The Duke And His Four Wards
“Good morning. Rickshaw, isn’t it? I’m Emma Fleming. I’ve come to return a book to His Grace.”
Although he had only set eyes on her once before, Rickshaw remembered his master’s youngest ward perfectly. As she stepped daintily over the threshold of Delmere House, a picture in a confection of lilac muslin, he gathered his wits to murmur, “His Grace is not presently at home, miss. Perhaps his secretary, Mr. Cunnings, could assist you.” Rickshaw rolled one majestic eye toward a hovering footman who immediately, if reluctantly, disappeared in the direction of the back office frequented by the Duke’s secretary.
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