“Won’t say, more like,” said Rupert. He turned, and gave his hand to Léonie who was descending from the chaise. “There’s one of Vidal’s fellows here, so it looks as though the boy had been here. Odd, damned odd.”
The Duchess shook out her crushed skirts with a purposeful air, and looked at the lackey, who was staring at her aghast. “It is you who are my son’s servant? Bon! Where is milor’?”
“I don’t know, your grace. He’s not in town.”
“Is there anyone in the house?” demanded the Duchess.
“No, your grace. Only the servants, that is.”
Léonie pounced on this. “Why is it then that the house is full of my son’s servants and yet he is not here?”
The lackey shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “His lordship left Paris this afternoon, your grace.”
Léonie turned to Lord Rupert, throwing out her hands. “But it is imbécile! Why should he leave Paris? I don’t believe a word of it. Where is Fletcher?”
“Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Timms have both gone out, your grace.”
“What, has his lordship gone off without his valet?” demanded Rupert.