoke of this afternoon. The longer I delay, the worse ’twill surely look for me.”

“Dominick—”

“Mr. Deveraux has far more important matters to concern himself with than me, my lord,” she said definitely. “I cannot embroil him in my affairs further.”

He sensed that he ought not to press her, that he ought to leave it to Dominick to tell her of his inquiry at the Blue Bull. He inclined his head slightly. “Perhaps you will wish to take your ratafia later?”

“I should not wait for me,” she advised. “Much depends on Mrs. Deveraux’s condition … and on Betty.”

“The ninnyhammer could sit with my aunt, you know. She at least owes Aunt Charlotte something.

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