“Both.”
The two servants glowered silently at each other, each standing his ground, yet each managing to retain the requisite amount of composure.
“I'll take full responsibility for my actions,” Hibbert pronounced with arrogant certainty. “I—and only I— know this is what my employer expects of me. If you're so disturbed by my conduct, I suggest you go and summon him. But in the meantime, I intend to see that letter.”
“As you wish.” Wells's jaw was clenched so tight it looked as if it might snap. He slapped the missive into Hibbert's hand and walked around him. “I'll summon Lord Royce at once.”
“Fine.” A rustle of paper as Hibbert slit open the letter. “I respect your principles. I'm equally principled—and equally loyal to my employer. As you'll soon find out.”
“We shall see.” Wells marched by, heading directly to the ballroom, presumably weaving his way over to the French doors.
Two or three minutes passed.
Abruptly, Royce Chadwick emerged, preceding Wells, and crossing directly over to where Hibbert stood, openly reading the contents of the letter.
“What is it?” he asked his manservant quietly.
“One of your avenues paid off.” Hibbert turned to face his employer, his tone no lower than normal.
Clearly, whatever was in that missive was not of a confidential nature.
“Which one? The list of noblemen I gave you to follow up on, or the list of wealthy matrons who help but abandoned women?”
“The latter. It's Lady Barton, the seventy-year-old matron you suggested contacting in Berkshire. She's been abroad, and only just returned. One of our men spoke with her. She remembers Glynnis Martin, went on and on about how pretty she was, how desolate she was left alone with her babe. It seems Lady Barton sent her to an elderly dowager's home—a Dowager Duchess...” Hibbert glanced at the message, “of Pearson.”
“And the babe?”
“She went with her mother. Glynnis was hired as a paid companion. As far as Lady Barton knows, she and her daughter are still living at Pearson Manor in Berkshire.”
“Excellent.” Chadwick was triumphant. “This party will be over tomorrow night. I'll ride to the duchess's home straight from here. With any luck, I'll have news of Ryder's daughter for him by the first of the year.”
“Fine work, my lord.”
“Thanks to Lady Barton.” Chadwick clapped Hibbert on the shoulder. “Come. This calls for a drink.”
“In the ballroom?” -
“Of course. Where else?” Chadwick paused to glance at Wells, who was looming behind them like a vigilant sentry, far enough away to ensure their privacy, but nearby enough to assert his position in the household—and to clearly demonstrate his disapproval over Hibbert's behavior.
“It's all right, Wells,” Chadwick assured him. “I appreciate your diligence, but Hibbert was following my orders. He's instructed to read my mail. He also knew I was expecting this letter. So you can relax.”
Wells nodded, although his back remained stiff. “As you wish, my lord.”
“Would you care to join Hibbert and me for a drink?”
The butler cleared his throat. “No, thank you.” He slanted a purposeful look at Hibbert. “I wouldn't feel right.”
Chadwick shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He gestured toward the ballroom. “Let's go, Hibbert.”
Hastily, Wells interceded, takin
g an inadvertent step to block Hibbert's way. “My lord,” he addressed Chadwick respectfully. “It really isn't appropriate—”
“I realize that.” Chadwick was already in motion, his heels echoing as he bypassed Wells and headed toward the party. “But as you've probably heard about me, I rarely give a damn what's appropriate and what's not. I'm going into the ballroom for a drink. And Hibbert is joining me.” He paused, angled about to face Wells. “My invitation still stands. You can make it a threesome.”
“I think not, my lord.”
“Fine. Until later then.” Chadwick continued on his way.