The house-as ever-was exactly as Kendall expected. No one to answer his knocking-for years he hadn't exactly bothered. But perhaps that was a good sign? Rathbone, his coachman, had informed him when he'd finally rolled back up to Violetta's after Kendall had endured a freezing wait in the chill spring air, that he'd brought her back here. Nothing appeared to have changed in the meantime. And if she was here, it meant she had not run off with the runt. A good thing he hadn't run out of Lady Kertouche's after her. Imagine the damned great fool he'd have looked.
He took a breath, set his cane down on the hall table and strode into the study. Pitch dark, except for the crack of light edging the curtains. Still, he prided himself on being able to find his way to the decanter blindfolded.