““Why, there’s a coincidence! What ho, Mr. Grimsby!” Freddie lifted his hand and waved. “Come to join us for a round or two?” The rucksack rested like a leaden weight against Emilie’s back. She cast a quick eye around the taproom. The heads were still mostly bent; the mugs of ale rested promisingly next to their owners. A hundred yards distant, the station clock was ticking away, second after relentless second, until the four thirty-eight from York would arrive at the platform in a massive h...iss of steam, and a restless duke would start pacing the carpet of his private room at the Ashland Spa Hotel. “Yes,” she said. “That is, no. I was hoping for . . . that is . . .” Freddie’s eyes widened with speculation. “What’s that, Mr. Grimsby? You’re not here on your own initiative, are you?” Emilie drew breath. “I have come to fetch you, your lordship. What did you think? Simply because I’ve dismissed you early doesn’t give you license to ruin your mind and your character in such an unseemly manner.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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