“Ah, my hat,” Max said, standing up. “At last.”
“Sorry it took so long, Your Grace,” Stowell said as he crossed the room. “But the laundry is a bit overwhelmed just now. Short-staffed, I’m told. Lady Stratham,” he added with a nod of greeting as he placed Max’s top hat on his head.
“Tell me, Stowell,” Delia said as the valet handed his master a pair of gloves, “is the situation in the laundry due to people being let go permanently?”
“I’m not sure, my lady.” He paused to drape Max’s cloak over his shoulders. “But I have heard that staff is being pared down, and that’s very worrying for everyone. Things seem rather stressful at present.”
“See, Max?” Delia murmured, feeling vindicated. “I told you so.”
Her cousin was given no chance to reply.
“I do hope,” Stowell said as he handed Max an umbrella, “the delay hasn’t made you late to lunch, Your Grace.”
“Not to worry,” Max said cheerfully. “As I already told my cousinhere, the later I arrive, the better. Walk down with me, Dee?” he added, gesturing to the door.
She’d have had to be held back by chains to do otherwise, with her question about her future at the Savoy still hanging in the air. “Well?” she asked once they had left the suite and started down the corridor toward the lift. “Is my job at risk?”
“Did Calderon say it was?”
“Not in so many words, but the implication was plain that he’d love to get rid of me. Any possible excuse will do, I’m sure.”
“Then don’t give him one.”
“But he can terminate my job just because he wants to?”
“He can. So, since you’ve asked me what you ought to do, my advice—not that I think you’ll take it—is to be as cooperative as possible.”
“Bend the knee to that man?” She groaned, hating the prospect. “I don’t know if I can. It would be so much better if you would help me find a way to get rid of him.”
“Sorry.”
She made a face at that breezy response. “No, you’re not. But if he and I are found dead one day with my hands round his throat and his letter opener through my heart like a scene from some Shakespearean tragedy, it’ll be all your fault.”
“I’ll give a beautiful eulogy at your funeral.”
“Thanks,” she countered dryly as they paused by the electric lift and he pushed the call button. “So you’re leaving me to fight my battles alone?”
“Afraid so. Those battles will be epic, I’m sure, and I’m sorry I won’t be here to see any of them.”
“I can tell you every lurid detail when you and Evie come down for the season.”
“No, you can’t. Evie and I won’t be doing the season this year.”
“What?”
Before Max could explain, the lift doors opened, revealing a boy in livery. “Your Grace,” he said, giving a respectful tip of his cap to the duke before turning his attention to her. “Lady Stratham.”
“Samuel,” she greeted him. “How’s your mother?”
“Ever so much better, my lady. That liniment you sent over for her chest did her a world of good. It was very kind of you.”
“Not at all. And I’m glad she’s on the mend. Give her my best, will you?”
“Of course, my lady.” He put his hand on the lever of the elevator mechanism. “Going down?”
“Yes,” Max answered. “Ground floor, please.” He turned, gesturing for Delia to precede him, then followed her into the elevator. As Samuel closed the doors behind them, she resumed the subject at hand.
“So why aren’t you and Evie doing the season? Something exciting, I hope? Paris, perhaps? Or Biarritz?” she added as he shook his head. “Or sailing up to the Norwegian fjords?”
