The Christmas Carrolls by Bárbara Metzger Page A

should have a little talk.”
    The butler’s eyebrows rose even higher than before. “I’m afraid your lordship has indeed imbibed too freely this evening. Might I suggest a cup of coffee?”
    ‘‘Excellent, and get one for yourself, because I’m afraid Lady Joia has a problem that I cannot help her solve without more information. In great houses like Winterpark, butlers of your long-standing tenure always know everything that’s going on. They say a gentleman cannot keep secrets from his valet, but I’ve found them to be a fickle bunch, changing employers with the fashions. No, it’s old family retainers like yourself who hold the confidences of their employers.”
    Bartholomew drew himself up in rigid affront. “I am sorry, sir, I do not gossip about the family.”
    “Would you rather see Lady Joia marry Oliver?”
    “I’ll get the coffee.”
     

Chapter Seven
     
    “Did you find out anything? Do you have a plan?” Lord Comfort knew Joia was really asking if there was any hope. They were out riding, visiting a few of the tenants. By prearrangement they had left before breakfast to keep Joia from having to give Oliver any kind of acknowledgment. The viscount also thought she’d be happier not facing her father over kippers and toast. Merry was along for propriety, but she and her dog were off on rabbit tangents.
    Joia was as beautiful as ever in her military-style riding habit, but she still looked pale to Craighton, as if that leech Oliver were already sucking the life out of her. The viscount didn’t feel so well himself, having stayed up half the night with old Barty. Once the venerable butler had unloosened, assured that Lord Comfort meant to aid the family against the encroaching Oliver, he’d grown positively voluble. Before Craighton had the information he wanted, he’d had two cups of coffee, then one with brandy, then half a bottle of Lord Carroll’s finest cognac. Barty’d had the other half. The viscount hoped the old rascal felt half as bad as he did this morning.
    “I learned a bit,” Comfort told Joia now. “Did you know, for instance, that Oliver cheats at cards?”
    Joia stopped along the leaf-strewn path to offer him a roll from the basket tied to her saddle. “He did as a child, so I’m not surprised he’s still at it. I mean, a swine who would stoop to blackmailing his own family surely isn’t above hiding cards up his sleeve.”
    “No, I wasn’t surprised, either.” Comfort held out an apple in exchange.
    “What, did you play with him? I assume he’s as bad a card-sharp as he is at everything else.”
    “Quite easy to detect, as a matter of fact.”
    She shrugged. “That’s why he’s never in funds, I suppose. So what will you do with your information? You did swear not to call him out, remember.”
    Comfort remembered no such promise, but Joia’s worried look was gratifying to him. Of course, she might just care about him because he was helping her, but for now that was enough. “I thought of showing your father the shaved cards.”
    “What good would that do? Papa would throw Oliver out, but it wouldn’t change anything. He’d still have his filthy secret and he’d be even more desperate for my dowry.”
    Killing the worm was beginning to seem the best course, but Comfort knew Joia wouldn’t agree, so he tossed his apple core toward a chattering squirrel and said, “I found some information about your father, too.”
    “Never say he uses loaded dice.” Joia’s voice wavered. “Although I suppose nothing should surprise me anymore.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous. Your father is a gentleman, an honorable, respected peer.”
    “And no peer cheats at cards?” she asked bitterly. “No gentleman cheats on his wi—” She didn’t finish.
    “I discovered some information, enough to judge the danger to your family, about an episode eight or nine years ago. I don’t think the scandal would be as damaging as you assume. As you say, infidelity is not such a