Time to give things a prod. ‘I wonder where Calderbrook has got to,’ Sophie said. ‘He is usually amongst the first of us down.’
The beringed hand next to her continued to butter a roll without a tremor. When she glanced at Hunt he raised his eyebrows and gave a slight shrug. The Thorne family either had nerves of steel or they were all innocent.
And then the door opened and Cal walked in.
Chapter Eighteen - Where the Duke Draws a Blade
Sophie released the handle of her coffee cup and it rattled into the saucer, splashing the cloth around with droplets of brown liquid.
Cal looked like a man who had spent all night awake and seriously ill. His skin was pale and tight, his eyes shadowed, his walk careful. Yet no-one seemed to notice anything amiss as he sat and gestured to a footman for coffee. Conversations broke off as people said Good morning and Cal replied briefly. Perhaps they assumed he was simply badly hung-over.
‘The post has arrived, Your Grace,’ Renshaw informed Cal. ‘Your correspondence has been delivered to your study.’
‘Please distribute our guests’ letters.’ Cal glanced round. ‘We are informal here, please, feel free.’
The letter sat beside her plate, ignored, while she sipped at her fresh cup of coffee and tried to watch Cal without appearing anxious and drawing attention to him. Jared Hunt’s mouth was a tight line that she supposed was frustration and Cal was making no pretence at eating, nor, she was glad to see, drinking the strong black coffee.
‘It is drizzling this morning,’ Lady Peter observed. ‘I suggest, ladies, that we take our sewing to the Long Gallery. Perhaps some of you might care to play for us on the piano there.’
Sophie made sounds that she hoped signified interest and agreement, all the time aware of her mother’s gaze on her face and of Cal, apparently staying upright in his chair by sheer force of will alone.
She caught his eye and mouthed, ‘Go to bed,’ at him and felt herself blush as he raised one eyebrow and sent her a look that suggested she might like to join him. Perhaps he was not about to die, after all.
‘Sophie.’ She jumped, her nerves raw, and found her mother standing beside her chair.
‘Mama?’
‘What have you been doing? You look dreadful. Are you sickening for something?’
‘I had a very disturbed night, Mama, and hardly any sleep. I really cannot account for it.’ Which was true enough, she had no idea what had made Cal so ill.
‘And Calderbrook looks decidedly under the weather as well.’
‘So does Mr Thorne,’ Sophie murmured. ‘And Mr Hunt doesn’t look quite his normal self either. Perhaps they were drinking rather heavily last night.’
‘I do hope not. I do not like to think of such nice young men drinking to excess.’
‘No, Mama.’
‘Who is your correspondent, dear?’
‘Correspondent? Oh, I have a letter. I hadn’t noticed.’ Mama did not move. Although she would not insist on reading her daughter’s letters, she would certainly expect to be told who was writing.
Sophie picked up an unused knife, slit the seal and partly unfolded the first sheet to show the stick-maker’s letterhead. Why couldn’t she have opened it earlier, before her mother came to stand right beside her? ‘It is from the stick-maker.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I bought a cane from him as a present for Cal and he has sent his account.’
‘To this address?’
And why did Mama have to be so intelligent? ‘I stupidly forgot to give him our London address, but I told him I was coming here and who the cane was for so he could engrave Cal’s initials on the silver band.’
‘I see. He is most urgent for his money, I must say.’
Sophie shrugged. ‘I was a new customer, I suppose he is a little cautious. It is not a large shop.’
Out of the corner of her eye she could see Hunt engaging the other men in an earnest discussion of the rival merits of billiards, a visit to the gun room, reading the newspapers in the library or braving the drizzle for a walk. Inevitably the billiard table and the gun room won out and the men began to leave the table and straggle out.
Only Sophie seemed to notice Hunt stop beside Cal, partly shielding him from the room so that he could get unsteadily to his feet and pause to regain his balance. ‘I want to see those new Manton’s of yours,’ Hunt said as they left the room, tucking his hand companionably under his elbow as they strolled out. It was beautifully done.
‘I think I will go and lie down, Mama. If I can get a few hours’ sleep I will feel so much better. Otherwise I will be poor company later today.’