“A glass of sherry, if you have it.”

“Mr. Lockheart has everything.” He smirked and then turned to fix their drinks. “Oh, and I’m afraid I’ve got some rather disappointing news,” Sandy said over the sound of glass clinking against glass. “It seems Beech was delayed in London.”

Serena closed the volume she’d taken down and replaced it on the shelf. Of course he was. It had been exactly that kind of day.

Sandy came toward her with their drinks. “Not to worry, though. He sent his plans down and we can study them after dinner.”

Serena perked up. That was actually better than having Beech here as she’d noticed the successful architect had a tendency to talk over-much about himself and his achievements. The two times she had met with him it had taken him more than a half hour before he could come to the point.

Serena sat on a gilt settee that had been upholstered in a rather shocking chartreuse while Sandy took the chair closest to her, a gothic thing with dragons for armrests.

“So, what have you been up to since we last saw one another—Lord!” He examined the ornately coffered ceiling, as if it might contain the information he sought. “Was that five years ago?”

“Has it been that long?” But she knew it had. Sandy had done something to displease the duke and had not received an invitation to the famous house party the duke and duchess had every year around Christmas. She took a sip of excellent sherry and set down her glass on a side table that appeared to be a Sphinx.

“Yes, Oliver was towing around that wooden horse, if I recall correctly. You were on holiday from the school.” He wore a sly smile, clearly amused by her method of supporting herself.

Serena was surprised he remembered her son’s name. “The Stefani Academy closed last year.”

“I’d heard that.” His pointy nose quivered, putting her in mind of a rat. “I’d also heard the woman who owned it was rather dodgy and hared off abruptly—almost as if there was something scandalous she wished to leave behind?”

Serena felt a surge of distaste for both him and his characterization of her friend Portia Stefani. The school in question had been an oasis of friendship and security, and she sorely missed it. She changed the topic before she said something to Sandy she would regret.

“I have had a series of commissions since then. Most notably a project for the Mannerings.

“I heard about that, too—some rather ostentatious work on an undercroft in their private church.”

It always amazed her how Sandy seemed to know everything that went on in ton circles, even though he was perpetually on the fringes of it.

“And you, Sandy, how have you been occupying yourself?” Besides drinking and gambling, she could have added.

“As you see.” He waved a hand in the air, his other hand holding the glass which already held just half of what it had only a moment earlier. Sandy had always had too much of a taste for spirits.