Apologies to anyone who tried to get onto the Riskies recently and couldn’t. Some of us could, some of us couldn’t, but eventually we sent Carolyn out with a blunt instrument and she clubbed something at FB until it lay as a mangled, wretched mess.
So I thought the least I could do to show my appreciation is to continue the saga of the mysterious letter to our hero, which, as you may remember, had a faint violet scent (oh good one, I typed violent first).
My lord, the letter read.
Your proposal interests me greatly.I shall call at three, if that would be at all agreeable.
The Earl of Haque dangled the letter between his fingers as he regarded the visitor his butler had announced as Mr. Crewe. “A perfume factory in this house?”
Crewe grinned through gapped teeth. “You said you was agreeable, my lord. Your idea, in fact. Lots of extra rooms, you have here. Close to the canal.” He fingered a priceless Chinese vase on the mantelpiece. “Oops. Sorry.”
Haque tugged the bellpull to summon a footman to deal with the fragments.
“Besides, it’s the least you can do for your brother, innit?”
“Twin brother.” Crewe beamed. “Identical.”
“Identical?” Haque glanced at the mirror above the mantelpiece, which reflected his blond, well-tailored, six feet of pure lithe muscle [insert suitably heroic description here] and Crewe’s five foot nothing of dark hirsuteness. Something was wrong, very wrong.
“Yep. And I’m the eldest by five minutes.” Crewe produced a handkerchief soaked in his product and blew his nose. He sank onto the sofa, apparently overcome with emotion, and something screamed and fled for the door.
“That was the cat,” Haque said, looking around for a suitable weapon. Yes indeed, the canal was very near, and …
“My lord, a lady has come to call,” said the butler, insinuating himself into the drawing room.
So now what happens?