Peculiarly, it felt almost like resentment.
But if he didn’t know better, he might have called it yearning.
If he hadn’t vanquished any inclination toward that most pointless of all emotions years ago.
He paced restlessly before the hearth.
Finally, he settled onto a settee, surrendering almost reluctantly to its comfort.
He idly contemplated how he might refurnish this room when he owned the building. These days, if he wanted something—anything—he generally got it. Resourceful ruthlessness was another of the gifts he’d taken from St. Giles.
He swiftly rose to his feet again at the sound of footsteps crossing the foyer. The two lovely women approaching—abrunette in maroon silk and a blonde in brown—were smiling at him as if he were the prodigal son returned at last. This mordantly amused him. People looked at him in alotof different ways, but this was never one of them.
“Mr. Marchand, I’m Mrs. Hardy and this is Mrs. Durand.” Mrs. Hardy was the brunette. “We were growing concerned! We’re so delighted you’ve arrived safely.”
He bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you both. Lord Bolt made this place sound like a paradise when he told me about it, and I can see nothing to contradict his opinion of it. I apologize for arriving so late or for causing concern. My meeting with a potential new colleague went longer than I anticipated and hacks were surprisingly scarce this evening.”
“Please do not worry about it, Mr. Marchand. I know Lucien wanted to be here to greet you, but you can blame me for his absence. I insisted he go on up to sleep, as he and Captain Hardy have an early start tomorrow morning. He is looking forward to your stay.”
“I look forward to spending time with him again as well. I’ve never seen a man look so contented. I’m told the food here is remarkable. And I don’t think I’ve ever seen a finer chandelier.”
He was apparently saying all the right things, because the ladies’ faces went brilliant with pleasure.
“We won’t keep you, Mr. Marchand, as it sounds as though you’ve had a long day and no doubt you would like to get up to your room,” Mrs. Hardy said. “We’ve got the fire burning hot and high in there for you. Perhaps you would like some drinking chocolate brought up, or some tea?”
The words “fire” and “chocolate” sounded absurdly seductive to Marchand.
“But first, why don’t we have a seat here while you take a look at our rules to make certain you feel able to comply with them before you decide to stay.” Mrs. Durand handed him a little printed card.
What the devil? Bolt hadn’t mentioned anyconditions, either.
The ladies and Marchand settled opposite each other on the pink settees.
He bent his head to read:
All guests will eat dinner together at least four times per week.
All guests must gather in the drawing room after dinner for at least an hour at least four times per week. We feel it fosters a sense of friendship and the warm, familial, congenial atmosphere we strive to create here at the Grand Palace on the Thames.
All guests should be quietly respectful and courteous of other guests at all times, though spirited discourse is welcome.
Guests may entertain other guests in the drawing room.
Curfew is at 11:00 p.m. The front door will be securely locked then. You will need to wait until morning to be admitted if you miss curfew.
If the proprietresses collectively decide that a transgression or series of transgressions warrants youreviction from the Grand Palace on the Thames, you will find your belongings neatly packed and placed near the front door.
You will not be refunded the balance of your rent.
Gentlemen may smoke in the Smoking Room only.
Most of those rules were sensible. But he wasn’t at all certain how he felt about being required to dine and discourse spiritedly with a house full of strangers for the next few weeks. It had beeneonssince he’d been required to do something he didn’t want to do. He was fairly certain he’d lost the knack.
Despite himself, he was pleased he’d squeaked in under the Grand Palace on the Thames’s curfew tonight. Many would be surprised to learn that a man who oversaw veritable nightly orgies of spending and drinking was punctual to a fault.
“I’m curious as to what constitutes spirited discourse,” he ventured politely.
“Oh, we have great fun in the sitting room,” Mrs. Durand told him. “Our guest Mrs. Pariseau often reads stories aloud, and she does all the voices for the characters. Sometimes others take a turn. We like Greek myths, and horrid novels, and we’ve been readingThe Arabian Nights Entertainmentslately. And last night we all went around and said what tree we would be if we were trees, instead of people.”