"I’ll keep that in mind, should I happen to cross paths with Mr. Landes."
"Excellent."
"Good day, my lord."
James let himself out of the townhouse.
He would have one of his footmen follow Cruikshank. The trail would lead to Landes, Stephen or both.
James escorted Calliope to the carriage promptly at one in the afternoon and climbed in after her. He signaled to the two men standing in the doorway of the townhouse and they returned the gesture.
A wave of satisfaction swept through him. The wheels were in motion and the plan was set in action. The carriage began rolling steadily toward its destination.
He glanced across the seat. Calliope’s eyes were guarded, her movements anxious.
"It’s been confirmed that nearly every member on our list will be at Pettigrew’s this weekend. It should prove to be an interesting time. The Pettigrews are infamous for their extravagance."
She clasped her hands and nodded.
"We will arrive and rest before dinner. After dinner there will likely be entertainment. Tomorrow will be filled with lawn games and parlor activities. The festivities will provide an excellent opportunity to converse with the women and listen to any new gossip concerning the men."
She nodded again, continuing to peer out the window. They passed out of the city and James inhaled the fresh country smell. The sky was a bit bluer and the air practically caressed his lungs. He missed his Yorkshire estate and country life.
"There will be a dance tomorrow night, and Sunday after brunch we will leave," he said.
Discussing the weekend activities seemed to be making her knuckles whiter, so he switched topics.
"What do they call the shade of your gown? Mint? Celadon? Pistachio?"
She looked at him in surprise. "Uh, just mint, I suppose."
He nodded. "I think you would do well to wear a darker shade to enhance your coloring. Emerald, maybe."
Her brows drew together. "I don’t recall asking your opinion. I believe this color is perfectly suitable."
He waved a hand in a negligent fashion. "You really should take my advice in these matters. I have more experience, I can assure you."
A spark lit in her eyes and she crossed her arms. "How have the scores of women been able to stand you, my lord?"
He shot her a lazy look and leaned back in his seat. "Just ask one, my dear."
Her lips compressed and she turned to gaze at the flowering countryside. Her hands were no longer clenched.
A number of carriages arrived at the Pettigrews’ estate within minutes of each other.
"Angelford, my dear! So wonderful to see you," cooed Penelope Flanders as she sashayed across the slate tiles on the front portico. "The weekend will be so much more enjoyable with you in attendance."
James forced a smile and took her offered hand. "Lady Flanders, you look lovely as usual. Is your husband with you this weekend?"
She preened. "He will be arriving tomorrow evening. He has important business to attend and insisted I come ahead and enjoy myself."
James felt Calliope’s eyes sear a hole in his back.
"Well, then we shall see you tonight," he could not resist answering.
Penelope glanced at Calliope and dismissed her. “Delightful," she said, eyeing him with relish before strolling into the house.
James smiled at Calliope and tucked her hand under his arm, doubting she would willingly do so.
"Angelford, my dear. My husband’s away and I’m ripe for the plucking," Calliope mimicked.
"A woman of your worldly nature, Miss Minton. You sound amazingly like an outraged virgin."
Interestingly enough, sometimes she acted like one too.
Calliope was spared a response as Lord Pettigrew descended the stairs to warmly welcome them.
"Angelford, good of you to come. Esmerelda, my dear, it’s always a pleasure to see you." He raised her hand to his lips and held it a second longer than was proper.
She smiled becomingly and a flash of irritation swept through James.
"The roads are deplorable this time of the year. You must be tired from your ride. Please make yourselves comfortable and let the servants know if there is anything you require. Dinner will be served at eight. I look forward to seeing you there."
Pettigrew exemplified the word leer.
He motioned for a servant to assist them to their rooms. James had been to the estate before, but he observed the look of wonder pass over Calliope’s face as they entered.
The estate was impressive. It had been in the Pettigrew family for seven generations and the family collection of antiques was notable. The Pettigrews had not experienced the downturn in finances that many wealthy English families had faced during one generation or another.
James’s family had been so blessed until his father’s downfall. It had been up to James to repair the broken finances. But he had always known he would succeed. Always been sure he wouldn’t be forced to sell any of the family heirlooms. So he continued to take the display of wealth as second nature. He had never chosen to look at it any other way.
But Calliope’s posture caused him to pause. As she gazed around at the trappings of wealth, her first expression was one of awe, quickly replaced by anger.
She caught him looking at her and an indifferent mask fell into place, but too late.
The servants guided them to rooms across from one another in the west corridor of the second floor. He excused himself, leaving her to rest while he entered his room. It was a large room with Oriental silks and dark mahogany furniture. He had a similarly styled room in his main country estate. He wondered what Calliope would say about his forty-room Yorkshire manor. He felt fairly certain she would not be pleased.
Calliope glanced at the clock. The hour had passed quickly. She pressed her cheek into the pillow and gazed at the fancy mantelpiece. It was entirely covered in gilt. Small angels were trapped in the corners and held there with the heavy gold. The frills in one room alone would feed a small village.
What was she doing here?
Trying to find Stephen. Interrogating people. Searching rooms. Keeping a firm distance from Angelford.
Not necessarily in that order.
She shoved her face more firmly in the pillow and groaned. Flipping back the covers, she rolled until her legs fell off the bed and her feet touched the cold floor. She pushed herself upright and tiptoed to the settee.
Calliope put her feet up on the settee and pulled her day dress over the top. Betsy would be in soon to help her prepare for the evening. Funny how one became used to the assistance. Calliope grimaced.
Betsy tapped on the door and entered. "What a lovely house, miss. The country is so different from the city."
Betsy’s eyes glowed. Was poor Herbert, the footman, already being replaced?
"Anything interesting belowstairs, Betsy?"
"Indeed, miss," she said as she entered the closet and withdrew a red evening gown. "I have heard the most unusual things about the Pettigrews and their parties. Supposedly this is not one of their more wild weekends. Tame entertainments are planned."
Calliope hid her grin at Betsy’s disappointment. "Why do you suppose that is?"
"Servants don’t know, miss. They say Lord Pettigrew’s been awfully preoccupied with some government hubbub lately and has been curtailing boisterous types of entertainment. They say Lady Pettigrew is bored." Betsy shook her head and helped her into the gown. "Never a good thing, a bored noble."
"This is Lady Pettigrew’s birthday weekend and they haven’t planned anything above mild?"
Betsy nodded sadly and her disappointment reflected Calliope’s own. She had been expecting at least some caricature material from this trip. Lord Pettigrew had been promising especially lurid activities for weeks. Not that she would participate, but she had planned to actively observe and document.