Chapter Twelve Calling on a Duke

The following morning

When he halted his single-horse phaeton in front of Weston Hall at precisely ten o'clock in the morning, Philip glanced about in search of a street urchin who might see to holding the reins. Finding none, he secured them to the post and offered the horse a carrot.

Although he had expected the groom might give him an apple, the servant explained the other groom had taken off with the last of the fruits. "You just missed your sister, my lord," he had said. "She went riding this morning."

Philip thought it odd she hadn't said anything about it over breakfast, but then he had been preoccupied with rehearsing what he would say to Weston when he was finally in the duke's presence. Making a mental note to ask her about it later that day, he made his way to the front door.

When the Weston Hall butler appeared, Philip handed him a calling card. "Lord Crawford to see His Grace." He paused when he remembered Amelia saying the servant's name. "You're Pritchard, are you not?"

The butler's eyes rounded slightly. "I am." He examined the white pasteboard before saying, "The duke is not in residence, my lord."

Philip gave a start. "Not at home? Or... or not receiving callers?" He immediately wondered if Alfred had warned the servant about him. Perhaps Weston had told them he wasn't to be admitted.

"He has left for an appointment, my lord. Would you like to wait?" Pritchard offered. "I cannot say how long he will be. He so rarely leaves the house, my lord."

Surprised by the comment, Philip was also relieved to hear he could stay if he wished. He shook his head. "Uh, I can come back. Is ten o'clock in the morning too early for His Grace?"

The butler shook his head. "His Grace is an early riser, my lord. Should I let him know you'll return on the morrow?"

Having already decided it best Weston not have any advance notice, Philip said, "No. In fact, it would be better if he didn't know. Could you maybe not mention I was here?"

Shrugging, Pritchard said, "Of course, sir." He handed back the calling card.

"Much obliged," Philip said, tucking the pasteboard into his waistcoat pocket.

Feeling a combination of relief and dread, he turned and made his way back to the phaeton.

There was always tomorrow.