There was a significant pause before her sister replied, "Yes, and I suppose that explains why your wig is on backwards."
The cheery morning sun sprayed the disaster area with golden light.
Now, where was her hairbrush?
It had been here only a moment ago.
Calliope tossed some of the clothes that littered the floor into the air. No brush. She tried another pile. Still no brush.
Deirdre must have hidden it somewhere before she left.
Grumbling, Calliope got down on her knees and looked under the bed. Empty.
Closet floor? Only clothes.
Well, she might as well dress before he arrived.
Her face felt warm. Of course she should dress before he arrived; that wasn’t what she had meant.
Calliope stepped over a pile of garments and reached for an enticing sapphire morning dress, one of the only ones that had been spared in her frenzy. She touched the delicate material and then snapped her hand back as if scalded. The fine-spun cloth fluttered to the floor with the pillaged masses.
No, she had better wear the dowdy gray dress, the one with the really high neck and demure lines.
Before she could change her mind, she stepped into the staid dress.
Now, where was her brush?
A brisk knock resounded through the house and Grimmond’s voice at the front door announced the arrival of Angelford. Calliope checked the clock. It had just turned noon, and she had whittled the morning away.
She ran to the mirror for one last check. Her hairbrush was lying on top of the dressing table, mocking her. Calliope snatched it up and dragged it through her locks, wondering for the thousandth time what was wrong with her.
What would he say? She descended the stairs at an admirably calm clip and headed for the library.
Angelford was sitting behind her desk. The uncertainty was replaced with irritation.
"Good day, my lord. Please, make yourself right at home."
He looked up and grimaced at her frumpy dress. His eyes then surveyed her face and he paused for a moment, his face as inscrutable as it had been in the carriage the night before. And then he smiled.
"Thank you, Miss Minton. I intend to. Please be seated." He motioned to the guest chair and she resisted the urge to stab him with her letter opener, which was opportunistically placed on the edge of her desk. He must have followed her gaze because he picked up the opener, whispered something that sounded like touché and moved it out of reach.
"Your eyes look a bit glazed. Didn’t you sleep well?" His voice was low and lazy.
.
"I slept fine. Why shouldn’t I have?"
"I won’t apologize for what happened last night in the coach, because I enjoyed our interlude and so did you. My only regret is that the ride was over too fast. One day soon that won’t be the case."
All available rejoinders scattered in her head and she blushed.
In the blink of an eye, he switched from seductive lover to businessman. In front of Angelford lay a stack of papers. He selected the top sheet and pushed it toward her. She perused it, noting that it was a duplicate of the list they had found last evening, with additional names added to the bottom.
James reached into his pocket and donned spectacles. "It’s the word Unknown on that list that bothers me."
Calliope gazed at the spectacles covering his thick lashes and was surprised to see how much more approachable he looked.
"I never knew you needed glasses."
He looked up from the page. "Only for reading. My eyes tend to get tired after looking at the illegible scrawl of most of my acquaintances."
She harrumphed. "I thought that men of your station employed little old men as secretaries so they didn’t have to dirty their hands with correspondence."
A faint smile appeared. " Feeling better, are we?"
She crossed her arms.
He shuffled through more papers and alternately pulled out sheets to add to her pile. "Consider this research material. A little background on some of our prime suspects."
She looked at his elegantly rugged profile, then peered at the mound before her, making no move to touch it.
"Well, Miss Minton, if you are not up to the task of reading through a couple of background briefs…"
The challenge was apparent in his chiding tone.
"Your backhanded challenges don’t work on me, my lord." She belied her words by reaching forward and lifting the pile. He smiled victoriously and she merely raised an eyebrow. "Someone has to be mature around here."
His smile widened and she resisted the urge to hurl the papers. What was it about him that made her want to do him bodily harm?
"Wool-gathering?"
She shot him a dark look and began reading a brief on Mr. Merriweather.
"Merriweather died three years ago. An untimely death, so we may want to inspect him more closely. I thought we should leave no stone unturned," he said.
Calliope agreed absently, something on the sheet catching her attention. "Why would a part-time wrecker get involved with the French?"
He looked up with interest. "Well, it’s like this…"
They continued discussing the documents into the late afternoon. They were making only a small dent in the piles and they still needed to go over Stephen’s extensive collecting and business interests.
***
Calliope swallowed a yawn. She needed to stretch, but there was so much more to do and she had vowed to be the last to quit.
James stood. "Why don’t we take some air? Do us both some good. Do you like Gunter’s?"
Her interest perked and she looked up. "Yes, I love ices."
"Good. Grab a wrap and let’s go."
"I’ll be back shortly," Calliope called as she sprinted up the stairs. She quickly changed out of the unflattering dress, donned a light blue day dress that was draped over a chair and added a light gray pelisse. Makeup and wig in place, she skipped down the stairs to where James was waiting in the entryway. He looked at her wig in distaste, but offered her his arm.
They set off at a quick pace toward Berkeley Square in James’s curricle. The light breeze felt cool on her cheeks and she was glad she had chosen to wear the pelisse. It was not the fashionable hour to be out, but there were a number of vehicles whose occupants paused to converse. Calliope sighed inwardly as she forced herself to flirt and dissemble with the various men they encountered.
After what seemed an inordinately long period of time, they arrived at Gunter’s Tea Shop, on the east side of the square. James stopped the bays under a spreading maple tree across the street. As Calliope stood, James put a restraining hand on her arm.
"There’s no need to rise, my dear. "
Calliope sank back into the seat, embarrassed for forgetting etiquette. In the past she had strolled into Gunter’s to buy an ice, whereas the beau monde did not find this necessary. Ices were brought to them. It was considered de rigueur.
The square was busy as usual. Vehicles of all styles and speeds occupied the lanes. Participants were sightseeing or vying to be seen. Gossiping matrons in slowly plodding chaises were passed by young bucks in high-seated phaetons weaving precariously through the traffic. Smartly dressed couples lounging in. landaus yielded to spirited horsemen who raced irreverently down the path. It was a wonderful spectator sport.
In the midst of the frenzy, waiters dodged in and out of the traffic. Calliope typically liked to watch them wend their way. But it didn’t seem as enjoyable when one of them was risking life and limb for her. She watched their waiter start across the lane. A phaeton shot past and the waiter pulled back to avoid the collision. He darted forward and encountered an older high-flyer phaeton as it rocked by, its driver trying to prevent it from tipping. It barely missed him. The waiter sidestepped an ancient landau and catapulted to their side as a curricle blazed by.
James uncurled her left hand from her skirt. His gaze had been focused on the waiter, and had never glanced her way during the perilous crossing, but somehow he had sensed her concern. She scarcely heard him order and then the waiter was off again. She somehow managed to keep her eyes open as she watched him cross the street and re-enter the shop.
James looked at her in amusement. "One would think you had never been here before."
Her head shot up. "I don’t see the problem with getting out and ordering ourselves."
He waggled a linger and touched the tip of her nose. "Much better for my consequence this way."
She had to smile. "I’m not sure that it needs any more tending, my lord."
James raised a haughty eyebrow. "One’s consequence always needs tending."
She laughed. "I’ll bet you put all the others to shame."
"I believe in being the best at everything I do."
"Well, I’ll admit you excel at being a pain in the-"
"Here you are, my lady."
Calliope glanced at the waiter standing beside the carriage in surprise. He had already returned with two ices.
"Thank you."
She averted her eyes as he barreled back across traffic. James muttered about sneering women and the merits of buying them treats. Calliope ignored him and spooned a mouthful of ice.
"I swear this is ambrosia. It’s heavenly."
James had stopped muttering and was heartily digging into his own ice. "It’s not bad."
She waved a spoonful of the divine concoction. "Not bad? That is like saying that the pyramids are not bad or that the Sistine Chapel is not bad, or that a symphony by Mozart is not bad, or-” She caught his grin and pointed the spoon at him. "In any case, you take my meaning."