What man in London wasn’t? “I couldn’t say, really.”
“Well, I hope for his sake that he’s not too smitten with her, for I think he shall be sorely disappointed.”
Anna looked at Barbara. “Disappointed?”
Like a girl, Barbara covered her mouth and giggled. “Don’t you know, Anna?” When Anna shook her head, she frowned. “Truly, you can’t guess?”
Anna shook her head again.
Barbara playfully rolled her eyes, then grabbed Anna’s hand. “Silly, Drake intends to offer for Lucy!”
Anna’s mouth fell open. “No,” she said low.
Barbara nodded fiercely. “I’m not to say a word, for I’ve been sworn to secrecy, you see, but really, what secrets can there be between two sisters? Well, future sisters,” she clarified, nudging Anna a little. “You must promise me you won’t mention a word to Lucy!”
“Barbara, are you quite certain?” Anna demanded.
“Of course! But it’s not to happen for a fortnight, at the very least—Drake needs to tidy up some of Nigel’s affairs first. But as soon as he has, it’s ticketyboo, off to speak with your father!”
When Anna did not react—other than to feel suddenly and terribly ill—Barbara giggled, nudged her again, and clasped her hand. “We’re to be sisters, Anna!” she whispered happily.
Twelve
I t was the most miserable affair Grif had ever suffered through in his life, thanks to the diabhal in the lovely dark green gown. If he’d been a little closer—say, within arm’s reach—he would have happily wrung her neck.
Who in God’s name did she think she was, questioning him like that? Did she think herself above the dictates of decorum? What exactly did she think gave her license to be so…so unbearable?
He’d taken his leave as soon as it was politely possible. Lady Seaton had been nonplussed by his quick departure, but Grif did not dare give the diabhal another inch, lest she expose him. And what was it, exactly, that the chit knew? Did she know more than that there was not, for all intents and purposes, an Ardencaple?
Disgusted, Grif arrived at Dalkeith House just after midnight. He stalked inside, wanting to express his anger to someone, but was met with cold silence. Growling beneath his breath, he tossed his hat and gloves and cloak aside and went in search of his compeers. A quick search of the ground floor turned up no one.
Grif’s mood was growing blacker by the moment, and he took the stairs two at a time. On the first floor, where he and Hugh had suites, he found no one. On the second floor, he found Miss Brody’s room empty and moved on to Dudley’s room.
Dudley was fast asleep, his snoring rattling the four walls. Striding to the bed, Grif put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. Dudley made a sound of disgruntlement, then rolled onto his side. Grif shook him again, only harder, and the old man came up like a shot, sputtering and grabbing at his nightcap. “Chan fhaic thu na beanntan leis á cheò!”
“Of course ye canna see the hills for the mist, Dudley! We’re in London!” Grif said, shaking him again. “There are no hills, no mist!”
Dudley blinked. “Aye.”
“Where is MacAlister?” Grif demanded.
Fully aware of his surroundings now, Dudley swung his skinny old legs over the side of the bed and stood gingerly, straightening his sleeping gown. “I canna say, sir. He departed shortly after ye did.”
Mary Queen of Scots, he was going to kill Hugh with his bare hands one day—he could feel it in his bones. “And Miss Brody?”
Dudley blinked, looked up in surprise. “Has she gone?”
“Diah, how long have ye been abed, then!”
“I canna help it, Master Griffin! Me gout aches something fierce!” he said, grimacing.
God in heaven, his gout. Grif sighed, patted Dudley on the shoulder. “I beg yer pardon, Dudley. I’m a wee bit out of sorts, I reckon. ’Tis no’ yer doing that MacAlister is a bloody rotten rogue!”
“Aye, sir,” Dudley said, easing back onto the bed so that he could rub his knees.
With a wince of sympathy, Grif asked, “Is there anything I can do for ye, Dudley?”
The old man shook his head. “Fiona, mo ghraidh, she’d make a poultice for me joints, but I donna know how she did it.”
Grif could hear the longing in his voice, and thought, for the first time since they’d come to London, that it was too much for the old man. “We must send ye home, Dudley,” he said softly. “We didna intend to be gone so long, did we, more than two months now?”
Dudley smiled wryly, but shook his head. “Aye, I miss me Fiona, I do,” he said. “But it’s important that we find the beastie, sir. I wouldna feel right leaving ye to find it on yer own, I wouldna.”
“Lay yer head down, Dudley, and donna think of it now,” Grif said kindly. “There’ll be enough fretting for us both on the morrow.”