Of course, they’d probably view it as assisting Cupid. Just as long as they succeeded, he didn’t care. “You’re very welcome to stay and join the festivities my sisters have planned.” Rising, he crossed to the bellpull. “I believe my chatelaine, Minerva Chesterton, is presently out, but she should return shortly. Meanwhile I’m sure my staff will make you comfortable.”
All three frowned.
Retford arrived, and he gave orders for their accommodation. They rose, distinctly haughty, and increasingly suspicious.
He ushered them to the door. “I’ll leave you to get settled. No doubt Minerva will look in on you as soon as she returns. I’ll see you at dinner—until then, you must excuse me. Business calls.”
They narrowed their eyes at him, but consented to follow Retford.
Letitia, the last to leave, looked him in the eye. “You know we’ll hound you until you tell us this amazingly insightful lady’s name.”
Unperturbed, he bowed her out; they’d know his lady’s name before he reached the drawing room that evening.
With an irritated “humph!” Letitia went.
Closing the door, he turned back to his desk.
And let his brows rise. Lady Osbaldestone and the other beldames might just have helped.
Returning from her ride, Minerva walked into the front hall to discover a handsome gentleman ambling about admiring the paintings.
He turned at the sound of her boot steps, and smiled charmingly.
“Good morning.” Despite his country-elegant attire, and that smile, she sensed a familiar hardness behind his façade. “Can I help you?”
He bowed. “Jack Warnefleet, ma’am.”
She glanced around, wondering where Retford was. “Have you just arrived?”
“No.” He smiled again. “I was shown into the library, but I’ve studied all the paintings there. My wife and two of her friends are upstairs, bearding Dal—Wolverstone—in his den.” Hazel eyes twinkled. “I thought I ought to come out here in case a precipitous retreat was in order.”
He’d nearly said Dalziel, which meant he was an acquaintance from Whitehall. She held out her hand. “I’m Miss Chesterton. I act as chatelaine here.”
He bowed over her hand. “Delighted, my dear. I have to admit I have no idea whether we’ll be staying or—” He broke off and looked up the stairs. “Ah—here they are.”
They both turned as three ladies preceded Retford down the stairs. Minerva recognized Letitia and smiled.
Beside her, Jack Warnefleet murmured, “And from their frowns, I suspect we’re staying.”
She didn’t get a chance to ask what he meant; Letitia, seeing her, dispensed with her frown and came hurrying down to embrace her.
“Minerva—just who we need.” Letitia turned as the other two ladies joined them. “I don’t believe you’ve met Lady Clarice, for her sins Lady Warnefleet, wife of this reprobate.” She flicked a hand at Jack, who merely grinned. “And this is Lady Penelope, Countess of Lostwithiel—her husband is Charles, another of Royce’s ex-operatives, as is Jack here.”
Minerva touched hands with the other two ladies. “Welcome to Wolverstone Castle. I gather you’re staying.” She glanced at Retford. “Rooms in the west wing, I think, Retford.” The other guests were mostly in the south and east wings.
“Indeed, ma’am. I’ll have the ladies’ and gentleman’s bags taken up immediately.”
“Thank you.” Linking arms, Letitia leaned close. “Is there somewhere we can talk privately?”
“Of course.” Minerva glanced at Retford. “If you would bring tea to the duchess’s morning room?”
“At once, ma’am.”
She looked at Jack Warnefleet. “Sir?”
He smiled. “Jack. And I believe I’ll follow the bags and find our room.” He inclined his head to them all. “I’ll catch up with you at luncheon.”
“You’ll hear the gong,” she assured him.