His anger at Lady Farrington had little to do with her and much more to do with the fact that Guinevere had left prematurely the night before. It irked him how disobedient she was, even if he admired it. After all, he preferred an opinionated person over a sycophant or, worse, a fool.
"Your Majesty, if you will," Edmund said, still by the table. "This is from Lord Michaelson and has been sitting here for almost a week. I believe he expects a response today."
Alexander took a sip of his cognac. It was still morning and he was already drinking. "What does it want?"
"Your signature."
He walked to the table. Taking up his quill once more, he signed his name, dropped the snifter noisily and stalked out of the room. A few seconds later, Edmund emerged, having tidied up the parchments. He hurried ahead to prepare the horse.
As he passed by the portrait room, walking with more anger than grace, Alexander thought he saw a shadow, but he was mistaken.
