“Thank you!” Reginald said and saluted him before taking a long drink. The gin was chilled and served over ice with a slice of lime. “That’s divine. Keep these coming,” he said and shooed the footman off. “Now, where was I? Ah!” Reginald held up a finger while he drank and arranged his thoughts. “I need to find someone. Lord Win—” He started but stopped when Lavender cleared his throat loudly and sat forward.
“The thing is, Marston, I don’t want to help you. I know who you are and we share a few acquaintances but I don’t actually know you,” Lavender replied but Reginald swatted impatiently.
“Of course, you do. I’m Reginald but most importantly, I know you.”
“I’m certain your name is George.”
“Maybe but nobody calls me that. My close friends call me Reginald.”
“No one calls you Reginald and I don’t believe that you have close friends,” Lavender murmured. His paper flipped up in an attempt to dismiss Reginald.
“I don’t need close friends. I’ve got you,” Reginald said as he scooted to the edge of the seat and smiled brightly when Lavender lowered the paper and squinted at him.
“I barely know you, Marston.”
“I have always thought of myself as a bit of an enigma,” Reginald agreed with a wink. “But I know this has to work out if you’re here. You always come through.”
“I do?” Lavender asked and his neck stretched as his eyes swept around the room warily. “Who have you been talking to?”
“Absolutely no one. I just got here but if you’re referring to your…interests and occupation, I’m sure I can guess.”
“Now, see here, Marston,” Lavender began to rise but Reginald shushed him loudly and gestured for him to stay in his seat.
“None of that matters! I need your help and you’re all I have, other than my butler and he thinks I’ve blown a fuse.”
“I’m not sure what that means but I suspect he’s not the only one.” With that, Lavender rose and pointed at Reginald when he started to stand. “Do not follow me.”
Reginald’s lips pulled tight in frustration and he turned in his seat to see where Lavender was headed. He caught another man smirking behind a document, apparently amused by Reginald’s misfortune. Joining him seemed only right since he was so invested in Reginald’s business. Reginald hopped up and jauntily skipped across the sitting room and dropped into the armchair next to him.
“What’s your name?”
“My name?” The other man peered at Reginald as if he had an extra head. “It’s Dudley, you dunderhead. But you’d know that as we’re cousins. Unfortunately.”
“Mmm…” Reginald agreed absently, then pointed. “Tell me, what do you know of the man I was just talking to?” Reginald whispered loudly. Dudley, in his mid-forties and rather bland, wrinkled his nose at Reginald.
“What are you on, Marston? I heard there was some trouble earlier.”
“Did you? That was fast.”
“No. Guilia Anastasia was fast. Says you tossed her out like old rubbish and that it’s over.”
“Dear God, who cares?” Reginald fanned in front of his face as if he smelled old rubbish.
“More than a few men, I’d say…”
“Why?” Reginald asked, his head tilting curiously and Dudley pulled a face. He really was an absolute bore but Reginald had to make do with what was available.
“Why, indeed? Why would any man care about a beautiful, recently jilted young soprano?”
Reginald hummed sympathetically as he nodded. “I hope she finds love,” he said and reached so he could slap his new friend’s knee. “You didn’t answer my question. What do you know of that man?”
“I do my best to know as little as possible about Lord Lavender’s business.”
“Why? Is he of dubious character?” Reginald whispered excitedly, earning a bewildered glare.
“Are you on something?”
“Always. Why?”