Susan patted her friend’s hand. “Who can say? They might have given their lives for their country at Trafalgar in any event. Now that you’re free of your late, unlamented husband, you get to live close to Gabriel.”
Rebecca beamed a smile. “And see him happy with his lovely wife and children.”
“Anyway, I digress,” Susan said while they waited for the second course to be served. “Blair did mention there is a racecourse not far from here, in Chester. He also told me of a rumor that a certain landowner who frequents Chester is apparently up to his eyeballs in debt. He owns a thoroughbred he wants to sell.”
Rebecca clapped her hands. “We could go for an outing.”
“I hate to admit it, but we’ll probably have to talk Gabriel into taking us.”
Excursions
Griff sat downcarefully on a rickety chair in the morning room at Clifton Heights and stared in disgust at the breakfast that awaited him. The fatty bacon, shriveled mushrooms, and watery fried eggs only aggravated his queasy stomach. There was no way of knowing how long the unappetizing mess had sat there, except that the chipped plate was ice cold.
Admittedly, it was his own fault. He’d risen late, a consequence of drinking far too much brandy before retiring last night—but it had been a hell of a day.
However, the abysmal breakfast confirmed his suspicion Clifton Heights didn’t even boast a competent cook. He’d never cooked an egg himself, but how difficult could it be to do it properly?
He’d hoped the copious amounts of brandy would induce a deep sleep, but his fitful dozing had been disturbed by memories of a court full of angry people and a sharp-tongued, opinionated bluestocking.
He didn’t care for brunettes and had nothing but disdain for women who meddled in the affairs of men. Yet, he’d spent the night peeling off Lady Susan Crompton’s clothes, imagining her naked, writhing beneath him, begging…
Disgusted when his body responded predictably to the erotic vision, he shoved away the plate of congealing grease, realizing glumly an efficient footman was unlikely to appear to whisk the abomination away.
He stalked out of the morning room, surprised to almost bump into Andrews exiting the drawing room, a burlap sack in hand. He wondered briefly what the butler was doing in the drawing room, but had more pressing matters on his mind. “Did you speak to Mrs. Brass?” he asked.
Looking annoyed, Andrews peered down his long nose. “I’ve spoken with the housekeeper on numerous occasions, my lord.”
Griff clenched his jaw, resolved to be rid of the insolent fellow once Fothersgill found a replacement. “I mean about the sheets on my bed. They smelled musty, though I instructed…”
“Mrs. Brass comes every other day,” Andrews interrupted.
“So, she’ll be here today and you can tell her to change the linens and air out my bedroom.”
Andrews sighed. “No, my lord, she’ll be here tomorrow.”
Griff stared, desperately trying to think what reprimand Potts would offer this cheeky…
That brought him to his senses. Potts would discern immediately that the inefficient Fothersgill lay at the root of the problems at Clifton. Replace him and all would be well. “I don’t suppose my estate manager is about?” he asked, suspecting he already knew the answer.
“No, my lord. I haven’t seen him for a day or two. If you’ll excuse me.”
With that, he was gone before Griff had a chance to ask him what was in the sack and if his letters had been posted.
There was nothing for it but to seek advice and guidance from the Earl of Farnworth. He set off to find Frederick, intending to travel to Thicketford Manor. There must be an inn on the way where he could procure a decent breakfast.
*
It had takensome convincing, both during and after last evening’s meal, but Gabriel had finally agreed to escort his ladies to the races at Chester. Susan’s idea to have Patsy add her voice to the cause proved to be the winning ploy. She’d counted on the earl’s inability to deny his eight-year-old stepdaughter anything she wanted.
Emma complained her husband spoiled their daughter, but Susan judged her friend equally guilty on that front. Patsy had even convinced her doting parents to provide a “chum” for her poodle, insisting Wellington must be feeling left out since all of Patsy’s attention was now on her baby Rafe. Thus, Wellington and Prinny (quickly rechristened Princess when it was discovered he was a bitch) were constantly underfoot, snapping at anyone who dared think of petting one of their five equally bad-tempered offspring.
Susan supposed she couldn’t blame Gabriel and Emma for spoiling Patsy after the terrible kidnapping ordeal the child had undergone. Heaven only knew what might have happened if Gabriel and his valet hadn’t rescued Patsy from the clutches of their vile neighbor, Arthur Coleman, and his accomplice, the witless maid, Tillie.
Arthur had completely disappeared after Patsy’s rescue but Susan suspected Baron Whiteside had spirited his son off to the family’s plantation in Jamaica. The things people did for their children! It was heartbreaking that a kindly man like the baron had risked prosecution and the confiscation of his estate to save his reprobate son from the gallows.
As for Tillie, the last anyone had seen of her was outside the church after Gabriel and Emma’s wedding. No grand house would employ her after her dismissal from Thicketford Manor. She was probably an inmate of the Preston poorhouse by now.
Susan hoped Patsy wouldn’t turn out to be a brat like Arthur when she grew up. It wasn’t likely. Arthur had been an obnoxious twerp when he and the Cromptons played together as children. Despite sometimes showing evidence of being spoiled, Patsy was a sweet girl.