“When this room was swept this morning, was a brooch found?” asked Lethbridge.
The lids descended discreetly over the butler’s eyes. “I have not heard of it, my lord.”
“Make inquiries.”
“Yes, my lord.”
While the butler was out of the room, Lethbridge stood looking out of the window, slightly frowning. When Moxton came back he turned. “Well?”
“No, my lord.”
The frown lingered. “Very well,” Lethbridge said.
The butler bowed. “Yes, my lord. Your lordship’s luncheon is served.”
Lethbridge went into the dining-room, still attired in his dressing-gown, still wearing a thoughtful, puzzled look on his face.
He sat for some time over his meal, absently sipping his port. He was not, as he had told Caroline Massey, the man to gnash his teeth over his own discomfiture, but the miscarriage of last night’s plans had annoyed him. That little vixen wanted taming. The affair had become tinged, in his mind, with a spotting element. Horatia had won the first encounter; it became a matter of supreme importance to force a second one, which’s,he would not win. The brooch seemed to present him with the opportunity he lacked—if he could only lay his hand on it.