-CHAPTER 24-
The dining hall squirmed under swift, gutting footfalls as the air charged with brute tension. Félix set back down his teacup, jawbone clenched.
Before long, his slim-jim butler planted himself in front of him, panting hard. Ofcourse, Félix thought. Given how he'd come in there like a typhoon looking to blow the whole place up, he ought to gulp in air like a whale.
"Your Grace…"
With a heated glance, the duke picked him up and threw him out a long way off. Bach adjusted his stance.
"My apologies, Your Grace, for… coming at such," he stopped to swallow, "inappropriate timing."
"Out with it," Félix said, not sparing enough room for his theatrics. If he had something to say, then by all means, he had to say it fast and get quickly on his way.
Bach's lean neck bobbed again as he swallowed harder, the second time more difficult than the last. "Your Grace," he began. "News reaching me just this morning says the earl would be incapable of making it down these parts today…"
Perfect. Just the right kind of talk to ruin his day further. Félix internalized it to himself, not realizing how his hand, set atop the table, had drawn into a tight fist. Bach noticed.
Reluctant and equal part hesitant, he closed the distance between them, his outstretched hand holding a signed piece of paper. "Ger brought this. The apothecary tending the count sent it."
Without motioning to take the document from Bach, Félix glanced over it, consuming its contents in well under a minute, a frustrated tic dragging down his nose bridge.
"This looks nothing like a skilled apothecary's report. The writing feels stiff and sleazy. Where is Ger at? Have him tell you what quack wrote this."
"Your… Your Grace?"
Pulling the note back in toward himself, Bach ran his eyes over it carefully, his brows crinkling in the process.
Loosening his jaw, the duke said,
"Tell the earl his excuse for choosing to absent himself from today's meeting was not granted. At best, I have read—but refused to acknowledge—his reason for absconding from his duties for this long. Let him know I'll be relating certain matters to the king when I reach England in a few days. Tell him there will be consequences for separating himself from the case of the five hundred and one unjustly sacked workers. Let him know his cowardice doesn't look good on him, nor does it corroborate with his count-acclaimed title. Let him know. Or have Ger tell him."
Félix scanned his cooling tisane tea, noting how artfully he'd threatened the count with his words just now. If Vincent were any smarter, he'd catch the intended meaning and come running with his tail between his legs. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his eyes brightening in amusement.
"I will deliver your message by note, Your Grace," Bach said, at last composing himself. "Ger left already. Something about not wanting to leave the earl's side too long, in a tone that sounded like the earl could die today, tomorrow."
Félix grated his teeth, his rage seething. He had never truly trusted that sly butler of Vincent's. He was beginning to hate him even more now for actively covering his master's sins. Although part of him nudged that Bach would do the same if he were also corrupt, Félix shook his head to dead that thought.
"What about the baron?" he said sternly. "He's running an hour behind. They ought to have been here at eight on the dot."
"About that…" Bach trailed off, looking away from Félix. "Fraçois and the others are by the port awaiting his arrival to welcome him."
"Port?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Bach said, now meeting the duke's gaze. "I gathered the rain was really bad over there last night, rendering the roads impassable over long distances."
No need to say more. Félix resigned. Judging by how Bach had calculatedly omitted to mention Estella, followed by the playful stretching out of his spine while a muted smile flickered past his face, the duke could already tell what he was thinking. He was dying to bring up talks about Estella; he was sure of it. Except Félix wasn't looking to give him the chance.
Deep-seated in his mind was the vivid thought, the memory of Bach having been the sole witness to all that transpired between him and Estella at Lady Agatha's Ball that night.
It was a subject he rarely touched upon, much less entertained his mind recounting. Largely because, to an outside eye—Bach, in this case—his entire disposition out there that night was nothing short of embarrassing and flat-out laughable.
First, he'd kissed her forcibly, mistaking her for the Princess; next, he had demanded she name her price, after which she'd flipped the table on him, reciprocating his kiss with a savage chewing out of his lips and stating her bargain.
He could vividly remember the look on Bach's face when he worked up the courage to get back to the ball after the girl herself had disappeared into the crowd some ten to fifteen minutes before. Bach had stood there, tongue in cheek, leaning by the tall pillar out back and looking too amused for his own good.
Ever since that time, the butler had been throwing subtle cues that understated he knew something he shouldn't. When he'd asked the distance from there to Cleverdale the other time, Bach had asked who he wanted to see. A proper question, but a slight way of reinstating the fact. Something along the lines of "Isn't that where the Baron also lived and his… daughter?"
Bach's acting indifferent back at the Baron's house also wasn't lost on Félix, who knew quite well what he was saying even without outrightly saying it.
So maybe, in hindsight, Bach was also like Ger. Except, while the other was privy to his master's corrupt acts and covering it up, Bach was privy to his indirect infidelity to the Princess and was well blotting it out.
A dulled sigh slipped out of Félix as he abandoned his tea altogether.
"There is also something else you need to know."
His ears roused slowly behind his head.
"I will be going back today. Right this instant."
The one who had spoken was not Bach, his butler.