A Season of Hope
““You there, I’m waiting for a visitor. Anyone arrived yet?”
Marcus Wheatley, steward to the Duke of Danby, looked at his employer from across the room. Even with the eye-patch that concealed his empty socket, Marcus could see the displeasure creasing the old codger’s face.
“Not to my knowledge, Your Grace.”
The duke waved at the leather-winged back chair across from his desk. “Sit. Sit. You know, first bring over a decanter of brandy and two glasses.”
Marcus hesitated, but only a moment, before he fetched the brandy and glasses. He pulled the stopper bottle and poured two generous glasses full of the brown brew. He glowered at the shimmery liquid. He’d sworn years ago he’d never touch anything French but had made an exception in terms of brandy. When a man had to deal with the physical pain and secret demons that haunted Marcus, well, then partaking in bloody French liquors was a minor betrayal of his promise, really.
Write Review:
User Reviews: