* * *
“Mister Perriton would liketo see you.” Danders, the Perriton’s butler announced as he took Cordelia’s bonnet and gloves. “In his study at your earliest convenience, miss.”
Cordelia huffed and patted the butler’s arm. “We both know Frederick cares for no one’s convenience but his own.”
“As you say, miss.” Danders, having delivered her eldest brother’s message bowed and walked in serene silence down the corridor that led to the conservatory. No doubt to ascertain whether her middle brother, Sinjin, had eaten at all since supper last night.
If not for Danders her botany mad sibling might never eat, sleep, or do anything save commune with the plants he so carefully cultivated. Cordelia understood that sort of obsession all too well. Her writing consumed her to the point she often went without meals or rest when her stories refused to relinquish their hold on her.
“Convenient or not, you’d best attend our lord and master,” her youngest brother, Reginald, drawled as he sauntered halfway down the front staircase only to rest a hip on the banister and slide the rest of the way down.
Cordelia rolled her eyes as he landed on the marble floor with a violent thud of his booted feet which guaranteed scuffs to the foyer sure to set their housekeeper, Mrs. Shaw, into a fit of the vapors.
“Your lord and master, Reggie,” she said as the footman at the top of the stairs caught her eye. “I have no master.”
The footman, Andrew, tapped two sealed messages against the waistcoat of his simple green and gold livery. She nodded her acknowledgement as she punched her brother’s arm and started up the wide Persian carpeted staircase.
“Don’t I know it,” Reggie replied. “Enjoy your tête-à-tête with our keeper.”
“Enjoy your tête-à-tête with that opera dancer,” she called over her shoulder.
“Harridan,” he said, as he took his hat and gloves from the footman at the door.
“Reprobate.” Cordelia absently waved him out the door as she reached the top of the stairs and took the messages from Andrew. “When did these arrive?” She kept her voice low and glanced around the first-floor landing and the wide corridor that led to her father’s study which Frederick had taken as his own.
“The one came not long after you left this morning, miss.” Cordelia recognized the seal of her publisher at once.Arrogant damned— “A boy brought the other not quarter of an hour past.”
She opened the second message first. The paper was wrinkled and torn and the seal was but a drop of tallow, barely a seal at all. The penmanship, however, presented a neat, brief, and disturbing message.
Polly has gone missing.
Tall Mary
“There you are. Could you step in here please, Cordelia?” Frederick’s imperious voice startled her. She shoved both the opened and unopened messages into the bodice of her dress. The footman snorted and tilted his nose up in perfect imitation of her brother, which forced her to choke back a laugh.
“Don’t go far,” she told Andrew quietly so as Frederick might not hear. “I’ll be going to the bookshop with you today.”
“Trouble?” the footman asked as Cordelia straightened her bodice and shook out her skirts.
“For someone. Give me quarter of an hour and then invent some household catastrophe to rescue me. That is all the time I can bear with Lord Frederick of the Fastidious Habits.”
“Will do, miss. Good luck.”
“Thank you, but I shan’t need it,’ she said as she strode to the study.
“Wasn’t intended for you, miss,” Andrew said with a grin as he turned and hurried down the stairs.
“What can I do for you, Frederick?” With her eldest brother Cordelia found her best approach to be one of bored confidence. Poor man never knew what to make of her, her preference to be sure.
“Good day to you as well, sister. Please sit.” Frederick indicated the hard uncomfortable chair before his desk.
“I’d rather not, thank you. I have several appointments to keep.” She strolled about the room and picked up a book here, adjusted a statue there.
Frederick cleared his throat. “We have been in Town nearly a year and save for your literary society and yourcharitywork you have made no effort at all to go out into society. Mother and Father are concerned.” He held up an opened letter. “You really must make an effort to meet people before you are labeled an eccentric and relegated to spinsterhood.”
“A fate worse than death,” she said, hand to her heart in mock horror. “Tell me, Freddie, how would Mama and Papa know of my social schedule enough to be worried? I have not mentioned my comings and goings in my letters to them.”
He had the good grace to appear a little contrite. Very little. “I felt it my duty to—”
