Archi took hold of the letter, opened it and scanned it. He propped his elbow upon the table and leaned casually on his thumb and forefinger, resting the sharp angle of his cheek while he sprawled one leg under the table as if bored. Hmm, think of a Carrington and one appears. His eyes rolled heavenward and he gave a prayer for patience, for he had heard of the scandals associated with one, Miss Olivia Carrington. Of course, he wasn't one to indulge in such nonsense, but he had no control over the wagging tongues of society. Many a busybody spoke of this family, and Olivia Carrington was far from perfect.

However, he could not argue the fact that she had inherited her mother's looks. He had once shown interest in Anne Carrington but she was much too cunning for his tastes. His interested had faded before he would have asked to court her. He pitied the fool who'd married her. Had she inherited her temper? He'd seen glimpses of that in Anne the day he would have asked, in fact, and he noped out faster than snow in the summertime.

He waved his man over, "I am sure she is nearby," and then he pointed to the letter, "Catch her and tell her she is invited to breakfast. If not, then I will seek her out myself." He had to make some kind of effort. He was too old to be picky, and she would be a means to an end. That left a sour taste in his mouth, but his man bowed and took off in search of the woman. Nobody needed to be told how she looked, for everyone knew who she was.