Page 126 of The Favourite

“He complained to Wilhelm,” Alisander groaned, dropping his head into his hands.

“Oh yes, and in the strongest ofterms too.”

“Fuck.” Alisander brooded on this a moment. “Even so,” he said lifting his head, “I fail to see why—”

“Perhaps because you have neglected your duties so disgracefully of late, and that you are completely oblivious to several plots which I have not exactly troubled to conceal from you!”

Alisander had the grace to blush slightly. He tipped back in his seat to contemplate the painted ceiling. It depicted a celestial sky. “Has anyone ever told you, Vawdrey,” he commented with a frown, “that there is such a thing as being too subtle?”

“Too subtle? Coming from you?” Oswald Vawdrey stared at him. “You usually love all the sneaking around. You revel in it!”

Alisander shut his eyes briefly. He hitched one shoulder. “I have not been in the mood lately,” he said resentfully.

“Not in the—?”

“Who else complained about me?” he asked sulkily.

“It scarcely matters at this point.”

“It was Albrici, wasn’t it?” Alisander pulled a face. “You need not answer, for I already know it was.”

“Would you please focus on the matter at hand, Alisander?” Oswald entreated. “Why is it that I am more alarmed at the prospect of you being dragged back to the Western Isles—”

“Lascony,” Alisander corrected him.

“—then you are!”

“Wait a minute.” Alisander sat up. “What did you just say? I cannot possibly return just now. I have … certain responsibilities here.”

“Most assuredly, you do,” Oswald agreed heavily, though Alisander did not think they were talking about the same responsibilities. “Need I remind you, you have a wife and child here,” he added direly.

Oh. It seemed they were talking about the same thing after all. He cleared his throat. “Not to mention I promised my manservant he would never have to set foot in Lascony ever again.”

“Well, maybe he won’t!”

“You don’t understand,” Alisander said absently. “Where I go, he goes.”

“You think I am unfamiliar with the notion of loyalty?” Oswald asked silkily.

“Now don’t be offended, Vawdrey.” Alisander waved a hand. “Strange to say, I do not think that, despite every appearance to the contrary.”

Oswald grunted, looking slightly appeased. “You have made things damnably awkward this past few weeks, Alisander,” he said with suppressed anger. “I could happily wring your neck right now, so do not tempt me!”

Alisander snorted. “I expect you are sadly out of practice these days.”

“Me out of practice?” he asked snarkily. “Need I point out that I have had to suppress the information that Sir Phillip Cecil was found at the foot of his staircase with a broken neck for the past three weeks?”

“Well, he was getting on in years, and people do miss their footing. Especially when they over-imbibe of an evening, as Sir Phillip was wont to do.”

Oswald shook his head. “You could not have dealt with it a little more neatly?”

“The stairs factor was an essential part of the narrative,” he explained.

Oswald sighed, pushed off his desk, and walked around it, taking his usual seat. “What pray, is your excuse for shamefully neglecting your duties of late? And for your arrant lack of tact?” he continued wearily, “I have never known you to lack political sensitivity before. It was the one thing about you on which I felt I could always depend.”

Looking at Vawdrey’s face, Alisander realized that nothing but the truth would do. He released a pent-up breath. “I’ve been distracted of late. It is Jane,” he admitted. “She is not remaining where she should. In the place I put her, I mean. She—well, she keeps—” He broke off. “She is simply not behaving as she ought,” he concluded lamely.

“Dear me!” Oswald folded his hands on his desk. “Lady Bardulf is not behaving in an appropriately wifely manner?”