There was that in the tone which made Prudence look up sharply. “What devilry’s afoot?”
Robin’s eyes mocked from beneath long lashes. “You would give much to know, would you not?” he taunted.
Prudence declined to encourage this spirit in her brother. “What’s the upshot là-bas?” she inquired. The jerk of her head might be supposed to indicate the direction of the Grayson abode.
“Letty’s to appear in Society. My doing.”
“And the Markham?”
“I’m somewhat at a loss. I might gather a word here and there, you understand: not many. I take it there’s a deadlock. All Sir Humphrey’s concern is to keep the affair dark. Wherein I am to suppose Fanshawe with him.”
“There’s to be no meeting?”
“What, are you in a flutter?” Robin gibed.
“As you see,” was the placid rejoinder.
“Ay, you’re a cold-blooded creature, a’n’t you? There’s to be no meeting. I had thought it might easily be arranged, but it seems the Markham is an ambitionless creature, and lacks the desire to meet your mountain. There was some little talk of Fanshawe’s swordsmanship.” He pursed his lips. “As to that, I crave leave to cherish doubts.”