A Dash of Scandal(65)

Chandler stiffened. He started to tell his friend that he didn’t want them talking about Millicent, but that would only make matters worse, so he simply said, “I’m not interested in Lady Lambsbeth either, in case you’re wondering.”

“No, I was clear on that. You are still worried because the raven hasn’t been found, aren’t you?”

Chandler’s mouth tightened. “Don’t start on that, Fines. I’m in no mood for your badgering on a sore subject.”

“It’s not me, Dunraven.”

Chandler raised an eyebrow of doubt before putting the rim of his glass to his lips.

“Truly. There’s talk on the streets, in the shops, and in the clubs. Everyone at the parties tonight was talking about it.”

“The raven?” Chandler asked incredulously.

“No, no. Not specifically. The Mad Ton Thief. You did hear about the stolen painting that was the size of a large parasol.”

“I heard it was a small.”

“What, the painting or the parasol?”

Chandler grimaced. “What the damnation does it matter, Fines? It’s ridiculous for anyone to think the painting walked out of the house by itself or in the hands of a ghost.”

“Of course it is, but you have to admit the rumor is delicious. Can you imagine anyone actually thinking that the thief is Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, and he is collecting objects for a house he occupies up on the northern coast?”

“Good Lord. Are you serious?”

“That was the topic of conversation at the parties tonight. According to what I heard it’s beginning to be an honor to have something taken by the thief and an affront on the quality of one’s possessions if nothing is stolen.”

And he thought being enchanted by a lovely gossipmonger was absurd!

Chandler shook his head, mystified. “I’m certain the robber is a common footpad who has managed to find a gentleman’s clothing. How do these outrageous ideas get started?”

“It’s called gossip, Dunraven. Ever heard of it?”

“Once too often,” he muttered, then finished off his drink. He nodded to the waiter, who set a glass in front of Fines, to refill his own glass. After the man walked away, Chandler said, “I’m not worried about the raven.”

“Truly?” It was Fines’s turn to raise an eyebrow of doubt.

“When the thief is caught, if the raven is not returned, I will simply have another made.”

“He says as his gut wrenches with guilt over having lost the original, knowing one cannot simply replace an Egyptian artifact.”

Chandler’s eyes narrowed. There was a time when Fines’s mocking comments hadn’t bothered him. He’d rather enjoyed them. Not anymore.

“Sometimes you’re a bastard, Fines,” he said, but with no real anger in his tone.

Fines laughed. “Yes. Sometimes. Most of the time. But I’m always a friend, Dunraven. Never have fear on that account.”

Chandler nodded. Was he fortunate or not to have such a dedicated friend?

“What are you doing to find the golden bird of prey?”

“I’m working with Doulton on it, of course, and I’m working with someone else on the thefts, too,” he said, as thoughts of Millicent returned to his mind as easily and gently as a late summer breeze.

“Who?”

Chandler picked up his drink as Fines nodded to a gentleman who walked by. “I’d rather not say.”

“Since when?”

“In working with this person secrecy is most important.”

“More important than friendship? There was a time we told each other everything.”

“There was a time we did a lot of things together that we no longer do.”

“Yes,” Fines smiled wickedly. “Staying out all night drinking, gambling, and enjoying our latest mistress, then racing our horses most of the day.”

“It’s a wonder we didn’t kill ourselves.”

“Oh, hell, Dunraven! What’s wrong with us? We don’t do those sorts of thing anymore. Are we growing into our dotage already?”

Chandler grunted a rueful laugh. “No. But, perhaps we’re finally growing up, Fines?”

“Good lord! What an ugly thought.”

“I suppose it’s better than the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Death.”