A rush of warning shot through Frederick, sending him shifting closer to Grace. And now? To learn the same “thief” from yesterday proved to be Jack Miracle’s newest client? Frederick had already agreed to assist Jack in his investigation, but to help with such a man?
He turned his attention to Grace and stifled a groan. Why did hindsight always have to prove so humbling?
But his lovely bride only scanned the man from head to toe. If he didn’t know her so well, he might have felt a sting of jealousy from her rather obvious perusal, but if he’d learned anything about her at all, she was likely taking inventory as the amateur sleuth she was.
“What a surprise.” The man, Daniel Laraby, blinked as his attention shifted from Frederick to Grace and back. “I had hoped to see you again and give a proper apology, but to learn you are acquainted with my detective? That’s awfully convenient.”
“You’ve met?” This from Detective Miracle, who’d walked around the table to stand nearer Mr. Laraby.
“Not formally.” Laraby’s grin resurfaced too quickly for any true remorse.
“And not in a way I wish to replicate,” came Frederick’s quick response. He turned to Jack. “Do you realize your client is a charlatan?”
“Now, now, Lord Astley, charlatan may be a bit extreme.” Laraby tugged at the lapels of his jacket, his smile hitched wide. “You see here before you a reformed swindler.”
“You’re not helping your case, Laraby.” Jack shook his head and looked over at Frederick. “Daniel Laraby is a former circus man, but since coming into his inheritance a year ago, he’s become not only ridiculously wealthy but quite the philanthropist and art connoisseur.”
“You were in the circus?” Grace stood from her place. “In America?”
“Indeed I was, your ladyship.” He took a dramatic bow. “Nearly my whole life.”
“Oh, were you on the trapeze or a fire breather?”
“Perhaps a clown?” Frederick’s grin tensed as he stared at the man.
“Perhaps a bit of all.” Laraby wiggled his brows in true showman fashion. “But my particular specialty was trapeze, though I had to do a bit of everything.”
“Might I suggest we continue this conversation at the table to prevent further travesty at Laraby’s initiation?” Jack gestured toward the table and sent Frederick a wink. “Our tea is getting cold.”
Grace grinned, her attention on the charlatan. “Since moving to England in December, Mr. Laraby, I’ve learned that there is nothing quite as disastrous to an English constitution as cold tea.” Grace’s eyes widened with a twinkle. “Except, perhaps, leaving the house without an umbrella.”
A burst of laughter shot from Laraby, and Frederick rolled his eyes.
How many times had his darling wife gently teased him about some of the trite “disasters” of English life. His smile almost bent. Of course, he teased right back about her American idiosyncrasies. The shared banter created the most delightful connectedness to her. He’d never imagined it could be so in a marriage, but her teasing the swindler didn’t hold quite the same pleasantness.
“Circus antics or no, I offer yet another apology about yesterday. Paul and I engage in the silliest of adventures when we’re in town to pass the time,” Laraby offered again, once seated. “It really was just a lark.”
“What on earth did you do?” The humor in Jack’s voice was undeniable … and incredibly unhelpful to Frederick’s suspicion.
“I made a bad first impression, I’m afraid, Jack.” Mr. Laraby offered an apologetic grimace. “Paul and I were having a bit of fun yesterday, and your friends came upon us in the middle of it all.”
“A bit of fun?” Frederick barely controlled his volume. “You stole my wife’s purse, then our gondola.”
“And you knocked the poor gondolier into the canal,” Grace added.
“I believe that was a team effort, my lady.” Mr. Laraby grinned at Grace in a way that did nothing to assist Frederick in controlling his volume … or suspicions.
Grace’s cheeks darkened as she raised a hand to her hat, but she lifted her chin and held Mr. Laraby’s gaze. “Which would never have happened if someone hadn’t stolen our gondola, if you recall, Mr. Laraby.”
At this, Frederick couldn’t tame the faintest smile pushing at the edges of his mouth. Likely, his beloved wife feared her current hat was on the heels of being lost to the same fate as the last—which proved a rather consistent pattern—but he loved her ready wit and her willingness to rally to a challenge. Well, most of the time. When it wasn’t at odds with his desire to keep her alive.
“Guilty.” Laraby dipped his chin. “But I assure you, no one has ever gotten harmed in our little games. The people of Venice have great senses of humor, and I made sure to compensate the gondolier handsomely for his trouble.”
Frederick’s shoulders relaxed a little. Perhaps the man was more smoke than fire. But what was he to think of a former circus performer turned rich gentleman who planned faux pursuits through the streets of Venice?
A quote from Jack’s book came to mind. When given opportunity to observe instead of engage, take thorough inventory of even the most minute elements. You never know what may be of future significance.
Not that Frederick had read Jack’s book enough to memorize anything, but perhaps he’d reviewed certain parts of it more times than once.
“Are these the very same Lord and Lady Astley you’ve spoken about before, Detective?” Mr. Laraby’s expression shifted from his faux-sullen state. “The ones who have joined you in your previous investigations?”
Assisted in Jack’s previous investigations? Was he referring to the murders at Havensbrooke?
“You didn’t tell me they’d be here to assist you in my little trouble too. That’s excellent.”
Frederick’s attention moved back to Jack. Had Jack taken the case knowing they’d be honeymooning here? As if in answer, Jack offered a good-natured shrug. “It never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes or two when dealing with a case of such history and mystery, especially when hidden treasure is involved.”
“You mentioned the treasure before.” Grace lowered her tea from her lips, her eyes growing wide. “I’d love for you to elaborate.”
Mr. Laraby had a deep scar above his right eye and appeared to have a rough go on shoes. Or at least the one Frederick noted nearest him. Despite their expense and relative newness, the scuffs etched deep into the sides. From lack of care? Rough terrain?
The cobblestone streets of Venice would not have led to such grooves, so what might have caused them? Scaling walls to infiltrate an art gallery?
“Evidently, there’s a hidden message in the paintings, as I understand it.” Jack gestured toward Laraby, encouraging him to continue the story.
Laraby tossed a grin to his audience, donning the showman’s persona once again.
There was an easiness to his nature, an almost boyishness, but also the real sense of an actor who had learned the art of playing to his crowd. How deep his playacting went, Frederick did not know, but if he and Grace joined the—he frowned—case, then his guard would remain alert to any underhanded possibilities. Unpredictability never boded well. Either this case proved as ridiculous as yesterday’s lark, or something much darker waited beneath the surface of Mr. Laraby’s ready smile … and they were all players on the stage of his next performance.
“I suppose I ought to give you a bit of biography so you’ll understand my connection with The Juliets.” Laraby took a drink of his tea before continuing. “As Jack mentioned, I was in the circus in America. Raised there until I was sixteen, when my parents died in a trapeze accident.” He paused, his lips pinching closed.
“Oh, how horrible,” Grace whispered, her fist pressed to her chest. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you,” Laraby nodded. “It was horrible.”
A little of Frederick’s disquiet about the man abated. What a loss for a child to witness.
Laraby drew in a breath before continuing. “There had been an estrangement between my father and my grandfather all my life. I only heard rumors that it was about Father’s financial choices, but I had never worked out any of the details and accepted that I’d never know my grandfather, but a few years after I was left orphaned, he came for me.”
“Was he riddled with regret about his interminable estrangement?” Grace asked, leaning forward in her chair. “Did he long to amend the past?”
Mr. Laraby’s lips twitched. “I would like to think that was part of it, Lady Astley, but I believe the greater worry for him was lack of an heir to his considerable fortune. And he wanted to ensure his successor took appropriate care of his money.”
“And despite the estrangement, you agreed to his terms?” Frederick asked.
“While he lived. Which was a good six years after taking me on.”
The chronology would place Laraby in his midtwenties. A young man inheriting a fortune without the weight of the work and history that goes with it is a curious thing—especially as to how he might handle his instant extravagance.
“After his death, I did exactly as I liked.” The man’s eyes flared a moment before complying with a smile. “There was no love lost in the relationship. But I must admit, the old man did right by my two closest friends. When I told him I would not come to live with him unless they joined me, he agreed without hesitation. Both were orphans like me. Paul, whom you met yesterday, had been a foundling who ran away from his orphanage to join the circus when he was about twelve, and Lydia was fatherless when her mother first joined the circus. We grew up as siblings, and now Paul serves as my”—Mr. Laraby waved a hand in the air as if searching for the word—“companion of sorts. And Lydia, as the cleverest of us all, endeared herself to Grandfather, who enlisted her as his secretary, and so she has continued on as mine. I trust her implicitly, though I likely do not treat her as she deserves.” He chuckled and rendered a helpless shrug. “But what man really does?”
He sent Frederick a knowing look. Laraby’s ready disclosure of elements of his life edged on uncomfortable, but Frederick had learned from marriage to Grace that this may be more of an American trait than a character flaw.
“I’m glad to say my man is the exception then,” Grace offered, sending Frederick a smile. “He treats me better than I deserve, at least if measured in peace of mind.”
A somewhat choked sound erupted from Jack, who then cleared his throat and focused his attention back on Mr. Laraby. “Though you did not gain your business sense from your grandfather, you did inherit a bit of his passion for The Juliets. Is that so? Enough to inspire you to collect two more and purchase the island of their origin.”
“Jack is not only trying to keep me from rambling but baiting you all as well, I see.” Laraby chuckled.
“Lady Astley is a ravenous reader of all sorts of stories, Mr. Laraby, so I am inclined to rally my inner novelist to ensure she feels the full delights of your mystery.”
“I’m already completely enthralled.” Grace placed her hand on Jack’s arm. “So far we have a former circus performer turned wealthy island owner who possesses a mystery involving stolen paintings that somehow lead to a hidden treasure. How can I not feel that every fictional delight has suddenly come into real life?”
This very thought had been thrust upon Frederick repeatedly ever since marrying Grace. Fiction and reality intersected on a regular basis whenever she was involved. Perhaps his tug toward sleuthing was providential. It may prove a life-saving interest.
“You’re going to add some fun to this whole adventure, aren’t you?” Mr. Laraby allowed his attention to linger on Grace for a bit too long.
“I suppose you purchased the island for sentiment?” Frederick did nothing to hide the sarcasm in his tone. “Unless you’re a treasure seeker as well?”
“A little of both,” Laraby responded in kind. “I am sentimentally interested in finding a treasure.”
Frederick held the man’s gaze until he looked away.
“Have you been able to make any headway on locating the treasure?” Grace asked, apparently oblivious to Frederick’s somewhat primal and definitely nonverbal warning signs to Mr. Laraby.
“None at all.” He shook his head. “You see, of the nine paintings, three are supposed to hold some sort of message that leads to the very spot of the treasure, but no one knows which three. I have photographs of most of The Juliets, along with possessing three of them.” His face fell. “Well, two now that one has been stolen. But if there is some sort of message within the paintings, I’ve not been able to work it out.”
“The only way to really get an idea is to see the paintings Laraby currently has and to review the photographs.” Jack waved toward Mr. Laraby. “Your fiancée has a photograph of one of The Juliets that hung in the Romano Art Gallery, doesn’t she?”
Fiancée? Frederick liked Mr. Laraby a bit better.
“Yes. Jasmine, or Miss Benetti, is a curator at the gallery and was deeply distressed by the recent robbery. In fact, most of the photographs I do possess I received from her. She’s a scholar of the era and style, as well as being a native of Venice, so she’s spent years collecting any information she can about the painter and his works.”
“Are your current paintings secure?” Frederick asked.
“I feel as though the ones on the island are. I’ve not even shown Jasmine where my favorite Juliet is, but I do have a photograph of that one as well.” Laraby relaxed back in his chair. “If I display them at all, it is a rare event and only on special occasions.”
“Not even your fiancée has sorted out anything related to the secret messages?” Grace leaned forward, her mind whirling from the look in those eyes. “Since she is a curator and familiar with the paintings.”
“She’s very clever, but she’s at a loss to any hidden message either, if there really is one at all.”
“Oh, I wonder if it’s anything like Sherlock’s Dancing Men cipher,” Grace announced, tapping her long, slender fingers against her lips. “It was rather tricky, so it took a great deal of deliberation to sort it out—even for the grand detective himself—but what a clever invention of a message. Symbols instead of words.”
“Dancing Men Cipher?” Laraby looked to Frederick as if for clarity.
“Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s work,” Frederick explained, curbing the sudden urge to chuckle. Leave it to Grace to make some literary reference that may very well end in some actual clue. “Sherlock Holmes?”
“Ah, the fictional detective. Yes.” Mr. Laraby’s expression shone with recognition. “I’m not much of a reader, but I’ve heard of him at least.”
Grace blinked a few times at Daniel’s declaration as if she didn’t fully comprehend, and Frederick could almost hear her brain attempting to process the fact that Mr. Laraby wasn’t much of a reader.
“So that leaves us with two original paintings and a few photographs,” Frederick stated, sorting the information in his mind. “An island where a mysterious treasure is purportedly hidden.”
“And a thief who somehow broke into the gallery yet hasn’t attempted to steal anything from your island home,” Grace added, her attention shifting from Frederick to Jack. “How far away is your island?” Then she laughed. “It’s very strange to think of someone owning an island in real life, though I do hope yours will prove to be much less disconcerting than Dr. Moreau’s. Any exotic man-beasts hidden among the stones and shrubbery?”
“Not to my knowledge, Lady Astley, though I am still fairly new to the island. However, I have collected quite the menagerie of exotic plants.” Laraby’s smile resurfaced, and he glanced around the table. “Well, I feel The Juliets will be in very good hands with the three of you.”
And with that, Frederick and Grace joined the “case.” Frederick released a sigh of resignation even as the inexplicable thrill tempted to resurface in his chest.
“It is very exciting.” Grace’s grin reappeared, and she trembled from sheer delight. “Our first official investigation. And”—Grace raised a finger in unison with her brow—“I have a magnifying glass should we need one.”
Laraby chuckled. “Most women of my acquaintance wouldn’t view an art heist as a delight at all.”
“Oh, I can assure, Laraby,” Jack offered, “whatever expectations you have for most women will likely not pertain to Lady Astley.”
“Which the detective means in the best possible way, you understand, Mr. Laraby.” Frederick raised a brow to Jack as if to nudge him to clarify.
“Of course. I’ve not met a woman more inclined toward sleuthing in my whole career.” He tapped the table. “Which is why I trust the pair so implicitly. And I wager that once we set our eyes on the paintings, with Lady Astley’s quick wit and her husband’s keen observation skills, we may very well unearth some answers.”
A man in a serving suit appeared at the table. “Pardon me, Mr. Laraby, but your man is here to see you in the lobby.”
“Ah yes.” Laraby stood and sent a sweeping look to the table. “It’s likely last-minute questions about the house party. If you will excuse me for a moment.”
As soon as Laraby disappeared from view, Jack leaned forward, drawing Frederick and Grace closer. “Now that you’ve been officially inducted into detective work, I’ll share the plan I was making while Laraby told his tale.”
“You’ve made a plan where we’re involved? It’s almost as if you were expecting us to help you all along.” Grace’s ready enthusiasm inspired Jack’s grin … until he looked over at Frederick.
And then Jack donned some faux innocent expression that deceived no one.
From the small hints Jack had given to the two of them as he’d helped solve the case of the murder of Frederick’s brother, Frederick knew the man was looking for friendships. Colleagues and friendships only sweetened the deal for the lonely detective. And the convenience of Jack arriving in Venice for a case just as Frederick and Grace took their honeymoon in the same city? Well, the poor man left no illusion at all. He’d taken this case knowing full well Frederick and Grace would be here … and most likely had meant to include them all along.
Frederick’s desire to remain out of another mystery had failed from the start. With friends like these …
If Frederick hadn’t liked Jack so much and found the idea of a real investigation the slightest bit interesting, he would have told Jack in no uncertain terms exactly what he thought of the man’s plans to upend a very delightful honeymoon.
“Since you both were here already, it seemed selfish not to include you.”
“How very thoughtful of you, Jack.” Grace flashed Frederick a broad smile. “An Egyptian adventure, a delicious tour of Italy with my wonderful husband, and now our very own investigation involving robbery, treasure, and a mysterious island? Oh, Frederick, this must be the very best honeymoon ever invented.”
Frederick wasn’t even certain how he should respond and was rather glad that Jack intervened.
“No doubt, your dear husband thought of everything.” Jack’s grin edged on a laugh.
“I must admit, the camels were a surprise.”
Jack’s laugh burst free at Frederick’s dry response, and then he sobered. “Now to the plan.” He glanced back toward the doorway where Daniel Laraby had disappeared and continued. “Laraby is taking me to his island home tomorrow. He means to have a small house party for an author friend who, ironically, writes mysteries.”
“An author?” Grace exclaimed. “Here?”
“Yes, Dolores Reynolds, if I recall correctly.”
“Dolores Reynolds.” Grace’s grin wavered slightly. “I’ve not heard of her.”
“She’s been around a decade or so, from what I understand. Apparently, she is researching the history of the artist and his family. There appears to have been some tragedy in the past. I’m meeting with the local authorities this afternoon to learn more about it. From what Laraby said, however, Mrs. Reynolds hopes to set her upcoming novel on Laraby’s island.” Jack shook his head. “Laraby intends to offer some sort of faux mystery to enlist in Mrs. Reynolds’ inspiration and in turn woo her to choose his home and island for the novel’s location. Evidently, placing a small party on a remote island and having a murder occur brings about a great deal of inspiration for mystery authors. Though I believe the real reason for the house party’s unique drama is for Laraby to influence Mrs. Reynolds’ brother, Harry Finch, since Mr. Finch is a budding film producer.”
“And Mr. Laraby wants Mr. Finch to use his home in a moving picture?”
Frederick grinned at Grace’s question but added his own conjecture. “Or Laraby wants a bit of recognition and fame of his own?”
“My guess is yes to both answers.” Jack looked between the two of them. “Now, since I’ve only been here a few days and am meeting with the authorities this afternoon, I’ve had little time to investigate the art gallery where the second robbery took place.” His eyes took on an additional gleam. “So I hoped perhaps the two of you could do a little poking about?”
“You think the two robberies are connected.” Frederick lowered his voice and noticed Grace’s gaze fastened on him from his periphery.
He raised his brow, and she sighed. “It’s incredibly dashing when you speak in sleuth.”
A burst of air came from Jack. “I say, my lord, if we were to find you an eyeglass and trench coat, you might be nigh irresistible.”
Frederick sent a powerless glare to his friend, and Jack raised a palm in defense. “I mean no offense. I only wish a few simple sleuthing questions garnered such adoration for me, but usually I end up gagged in a damp hole or chased by men with guns.”
Grace’s laugh bubbled up. “Perhaps you haven’t met the right woman just yet, Jack.”
The glint in his eyes dimmed ever so slightly. Jack had shared his history with Frederick once. Only small pieces, but enough to hint to Jack being desperately in love—and when Jack’s father lost his title, his wife seemed to lose her love for him. How long ago had that been? Three years?
“I’m afraid I haven’t, my lady, but your very existence gives me faith that there is hope for the right sort. I’m rather inept when it comes to the fairer sex, I’m afraid, so I hope she’ll have more knowledge about the whole affair than me, and perhaps she can sweep me off my feet.” He cleared his throat and braided his hands in front of him on the table. “Now, as to the robberies, the details I’ve been able to gather thus far are interesting. Despite someone trying to make the robberies seem unconnected, I’m certain they are.”
“How did they try to throw you off their trail?” Grace leaned forward.
“The thieves stole other art pieces as well, no doubt in order to make it seem like a more generalized robbery.” He raised a finger. “But most of the other pieces were items of much less value than The Juliets, proving our thief entered the gallery with one specific purpose in mind. The Juliets are not widely known, so they must have been the thief’s primary object.”
“So the thief wasn’t stealing art in order to resell it to collectors and make money.” Grace shook her head. “Like with our most recent case related to Egyptian antiquities.”
Case? Had Grace just used the word case to describe their trip to Egypt? Frederick stifled the urge to pinch his eyes closed. Not only was she referring to them as sleuths, but now she recounted the beginning of their honeymoon in investigative language. The strongest urge to laugh tightened his stomach. There was no use fighting it anymore. He might as well just give in full-heartedly to the tug … or trap of it all.
“Exactly.” Jack nodded. “By all accounts, the thief broke in through one of the back service doors and made his way through the gallery rather quickly during the night watchman’s break.”
“So whoever it was knew the schedule of the gallery.”
“Precisely.” Jack nodded to Frederick. “And likely someone familiar with the layout of the pieces to be able to take what they did so quickly and without notice until morning.”
“So you need us to visit the site, look for clues, and question the staff, don’t you?” Grace reached to her side and drew out her notebook and fountain pen, frantically jotting down information. “Look for inconsistencies in stories or little hints to suspicious figures.”
“Ah, excellent, someone who takes notes.” Jack grinned. “I’m forever misplacing my pen, but yes, that’s exactly what I’d hoped the two of you might do.”
“Who are your top suspects so far?”
Grace gave a little gasp at Frederick’s question, and he turned his attention to her. A somewhat happy daze donned her face. He replayed his question in his mind, and the answer emerged. He’d used the word suspects.
Jack’s attention shifted from Grace back to Frederick, and the man fought a losing battle with his grin. “I do believe this may be my favorite case of recent history.”
“Jack.” The warning in Frederick’s voice did nothing to still the man’s grin.
“Yes, well, the information is still new, and we don’t have all the details yet, but”—he cleared his throat, his eyes still alight—“the known possible suspects … could be anyone interested in The Juliets.”
“So art collectors, historians?” Grace offered.
“Or someone with a more personal design,” Frederick added, the admission sobering him a little. If the case turned personal, it became more dangerous.
He rolled his gaze heavenward. He’d just used the word case too.
“Exactly.” Jack nodded, taking another drink of tea. “The only people I’ve met in the whole ordeal so far are Daniel Laraby and his friend Paul”—Jack waved toward Frederick and Grace—“both of whom you’ve met, if somewhat inadvertently. I’ve had a passing conversation with Signore Capello, the owner of the art gallery, but that is all.”
“And of them, any ideas?”
Surely there had to be something to go on so far.
“Laraby has a high interest in The Juliets as a collector, but I don’t sense he is the cunning sort.”
“The man literally faked pinching Grace’s purse as a joke, Jack. What if the art gallery is just another lark to fill the time of a leisurely millionaire?”
“I’ve thought of that, but I can’t quite see it as of yet.” He drew in a breath and gathered up a pastry from his plate. “His altercation with you yesterday hints to being more of a prankster and performer than someone with a true malicious streak.”
“And what about Miss Benetti?” Grace asked. “As an art curator with a deep connection to Venice, would she have designs on the paintings?”
“Possibly, but she has an alibi for the night of the robbery.” Jack raised a brow. “She was on Laraby’s island with him.”
“Oh,” Grace said rather nonchalantly, and then her expression slowly transformed, her eyes growing wider and her cheeks darkening. “Oh, you mean with Laraby on his island.”
Humor resurfaced in Jack’s eyes, and he raised his palms as if helpless to answer. “All I can say, my lady, is that Laraby and Paul both confirmed her presence for the duration of the night and said the others on the island villa could do the same.”
“Laraby’s friend Paul?” Frederick asked, internally shaking his head at the idea. As a dependent on Laraby’s kindness and wealth, it isn’t likely Paul would risk a real crime, is it?
“I know little of him, but he doesn’t seem the sort.”
“Those may be the very ones to keep an eye on, Jack,” Grace offered. “Not only is it a common occurrence in well-written mysteries, but even in your book, you caution against overlooking any possible suspect no matter how unlikely.”
“You are very right, my lady.” Jack’s grin grew wide, and he tapped the table. “All the more reason I need the two of you on the case with me. I’ll be happy to have you put some of those smart deductions into practice with a little look around the gallery.”
Grace beamed over at Frederick as if Jack had just given her the moon. No, his wife didn’t seem the sort who’d want the moon. His shoulders slumped. More shooting lessons, perhaps? A new throwing knife? He shook the thoughts from his mind and grappled onto something less unnerving. The latest Conan Doyle book?
Laraby emerged from the hallway, his grin as broad as it had been when he left. “So sorry about that interruption, but I’m afraid I must be off to attend to the last-minute details of our party. I have high hopes of making it exciting for all.” He waved toward the doorway as if that explained the problem and then turned to Frederick. “And I’d like to extend the invitation to you, Lord Astley, and your lovely wife, to join Detective Miracle at my home tomorrow. It will be an honor to have you there, and you can assist more fully with the investigation. Besides, since Lady Astley is such an admirer of fiction, she may enjoy meeting my friend Mrs. Dolores Reynolds.” He brought his palms together and shifted his attention from Frederick to Grace. “What do you say?”
Frederick looked to Jack for guidance. After all, if they went with Laraby to his island, it gave less time to visit the gallery.
“Well,” Jack said, giving a shrug, “I am a huge proponent of making plans, but I always expect a change in them.” He chuckled, sending Frederick and Grace a knowing look before turning to a confused Laraby. “If the Astleys are amenable to it, I think they would make excellent additions to your party, Mr. Laraby.”
The glint in his wife’s eyes told Frederick two things:
One, she was certainly amenable.
And two, he knew exactly where they would be visiting after morning tea.