busy refilling glasses, and then we moved to the third course. Parsnip soup. Somehow, William had made the very pedestrian parsnip soup look, and smell, amazing. He’d drizzled it with a watercress reduction, and we moved on to a third wine, this one German.

Once the soup was done, the four older Gargoyles rose. As Rafe and the tall blond guy stood, Rafe made a subtle motion with his chin for me to follow.

When the three of us were alone in the hall, he said, “How are you making out so far?”

“Yeah, great. I just wish I could sit down and eat some of this stuff. It smells amazing.”

In a low voice, Rafe said, “A little richer than my usual diet.” Right, I had to stop talking about food in front of him. His dietary needs were so different from mine.

The fact that he’d said the words in front of the blond man made me pretty sure my suspicions had been correct. He said, “Lucy, I’d like you to meet Lochlan Balfour. Lochlan lives in Ireland. He’s a special guest tonight, as he’s a Knight of the Garter. Though no one knows that, of course.”

“I thought you were a Gargoyle?” I was getting so confused.

They both laughed a kind of superior har-har-har, and Rafe explained, “We are both Gargoyles. However, being a Knight of the Garter is an extremely high honor. The Order has been going since the thirteen hundreds and is bestowed by the monarch. St. George is closely associated with the Knights of the Garter. So it’s a real honor for us to have Lochlan here tonight.”

“You said the Knights of the Garter were a bunch of old guys.”

The two kind of smirked at each other. Lochlan said, in a very low voice, “I am an old guy. I’m older than Rafe.”

I looked at him, and his eyes were twinkling. Rafe was five hundred years old. How old could this guy be? I was seriously going to have to do a search on Google and see if I could find his name. Somewhere there must be lists of all the Knights of the Garter, because if I recalled correctly, there were only ever a maximum of twenty-four of them at one time.

It seemed like something Rafe would have done at some point in his career. “Were you ever a Knight of the Garter?” I asked him.

“No.”

Lochlan shook his head when Rafe didn’t elaborate. “You’re too modest, Rafe.” He turned to me. Clearly Rafe had told him that I could be trusted and knew all their secrets, for he said, “Queen Elizabeth, and I mean the first to bear that name, wanted to make Rafe a Knight of the Garter. And in my opinion, she should simply have done it. But she made the mistake of consulting Rafe, and he turned down the honor.”

I was shocked. “You did? Who would turn down an honor like that from the queen herself?”

“Someone who didn’t want to have a high profile. I had done some spying for the queen. If any of my secret activities became public, I didn’t want anything to besmirch her fair name.”

That was so sweet, I smiled at him. “Chivalry. I like that.”

Lochlan shook his head. “Women. Seven hundred years I’ve been alive, and they haven’t changed a bit.”

For some reason, that didn’t sound much like a compliment. I could hear Hugo’s voice, wishing the younger men a good dinner. Rafe said, “We’re adjourning upstairs now. You remember what I said. Call my name, and I’ll hear you if you need anything. Anything at all.”

“And so will I,” added Lochlan Balfour. “I’m the true Knight of the Garter, after all.”

“Braggart,” Rafe replied.

I appreciated their protectiveness, but it seemed a little over the top considering that we were in Hugo Percival Brown’s home, not some pub where these guys could get away with murder. “I’ll be fine.”

Hugo and the fourth of the older Gargoyles joined us. “All right, gentlemen? Let’s adjourn upstairs. And let the mayhem begin.”

They went off, and I scurried back to the dining room to catch up on my duties. When I got there, I saw Pamela didn’t seem to have done much in the way of clearing the plates and putting out the fresh ones. She was bending over, speaking to Alexander Percival Brown. He replied in a low voice. What on earth was she doing? Giving out her phone number?

“Pamela,” I said, slightly sharply. “If you finish clearing the soup, I’ll pour the next wine.”

The glance she sent up at me under her lashes was not the friendliest. She didn’t immediately move, and she might as well have shouted, You are not the boss of me.

William had already given me the rundown on the next wine course. This was the one we’d been working up to. The highlight of the evening. He had already opened a couple of bottles and had them decanted.

“What a beauty,” he said, pouring a tiny bit into a glass, then swirling, sniffing and finally tasting it. Seeing me looking at him with eyebrows raised, he said, “Of course, 1995 was an excellent year for burgundies. This is a grand cru from Nuits-Saint-Georges.” He poured a taster for me. I sipped it and thought it was very nice, but I doubted my budget would stretch this far. “Don’t tell me, it’s a thousand pounds a bottle too?”

He laughed softly. “Much, much more. Of course, Hugo Percival Brown would have bought the wine when it was first available and cellared it. Still, I bet he’s got a fortune in wines in his cellar.”

“He has his own wine cellar?” I thought the wine fridge was impressive.

“Yes. When we discussed the menu, we also planned the wines to go with each course. Wine’s a hobby of his, so I expect his cellar is first-rate.”

William always had one eye on the clock, and he nodded, pleased. “Good. Half past eight, and we’re right on schedule.” And then we brought in William’s beef Wellington. It was

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