A Death, A Duke, And Miss Mifford - Claudia Stone Page 0,27

into his sphere was divine intervention, rather than merely a well-timed coincidence and had impulsively offered him the living at St Mary's.

Mr Parsims had sent a letter to Henry, a sennight after their drunken conversation, to say that he was installed in the rectory, and Henry had given no more thought to the matter.

Another mistake, Henry thought, guilt gnawing at his stomach.

Though he was fastidious in business matters, and a perfectionist with everything else, Henry was also terrifically stubborn. He had not liked the feeling of guilt and shame that filled him when he thought of Plumpton, and so had ignored its very existence. Oh, he ensured that he had installed only the best land agent in Mr Silks, the best servants in the manor, and provided any funds requested without question--but that had not been enough.

A ducal seat required a duke, Henry realised, and he had deprived Plumpton of one for five years.

Guilt threatened to overwhelm him, but Henry would not allow it. He was here now, and he would do his duty.

Though first, he thought, as his stomach rumbled, he must eat.

Thinking to kill two birds with one stone, Henry made for The King's Head, where the French chef Canet was employed. There, Henry indulged in a large luncheon of stuffed pigeon, served on a plate of Dauphinoise potatoes, and accompanied by green beans and a decanter of claret.

Having sated his hunger, Henry waved for the footman and requested the chance to offer the chef his compliments.

"Of course, Your Grace," the footman answered, "Monsieur Canet will be delighted."

Perhaps not for long, Henry thought, though inwardly he doubted that a man who could perform such heavenly feats with potatoes might be capable of murder.

The footman led Henry to the kitchens, where they found the chef smoking a pipe by the open back door. He turned, all Roman nose and dark brow, as Henry and the footman entered, casting them both an impatient glare.

"Oui?" he demanded of the footman, who blushed with embarrassment on Henry's behalf.

"His Grace wishes to speak with you, monsieur," the footman stammered, wringing his hands nervously.

The French man did not look remotely awed to find himself in the presence of a duke, Henry noted. Canet turned his brown eyes to Henry and waited impatiently for him to speak.

"I'd actually like a word alone, with Mr Canet," Henry said to the footman, who duly obliged them by scampering from the room.

"I wish to compliment you on your fine cooking," Henry continued, once they were alone. It was always best to lead with a compliment, he knew--especially when dealing with a man in possession of some terrifically impressive carving knives as Monsieur Canet had displayed upon the wall.

"Merci," Canet gave a smug smile, turning to Henry with interest now, "Am I to take it that you wish to offer me a position at the manor?"

"Ah..."

The idea had not even occurred to Henry, but now that he mentioned it, it would be rather nice to be served such gourmet fare every evening.

"I cannot be bought," Canet continued, with a pompous toss of his--admittedly luscious--brown locks, "I am a believer in the 茅galit茅 of men; every English man has the right to sample my creations, not just the aristocracy."

"I doubt every English man could afford lunch here," Henry replied dryly. He understood what Canet was about now; a revolutionary idealist with more words than conviction. The guests at The King's Head were hardly the poor and huddled masses--they were, each one, decidedly genteel and moneyed. And Canet himself did not look like a starving idealist; his boots were Lobby's, if Henry was not mistaken.

"I also wished to enquire about any dealings you might have had with the late Mr Parsims," Henry continued, glad that Canet's outburst had allowed him to forgo any further politeness.

The chef's eyes flickered momentarily, but long enough for Henry to note the panic in them.

"I did not know Mr Parsims at all," Canet shrugged, "I have never had any dealings with that man."

"Really?" Henry raised a brow.

"Really," Canet nodded, tapping his pipe impatiently against the door frame.

"Then why was your name included in a list of people that Mr Parsims appeared to believe owed him money?"

Victory was sweet; Canet paled, the hand which held his pipe shook furiously, and he licked his lips nervously.

"It was?" he asked, nonchalantly, though it was a beat too late for genuine innocence.

"Yes," Henry watched him carefully, "You're listed as owing two crowns; that's quite a sum of money."

"Perhaps he expected