![]() Max never ignored anything that could be put to his advantage. There was just enough suggestion of advantage that he couldn’t ignore it. It had, alas, pricked his curiosity just enough to make him respond to the duchess’s letter instead of tearing it in half in front of the stiff-lipped servant who delivered it. And he did not care.Īfter all, if the duchess didn’t want him here, she ought not to have sent a letter that strongly resembled a royal decree, imperiously demanding that he present himself at Carlyle Castle on this day, as if he were a servant or a dog to be summoned with a snap of her fingers. He discerned it in the weary, jaundiced glance the solicitor gave him when they met, reminiscent of the tutors who had sized him up before trying, vainly, to instill in him some scraps of Greek and theology.Īnd he saw it mostly plainly in the face of the Duchess of Carlyle herself, who sat on her throne-like chair and fixed an unblinking, gimlet-eyed stare on him as if she expected him to slip pieces of the silver into his cuffs and steal them. It was obvious in the face of the periwigged butler, stiff and disapproving as he ordered Max’s baggage conveyed to a guest room upon his arrival. ![]() James could see that his reputation had preceded him. ![]()
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