“Send for Darley at once, please.” “He’s waiting for you in the study, sir.” Houston shut the door. “I took the liberty of offering him a glass of sherry. Shall I tell Cook to expect him for luncheon?” “He’s waiting? But why?” Lucan dragged off his gloves then dropped them in the butler’s extended hand. “Rather early for spirits, isn’t it? Is something amiss?” Much like a bee buzzing about in its compulsive search of nectar, Darley seldom remained idle for more than a few moments. That he perched in Lucan’s study with drink in hand suggested his news from Derbyshire mightn’t be pleasant. “I’m sure I wouldn’t know, Your Grace.” Houston raised his chin. “Mr. Darley is not in the habit of confiding in me.” Lucan cocked a brow. “Houston, don’t feed me that gammon. A fly doesn’t fart in this house without your knowledge. Now cut line.”
