Sinclair searched every group, every cluster of people, but Quincy was nowhere to be found. Admitting defeat, he headed for the pianoforte. Luckily the song had just ended. “Mama,” he hissed, sitting beside her on the edge of the bench, “how could you invite that… that… duchess into our home?”
Lady Sinclair closed the lid over the keys. “I thought you had invited her. Is something wrong? I saw Jo leave and she did not look happy. Whatever did you say to her?”
“I say, old chum,” the silver-haired gentleman said, leaning around Lady Sinclair. “Is something amiss?”
“Coddy, dear, my son is just being obtuse. Again.” She pinned Sinclair with a grim stare. “Whatever it is, fix it.”
Sinclair groaned and stood up. “Fix it, indeed,” he muttered as he ducked out the door and headed for the back
