But the duke simply huffed from the place he’d assumed at the head of the table. “Ninety-year-old women—” “She’s eighty-one,” Maggie cut in, but the man either didn’t hear or didn’t care. “—do not simply disappear, young lady.” He spat the words like it was somehow Cece’s fault. Like Eleanor was a dog and Cece had let her off her leash. “I know that,” Cece implored. “But I can’t find her.” “Well, did you check her office?” the duchess asked.
