"You might even stay the night," Lucas said.
Jane walloped him in the shoulder. "Why would she do that?"
"It might be easier if it's dark," he returned with a glare, "and-"
"Either way," Elizabeth said loudly, finding the entire conversation somewhat bizarre, "you needn't wait up."
"We won't," Susan assured her, herding Lucas and Jane out of the way as Elizabeth stepped out into the hall. They watched as she dashed down the stairs and yanked open the front door. "Have a good time!" Susan called out.
Elizabeth threw her a sarcastic look over her shoulder. "I'm sure I won't, but thank you for the sentiment."
She pulled the door shut behind her, leaving Susan, Jane, and Lucas standing at the top of the stairs. “Oh, you might just be surprised, Elizabeth Hotchkiss," Susan said with a grin. "You might just be surprised yet."
The past few days would not rank among James Sidwell's finest. To deem his temper foul would be a gross understatement, and Lady Danbury's servants had long since started taking circuitous routes around the house just to avoid him.
His first inclination had been to get good and drunk, but he'd already done that once, on the night Elizabeth had discovered his true identity, and all it had left him with was a blistering hangover. And so the glass of whiskey he'd poured when he'd returned home from her cottage still sat on the desk in the library, sipped at no more than twice. Ordinarily, his aunt's well-trained servants would have swept away the half-filled glass; nothing upset their sensibilities more than a stale glass of liquor laying directly upon a polished tabletop. But James's ferocious expression the first time anyone had dared to knock on the locked library door had ensured his privacy, and now his haven-and his stale glass of whiskey- remained his own.
He was, of course, wallowing in self-pity, but it seemed to him that a man deserved a day or two of antisocial behavior after what he'd been through.
It would have been easier if he could have decided with whom he was more angry: Elizabeth or himself.
He picked up the glass of whiskey for the hundredth time that day, looked at it, and set it down. Across the room, HOW TO MARRY A MARQUIS sat on the shelf, its red leather spine silently daring him to look at anything else. James glared at the book, just barely suppressing the urge to hurl the whiskey at it.
Let's see… if he doused it with whiskey, then tossed it into the fireplace… the resulting inferno would be most satisfying.
He was actually considering it, trying to gauge how high the flames would reach, when a knock sounded at the door, this one considerably more forceful than the servants' paltry attempts.
"James! Open this door at once."
He groaned. Aunt Agatha. He rose to his feet and crossed the room to the door. He might as well get this over with. He knew that tone of voice; she'd pound the door until her fist turned bloody.
"Agatha," he said too sweetly, "how lovely to see you."
"You look like hell," she barked, then pushed past him to settle into one of the library's wing chairs.
"Still as tactful as ever," he murmured, leaning against a tabletop.
"Are you drunk?"
He shook his head and motioned to the whiskey. "Poured a glass but never drank it." He looked down at the amber liquid. "Hmmm. The surface is beginning to get dusty."
"I didn't come here to discuss spirits," Agatha said haughtily.
"You did inquire as to my sobriety," he pointed out.
She ignored his comment. "I hadn't realized you had become friendly with young Lucas Hotchkiss."
James blinked and stood up straight. Of all the non sequiturs his aunt might have chosen-and she was a master at changing the subject with no warning whatsoever-he certainly never expected this. "Lucas?" he echoed. "What about Lucas?"
Lady Danbury held out a folded piece of paper. “He sent you this letter."
James took it from her, noting the childish smudges on the paper. "I suppose you read this," he said.
"It was not sealed."
He decided not to press the matter and unfolded the paper. "How odd," he murmured.
"That he wants to see you? I don't think it's the least bit odd. The poor boy has not had a man in his life since he was three and his father died in that hunting accident."
James looked up sharply. Apparently Elizabeth's ruse had worked. If Agatha hadn't managed to discover the truth about Mr. Hotchkiss's death, then the secret was safe.
"He probably has a question for you," Agatha continued. "Something he'd be too embarrassed to ask his sisters. Boys are like that. And I'm sure he's confused about ill that has happened in the past few days."
James looked at her with curious eyes. His aunt was displaying a remarkable sensitivity to the little boy's plight.
And then Agatha said, softly, “He reminds me of you when you were that age."
James caught his breath.
"Oh, don't look so surprised. He is, of course, much happier than you were at the time." She reached down and gathered up her cat, who had slunk into the room. “But he has that lost expression boys get when they reach a certain age and they don't have a man to guide them." She stroked Malcolm's thick fur. "We women are, of course, extremely capable and, for the most part, far wiser than men, but even I must admit there are some things we cannot do."
While James was comprehending the fact that his aunt had actually admitted that there existed a task beyond her capabilities, she added, "You are going to see him, aren't you?"
James was insulted that she would even ask. Only an unfeeling monster could ignore such a request. "Of course I'm going to see him. I'm rather curious, however, about his choice of locale."
"Lord Danbury's hunting lodge?" Agatha shrugged. "It's not as odd as you'd think. After he died, no one had any use for it. Cedric isn't fond of hunting, and since he never leaves London, anyway, I offered it to Elizabeth. She refused, of course."
"Of course," James murmured.
"Oh, I know you're thinking her too proud, but the truth is, she has a five-year lease on her cottage, so the move wouldn't have saved her any money. And she didn't want to uproot her family." Lady Danbury lifted Malcolm up into a standing position on her lap and let him kiss her nose. "Isn't he just the most darling cat?"
"Depends on your definition of 'darling,' " James said, but only to needle his aunt. He owed the cat eternal gratitude for leading him to Elizabeth when Fellport had attacked her.
Lady D scowled at him. "As I was saying, Elizabeth refused, but she allowed that they might move there once her rent came due, so she brought the entire family out for a visit. Young Lucas was quite taken with it." She frowned thoughtfully. "I think it was the hunting trophies. Young boys love that sort of thing."
James glanced at a clock that was being used as a bookend. He'd need to leave in about a quarter of an hour if he wanted to be prompt for Lucas's requested meeting.
Agatha sniffed the air and stood, letting Malcolm vault onto an empty bookshelf. "I'll leave you to your own company," she said, leaning on her cane. "I'll tell the servants not to expect you for supper."
"I'm sure this won't take long."
"One never knows, and if the boy is troubled, you might need to spend some time with him. Besides"-she paused as she reached the doorway and turned around- "it's not as if you've graced the table with your illustrious presence these past few days, anyway."
A cutting comeback would spoil her magnificent exit, so James just smiled wryly and watched her walk slowly down the hall, her cane thumping softly in time with her footsteps. He'd long since learned that everyone was happier if Agatha got to have the last word at least half the time.
James walked slowly back into the library, picked up the whiskey glass, and tossed contents through the open window. Setting the glass back down on the table, he glanced around the room, and his eyes fell upon the little red book that had been haunting him for days.