by Julia Quinn
“What a fetching tableau the two of you make,” he said. “And me, without my oils.”
“Do you paint, Mr. Audley?” Amelia asked. She had been brought up to make polite conversation whenever the situation called for it, and even, quite frequently, when it did not. Some habits were hard to break.
“Alas, no,” he said. “But I have been thinking I might take some lessons. It is a noble pursuit for a gentleman, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh, indeed,” she replied, although privately she thought that he would have been better served had he begun his studies at a younger age. Amelia looked at Grace, since it seemed only natural that she would add to the conversation. When she did not, Amelia gave her a polite nudge.
“Mr. Audley is a great appreciator of art,” Grace blurted out.
Mr. Audley smiled enigmatically.
And Amelia was once again left to fill the breach. “You must be enjoying your stay at Belgrave Castle, then,” she said to him.
“I look forward to touring the collections,” he replied. “Miss Eversleigh has consented to show them to me.”
“That was very kind of you, Grace.” Amelia said, working to keep her surprise off her face. Not that there was anything wrong with Mr. Audley, except perhaps for his inability to leave the room when she wished him to. But as Grace was the dowager’s companion, it seemed odd that she would have been asked to show Thomas’s friend the collections.
Grace grunted something that was probably meant to be a response.
“We plan to avoid cupids,” Mr. Audley said.
“Cupids?” Amelia echoed. Good heavens, he did move from topic to topic.
He shrugged. “I have discovered that I am not fond of them.”
How could anyone not be fond of cupids?
“I can see that you disagree, Lady Amelia,” Mr. Audley said. But Amelia noticed that he glanced at Grace before he spoke.
“What is there not to like about cupids?” Amelia asked him. She had not intended to engage him in such a ridiculous conversation, but really, he’d brought it up.
He perched himself on the arm of the opposite sofa. “You don’t find them rather dangerous?” he asked, clearly out to make mischief.
“Chubby little babies?”
“Carrying deadly weapons,” he reminded her.
“They are not real arrows.”
Mr. Audley turned to Grace. Again. “What do you think, Miss Eversleigh?”
“I don’t often think about cupids,” she replied.
“And yet we have already discussed them twice, you and I.”
“Because you brought them up.”
Amelia drew back in surprise. She’d never heard Grace so short of temper.
“My dressing room is positively awash in them,” Mr. Audley said.
Amelia turned to Grace. “You were in his dressing room?”
“Not with him,” Grace practically snapped. “But I have certainly seen it before.”
No one spoke, and then Grace finally muttered, “Pardon.”
“Mr. Audley,” Amelia said, deciding it was well past time to take the situation in hand. She was turning over a new leaf today, she’d decided. She had managed Thomas and she could manage these two if she had to.
“Lady Amelia,” he said with a gracious tilt of his chin.
“Would it be rude if Miss Eversleigh and I took a turn about the room?”
“Of course not,” he said immediately, even though it was rude, given that they were only a threesome, and he’d be left with nothing to do.
“Thank you for your understanding,” Amelia said, linking her arm through Grace’s and pulling them both to their feet. “I do feel the need to stretch my legs, and I fear that your stride would be far too brisk for a lady.”
Good gad, she could not believe she was uttering such tripe, but it seemed to do the trick. Mr. Audley said nothing more, and she steered Grace over to a spot by the windows.
“I need to speak with you,” she whispered, modulating their pace into something even and graceful.
Grace nodded.
“This morning,” Amelia continued, glancing surreptitiously at Mr. Audley to see if he was watching them (he was), “Wyndham was in need of assistance, and I came to his aid, but I had to tell my mother that it was you I had seen, and that you had invited me back to Belgrave.”
Grace nodded again, her eyes straight ahead, and then at the door, but never on her.
“I doubt it will come to it, but should you see my mother, I beg of you not to contradict.”
“Of course not,” Grace said quickly. “You have my word.”
Amelia nodded, somewhat surprised at how easy that had been. She had not expected Grace to decline, but all the same, she thought she’d have to offer something more of an explanation. Grace hadn’t even asked why Wyndham had been in need of assistance. Surely that warranted some curiosity. When had either of them known him to need anything?
They fell silent as they promenaded past Mr. Audley, who looked rather amused at the spectacle they presented.
“Miss Eversleigh,” he murmured. “Lady Amelia.”
“Mr. Audley,” Amelia returned. Grace said the same.
They continued around the room, Amelia picking up the conversation once they were again out of his earshot. “I do hope I do not overstep,” she whispered. Grace was very silent, and Amelia was well aware that she was asking a great deal in asking her to lie.
They heard footsteps in the hall, and Grace’s entire body jerked toward the door. But it was just a footman, walking by with a large trunk, probably empty, given that he had it perched easily on his shoulder.
“Sorry,” Grace said. “Did you say something?”
Amelia started to repeat her comment, but instead just said, “No.” She’d never seen Grace so distracted.
They continued around the room, taking, as they had the first time, the longest possible perimeter. As they drew close to the door, they heard more footsteps.
“Excuse me,” Grace said, pulling away. She hurried to the open doorway, looked out, and then returned. “It wasn’t the duke,” she said.
Amelia glanced through the open doorway. Two more footmen were moving through the hall, one with a trunk and another with a hatbox.
“Is someone going somewhere?” Amelia asked.
“No,” Grace replied. “Well, I suppose someone might be, but I do not know about it.”
Her voice sounded so abrupt and unsettled that Amelia finally asked, “Grace, are you all right?”
Her head turned, but not far enough for Amelia to see into her eyes. “Oh, no…I mean, yes, I’m quite fine.”
Amelia glanced back toward Mr. Audley. He waved. She turned back to Grace, whose face had flushed to a deep pink.
Which was reason enough to look back at Mr. Audley. He was looking at Grace. It was true that the two ladies were arm in arm, but it was more than obvious which was the recipient of his sultry gaze.
Grace knew it, too. Her breath caught, and indeed, her whole body stiffened. Amelia felt it tensing through her arm.
And then she was struck with the most marvelous thought.
“Grace,” she whispered, keeping her voice extra low, “are you in love with Mr. Audley?”
“No!”
Grace’s cheeks, which had begun to return to their normal tone, went right back to crimson. Her refusal had come out quite loudly, and Mr. Audley was regarding them with amused curiosity. Grace smiled weakly, nodded, and said, “Mr. Audley,” even though he couldn’t possibly hear her from where he sat.
“I’ve only just met him,” Grace whispered furiously. “Yesterday. No, the day before. I can’t recall.”
“You’ve been meeting many intriguing gentlemen lately, have you not?”
Grace turned to her sharply. “Whatever can you mean?”
“Mr. Audley…” Amelia teased. “The Italian highwayman.”
“Amelia!”
“Oh, that’s right, you said he was Scottish.
Or Irish. You weren’t certain.” Amelia caught sight of Mr. Audley just then, and it occurred to her that his accent was very slightly foreign as well. “Where is Mr. Audley from? He has a bit of a lilt as well.”
“I do not know,” Grace said, rather impatiently, in Amelia’s opinion.
“Mr. Audley,” Amelia called out.
He immediately tilted his head in question.
“Grace and I were wondering where you are from. Your accent is unfamiliar to me.”
“Ireland, Lady Amelia, a bit north of Dublin.”
“Ireland! My goodness, you are far afield.”
He merely smiled.
The two ladies found themselves back at their original seating area, and so Amelia disconnected her arm from Grace’s and sat down. “How are you enjoying Lincolnshire, Mr. Audley?”
“I find it most surprising.”
“Surprising?” Amelia glanced at Grace to see if she, too, found that answer curious, but Grace was now standing near the door, nervously looking out.
“My visit here has not been what I expected.”
“Really? What did you expect? I assure you, we are quite civilized in this corner of England.”
“Very much so,” he agreed. “More so than is my preference, as a matter of fact.”
“Why, Mr. Audley, whatever can that mean?”
He smiled enigmatically but did not say more, which Amelia found quite out of character. Then it occurred to her that she’d known him but fifteen minutes; how odd that she would find anything out of character.
“Oh,” she heard Grace say, and then: “Excuse me.”
Grace hurried from the room.
Amelia and Mr. Audley looked at each other, and then in unison both turned to the doorway.
Chapter 12
Aside from Harry Gladdish, the man who knew Thomas best was his valet, Grimsby, who had been with the duke since the day he left for university. Unlike most valets, Grimsby was of an exceedingly strong constitution. (Not that one would know this to look at him; he was quite slender, with pale skin that always worried the housekeeper, who kept trying to get him to eat more beef.)
When Thomas returned from a hell-for-leather gallop in the rain, his clothes soaked and muddied, Grimsby merely inquired after the horse.
When Thomas spent a day in the field, doing manual labor alongside his tenants, returning with any number of layers of grime on his skin, in his hair, and under his nails, Grimsby asked him if he preferred his bathwater warm, hot, or steaming.
But when Thomas staggered into his bedchamber, presumably still reeking of alcohol (he’d long since stopped noticing the odor), his cravat completely missing, and his eye a most remarkable shade of purple, Grimsby dropped his shoe brush.
It was possibly the only outward show of alarm he had ever displayed.
“Your eye,” Grimsby said.
Oh, right. He hadn’t seen Grimsby since his tussle with his lovely new cousin. Thomas gave him a flip sort of smile. “Perhaps we can choose a waistcoat to match.”
“I don’t believe we have one, your grace.”
“Is that so?” Thomas crossed to the basin. As usual, Grimsby had made sure it was filled with water. Lukewarm by this point, but he was in no position to complain. He splashed a bit on his face, rubbed himself with a hand towel, then repeated the entire process after a quick glance in the mirror revealed that he’d barely scratched the surface of his disrepair.
“We shall have to remedy that, Grimsby,” Thomas said, giving his forehead a good scrub. He looked back at his valet with a sarcastic grin. “Do you think you can memorize the hue for the next time we are in London?”
“Might I suggest, your grace, that you consider not subjecting your face to such abuse again?” Grimsby handed him another towel, even though Thomas had not requested one. “This would eliminate our need to consider the color when choosing your wardrobe for the upcoming year.” He held out a bar of soap. “You could still purchase a new waistcoat of the color, if you wish. I imagine the shade would be most handsome when displayed upon fabric, as opposed to one’s skin.”
“Elegantly said,” Thomas murmured. “It almost didn’t sound like a scolding.”
Grimsby smiled modestly. “I do try, your grace.” He held forth another towel. Good gad, Thomas thought, he must be more of a mess than he’d thought.
“Shall I ring for a bath, your grace?”
The question was purely rhetorical, as Grimsby had already done so before the your in your grace. Thomas stripped off his clothing, which Grimsby then picked up with tongs, and donned his dressing robe. He flopped onto his bed, and was seriously considering postponing the bath in favor of a good nap when a knock sounded at the door.
“That was quick,” Grimsby commented, crossing the room.
“His grace has a visitor,” came the unexpected voice of Penrith, Belgrave’s longtime butler.
Thomas did not bother to open his eyes. There could be no one worth rising for at this moment.
“The duke is not receiving at this time,” Grimsby said. Thomas resolved to raise his wages with all possible haste.
“It is his fiancée,” the butler said.
Thomas sat up like a shot. What the devil? Amelia was supposed to be here for Grace. It had all been planned. The two women would chitter chatter for an hour, and then he would make his usual appearance, and no one would suspect that Amelia had actually been at Belgrave all morning.
What could possibly have gone awry?
“Your grace,” Grimsby said when Thomas swung his legs over the side of the bed to get down, “you cannot possibly think of receiving Lady Amelia in such a state.”
“I do plan to dress, Grimsby,” Thomas said rather dryly.
“Yes, of course, but…”
Grimsby appeared unable to complete his sentence aloud, but his nose flared a bit, then wrinkled, which Thomas took to mean—Sir, you stink.
Nothing to be done about it, though. He couldn’t leave Amelia on her own if all had not gone according to plan. And indeed, Grimsby was able to work a small miracle in the space of ten minutes. By the time Thomas left his room, he looked wholly like himself again. (Himself in need of a shave, but this could not be helped.) But his hair was no longer sticking up like an exotic bird, and even though his eye still looked like death underneath, he no longer appeared quite so bloodshot and exhausted.
A bit of tooth powder and he was ready to go. Grimsby, on the other hand, gave every indication that he needed a good lie-down.
Thomas made his way downstairs, intending to head straight to the drawing room, but as he entered the hall, he saw Grace, standing about six feet from its entrance, gesticulating madly and holding one finger to her lips.
“Grace,” he said as he approached, “what is the meaning of this? Penrith told me that Amelia was here to see me?”
He did not pause, assuming that she would fall in step beside him. But just as he passed, she grabbed his arm and yanked him to a stop. “Thomas, wait!”
He turned, lifting one of his brows in question.
“It’s Mr. Audley,” she said, pulling him back even farther from the door. “He is in the drawing room.”
Thomas glanced toward the drawing room and then back at Grace, wondering why he’d been told that Amelia was there.
“With Amelia,” Grace practically hissed.
He cursed, unable to stop himself, despite the presence of a lady. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said, her voice quite snappish. “He was in there when I arrived. Amelia said she saw him walking by the doorway and thought he was you.”
Oh now, that was rich. Blessed with a family resemblance, they were. How quaint.
“What did he say?” Thomas finally asked.
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. And then I couldn’t very well interrogate her in his presence.”
“No, of course not.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. This was a disaster.
“I’m quite sure he
did not reveal his…identity to her.”
Thomas gave her a dry look.
“It is not my fault, Thomas,” Grace said angrily.
“I did not say that it was.” He let out his own irritated snort and then pressed on toward the drawing room. Mr. Audley was a cancer in their midst. In all the years Grace had worked here, they had never exchanged angry words. And God only knew what the man was saying to Amelia.
From the moment Grace rushed from the room, neither Amelia nor Mr. Audley had uttered a word. It was as if they had reached an unspoken agreement; silence would prevail while they both tried to make out what was being said in the hall.
But unless Mr. Audley’s hearing was superior to hers, Amelia accepted that they had both been stymied. She could not make out a thing. Grace must have intercepted Thomas at the far end of the hall.
Grace did seem exceedingly agitated that afternoon, which Amelia found strange. She realized that she had asked a great deal of her, especially when Grace’s friendship was more to her sister than herself, but surely that could not account for her odd demeanor.
Amelia leaned forward, as if that might possibly improve her eavesdropping. Something was brewing at Belgrave, and she was growing rather irritated that she seemed to be the only person left in the dark.
“You won’t be able to hear them,” Mr. Audley said.
She gave him a look that tried to be reproving.
“Oh, don’t pretend you weren’t trying. I certainly was.”
“Very well.” Amelia decided there was no point in protesting. “What do you suppose they are talking about?”
Mr. Audley shrugged. “Difficult to say. I would never presume to understand the female mind, or that of our esteemed host.”
“You do not like the duke?” Because surely the implication was in his tone.
“I did not say that,” he chided gently.
She pressed her lips together, wanting to say that he did not have to say it. But there was nothing to be gained in provocation, at least not at this moment, so instead she asked, “How long do you stay at Belgrave?”
