Deadly Peril by Lucinda Brant

Alec’s dressing table and said in the doorway,
    “I’d best see how m’packing is coming along, and before m’tailor arrives with those breeches. Which is warmest—beaver or bear? No matter. I’ll trust to his judgment.”
    “Uncle! You can’t—You can’t come with me—to Herzfeld. You simply cannot.”
    “Don’t worry yourself, m’boy. Her Grace and I are only sailin’ with you as far as the Dutch seaport of Delf—Delfzijl,” Plantagenet Halsey told him. “It’s on the left bank of the river Ems estuary, across from Emden. But you’d know that.”
    “Yes, and I’m impressed you do.”
    “Courtesy of your godmother, who gave me a geography lesson on the area when she and Cobham were arguing over where to drop anchor. Her Grace was all for sailing into Emden’s harbor, but Cobham won’t loan her his schooner without her promisin’ to steer clear of Midanich altogether. So Holland and Delfzijl is as close as the captain is permitted to take us.”
    “I’d assumed we’d be sailing on the Harwich to Helvoetsluys packet. Going by private schooner will be positively hedonistic in comparison, and save us at least a day’s sailing, weather permitting. Sir Gilbert will be pleased.”
    “Mere mortals might sail by packet, but not Olivia St. Neots. You think your checklist is as long as your arm! Hers stretches the length of Pall Mall! Amongst her necessary items, she’s takin’ along her sedan chair. Have you ever heard the like of her?”
    Alec chuckled. “Is she? I wonder if she is aware that the principal means of getting about in Holland, and Midanich, is by canal boat? But if it makes her more comfortable to have her chair aboard, then so be it. It could be a nice private place to be ill, if she’s prone to sea sickness.” He became serious. “If you stay put in Delfzijl, then I welcome your company on the journey. But you must promise not to allow Olivia to convince you to cross over to Emden. I’ll be three days’ travel away, so can’t help you. I don’t need the worry of you and Olivia, too.”
    “You just concentrate on what you have to do, and I’ll take care of Her Grace.”
    Alec squeezed his uncle’s upper arm affectionately. “Thank you.” He then turned to his valet, who now stood in the doorway with a pair of knitted breeches over his arm and holding a pair of soft kid fencing shoes. “M’sieur Poisson arrived?”
    “Yes, sir. Mr. Wantage had him shown up to the Gallery, and I had your swords fetched and sent up, too.”
    “An hour of hard physical exercise will help clear your mind of worry for a while, and rid your brow of that furrow,” Plantagenet Halsey said. “Nothin’ better to relax the limbs and clear the head than vigorous swordplay—Well, there is one other thing,” he added quietly and with a wink as the valet retreated back into the closet, before he sauntered off.
     
    Alec refrained from commenting on his uncle’s wicked aside and went to change into his fencing clothes. And when he returned to his dressing room, tired and sweaty, after an hour’s fencing practice, his thoughts were surprisingly free of Midanich, Cosmo and Emily, and even Selina. But one glance into the closet, at the leather portmanteaux all lined up in a neat row, lids thrown open, and full of clothes and personal accoutrements for travel, and his peace of mind evaporated.
    Such was his preoccupation with what was ahead of him that he stood in the middle of the room as if made of stone, unaware his bathwater was ready, or that his valet waited to help him undress. But a footman accidently hit the side of the door with an empty copper as he exited down the servant stairs, swore under his breath, and brought Alec out of his private reverie. He quickly unbuttoned his linen waistcoat with a muttered apology.
    “Excuse me, Jeffries. Thoughts miles away…”
    Hadrian Jeffries silently took the waistcoat, then the unraveled stock, and finally his master’s linen shirt. He returned