Page 8 of Arcane Entanglement
Evander frowned as the shrill sound of enchanted whistles splintered the neighbourhood, the crystal vial he’d been hanging on to throughout the chase digging into his palm.
Chapter4
It was nearingsundown by the time Evander made it back to his townhouse in Mayfair. His manservant took one look at the state of his attire when he stepped inside the foyer and said something rude.
This earned Hargrove a disapproving stare from Cordelia Sinclair, Evander’s former nanny and the current housekeeper of the Ravenwood estates.
“What the devil have you been up to, my Lord?” Hargrove fussed as he divested Evander of his coat.
“I had to visit a crime scene.”
Hargrove took a sniff of the coat and curled a lip. “Was it in a cesspit, my Lord?”
“Mr. Hargrove,” Mrs. Sinclair warned in a stern voice.
Hargrove shrugged, unrepentant. “What, Mrs. S? I’m sure you can smell our Lordship’s newEau de Latrinefrom where you’re standing.”
Mrs. Sinclair narrowed her eyes behind her wire-rimmed spectacles.
Evander swallowed a sigh and tugged on his cravat as his housekeeper and manservant launched into one of their daily squabbles. He was halfway to the grand staircase dominating the entrance hall when Mrs. Sinclair addressed him in a sharp tone.
“I hope you haven’t forgotten about your engagement tonight, my Lord.”
Evander mouthed a silent curse under his breath. The fact that he was meant to be attending a ball that evening had completely slipped his mind after this afternoon’s events.
He turned and directed an apologetic look at the housekeeper.
“Thank you for reminding me, Mrs. Sinclair. I’m afraid I’d forgotten about it.”
The housekeeper’s expression softened at his contrite mien. “You best make haste, my Lord. The hour is late and your partner for the ball is not known for her patience.”
Hargrove headed for Evander, a worrying glint in his eye. “Do not fret, Mrs. S. I’ll make sure he’s spick-and-span for the lady.”
Evander resigned himself to his fate as his manservant shepherded him towards his private quarters on the first floor.
Night had fallen by the time his carriage pulled up outside a magnificent, white stucco townhouse in Eaton Square. The ornate magic lamps framing the glossy, black double doors cast an enchanted light on polished brassware and the irritated expression of the beautiful, green-eyed blonde who stood waiting at the top of the flight of steps leading to the entrance.
“You’re late, your Grace,” Lady Genevieve “Ginny” Hartley snapped as Evander’s footman alighted and opened the carriage door.
Evander ducked his head and stepped out to greet her. “It couldn’t be helped, my Lady.”
Ginny’s resplendent peacock-blue gown shimmered when she descended the stairs, diamond and sapphire glinting in her ears and at her throat. Her piqued expression faded as she greeted the footman.
“Hello, Samuel.”
The young lad bobbed his head mutely, his ears flushing a delicate pink.
Ginny’s gaze shifted to the coachman. “I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from your cold, Graham.”
The older man tipped his top hat with a faint smile where he sat in the box seat. “Thank you, my Lady.”
“It appears the Duke’s help is getting more respect than the Duke himself tonight,” Evander said drily. He took Ginny’s white, silk-gloved hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles.
“That’s because the Duke often forgets the concept of time,” Ginny retorted. She perused his outfit with a shrewd stare. “You look nice.”
Evander smiled faintly. “So do you.” He waited until she’d gathered the skirt of her gown before handing her inside the carriage. “I’m sure I’ll be the envy of every gentleman at tonight’s ball.”
Ginny preened a little as she sank into the dark green velvet upholstery covering the bench seats. “And I’m certain I shall be the envy of all the ladies, your Grace.”
