“Agnes,” I whispered, “do we have anything in the house that would render a man unconscious?” “Such as a frying pan?” “No.” I closed my eyes. “Not blunt force, rather something like laudanum or chamomile tea spiked with…well, laudanum.” Her face went pale. “My mother says…” “Agnes, there is a very ill duke upstairs. It is in his best interest to have peace and quiet. If you can think of something, anything, that will give my dear Cousin Archibald a swift and prolonged night’s sleep, you will be serving the better good of society, the peerage, and the Queen. Do you understand?” “…yes?” “Can I
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