St. John had gotten hold of the little card printed with rules, and he looked alarmed. “Now hold on one moment. There’s acurfew?”
“Of course,” Delilah said pleasantly. “We want all of our guests to feel safe and snug, especially those with young daughters.”
“Sound practice,” Lord Vaughn said.
“We’ve an epithet jar, and we charge one pence. But we’ve considered instituting an insolence jar,” Angelique said.
St. John frowned a little. Wary now.
“I wish you would,” Lady Vaughn said fervently. Irritably.
“I’ll leave you with the rules and your tea, and Mrs. Hardy and I shall go and discuss whether we think you’d be happy here as guests of The Grand Palace on the Thames.”
Which was of course a diplomatic way of saying they were going to go off and talk about whether they thought they could tolerate the Vaughns for any length of time.
Delilah and Angelique repaired to the drawing room across the foyer to have their usual whispered conversation.
“Somehow we failed to discuss whether we needed to likeallof them in order to allow a family to stay with us,” Delilah said.
Angelique laughed softly. “I’d wager on the mother that she keeps them more or less in line. I can imagine what Lucien and Tristan would do to St. John.”
“It might be amusing.”
“Or carnage.”
“And who is this Lillias?”
“Another daughter, and a mystery as of now.”
“I do not think we can turn them away, Angelique.”
“Not the least because we’ll be charging them dearly.”
“Shall we vote quickly on a new rule? Families deemed too insufferable will be evicted without notice. All in favor...”
“Aye.” Angelique raised her hand.
“Aye.” Delilah raised her hand. “But won’t it be a bit awkward until we’ve hired on the footmen, to ferry things from building to building? And to manage dinners and the like?”
“Life is always a bit awkward. We will triumph, Delilah. Don’t we always?”
Hugh Cassidy gazed wistfully out the window of his comfortable room at The Grand Palace on the Thames. Bolt and Hardy and Delacorte had tried to persuade him to come along to the ship with them today, and he’d frankly wanted nothing more. But he had the sort of business to attend to that couldn’t wait, and Hugh could give Captain Tristan Hardy a run for his money when it came to a sense of duty.
Hugh was not yet thirty. Those three men were older and more established. But witnessing them moving forward with their endeavors, building a business and a legacy, not to mention wealth, made him restless. He felt the tidal pull of their ambition; it echoed to his own. In other circumstances he would have leaped at the opportunity, because he knew at least two of those men were formidable and would triumph over any obstacles. The other was purely a good man, and those were rare enough in the world. But his own future was in America.
So odd that the two countries so recently ruled by one crown could be so very distinct in identity. He yearned for his New York home, for the woods and rugged coasts and people who were more direct, where a man who had no social status or fortune could build an empire from his wits, charm, and will. And whose will was stronger than his?
War tended to knock frivolous impulses from a person and quickly distill the things that mattered. He knew how to hunt, build, farm, seduce, and fight to win. He’d also learned that, no matter how battle hardened the man, a woman could still run his heart through a meat grinder.
Which brought him to today’s business.
Dear Mr. Woodley,
I’ve made a dozen or so discreet inquiries throughout London, and they’ve been fruitful. I’ve heard a credible account that Amelia might have gone to Dover, though I do not know why. I am in London now. I will investigate and write the moment I have news. I will bring her home.
Yrs,
H. Cassidy