He was not so cup-shot, however, that he failed to realize the absurdity of applying to Mr. Slyte for advice that did not involve the drape of a jacket or the tying of a cravat. Better he had spoken with Lady Syb. Now there was a sobering thought. Chislett opened the front door. “Welcome home, Your Grace.” Justin eyed his solemn butler. “You are distressed, Chislett. Has some other disaster struck? I hope you do not mean to tell me that we have another houseguest.” The butler’s thin lips quivered. “I was not aware that you were expecting additional visitors, Your Grace.” “I’m not.” Justin allowed himself to be divested of hat and coat. “However, neither was I expecting the ones I already have. Nor am I particularly grateful for them. Is that piano music I hear?” The butler inclined his head. “It is, Your Grace.” Again that strange quiver of the lips. “The ladies are in the drawing room.” The ladies were up to something, judging from Chislett’s odd behavior.
