And then…more footsteps in the hall.
“Excuse me,” Grace said, unable to bear the suspense for one moment longer. She pulled away and hurried to the open doorway. Several more servants were passing by, all clearly in preparations for the upcoming journey to Ireland. Grace returned to Amelia’s side and once again took her arm. “It wasn’t the duke.”
“Is someone going somewhere?” Amelia asked, watching as two footmen passed the doorway, one with a trunk and another with a hatbox.
“No,” Grace said. But she hated lying, and she was terrible at it, so she added, “Well, I suppose someone might be, but I do not know about it.”
Which was also a lie. Wonderful. She looked at Amelia and tried to smile cheerfully.
“Grace,” Amelia said quietly, looking terribly concerned, “are you all right?”
“Oh, no…I mean, yes, I’m quite fine.” She tried for the cheerful smile again, and suspected she did a worse job of it than before.
“Grace,” Amelia whispered, her voice taking on a new and rather unsettlingly sly tone, “are you in love with Mr. Audley?”
“No!” Oh, good heavens, that was loud. Grace looked over at Mr. Audley. Not that she’d wanted to, but they’d just turned a corner and were facing him again, and she couldn’t avoid it. His face was tilted slightly down, but she could see him looking up at her, rather bemused. “Mr. Audley,” she said, because with him watching her, it seemed she should acknowledge him, even if he was too far away to hear.
But then, as soon as she had the opportunity, she turned back to Amelia, furiously whispering, “I’ve only just met him. Yesterday. No, the day before.” Oh, she was a ninny. She shook her head and looked firmly in front of her. “I can’t recall.”
“You’ve been meeting many intriguing gentlemen lately,” Amelia commented.
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’s brow scrunched in thought. “Where is Mr. Audley from? He has a bit of lilt as well.”
“I do not know,” Grace ground out. Where was Thomas? She dreaded his arrival, but the anticipation of it was worse.
And then Amelia-good heavens, why?-called out, “Mr. Audley!”
Grace turned and looked at a wall.
“Grace and I were wondering where you are from,” Amelia said. “Your accent is unfamiliar to me.”
“Ireland, Lady Amelia, a bit north of Dublin.”
“Ireland!” Amelia exclaimed. “My goodness, you are far afield.”
They’d finished circling the room, but Grace remained standing even after Amelia had disengaged herself and sat down. Then Grace moved toward the door as subtly as she was able.
“How are you enjoying Lincolnshire, Mr. Audley?” she heard Amelia ask.
“I find it most surprising.”
“Surprising?”
Grace peered out into the hall, still half listening to the conversation behind her.
“My visit here has not been what I expected,” Mr. Audley said, and Grace could well imagine his amused smile as he said that.
“Really?” Amelia responded. “What did you expect? I assure you, we are quite civilized in this corner of England.”
“Very much so,” he murmured. “More so than is my preference, as a matter of fact.”
“Why, Mr. Audley,” Amelia responded, “whatever can that mean?”
If he made a reply, Grace did not hear it. Just then she saw Thomas coming down the hall, all tidied up and looking like a duke again.
“Oh,” she said, the word slipping from her lips. “Excuse me.” She hurried into the hall, waving madly toward Thomas so as not to alert Amelia and Mr. Audley to her distress.
“Grace,” he said, moving forward with great purpose, “what is the meaning of this? Penrith told me that Amelia was here to see me?”
He did not slow as he approached, and Grace realized he meant for her to fall in step beside him. “Thomas, wait,” she said with hushed urgency, and she grabbed his arm and yanked him to a halt.
He turned to her, one of his brows rising into a haughty arch.
“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, clearly not comprehending.
“With Amelia,” she practically hissed.
All traces of his unflappable exterior vanished. “What the hell?” he cursed. He looked sharply back toward the drawing room, not that he could possibly have seen inside from his vantage point. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” Grace said, her voice snapping with irritation. Why would she know why? “He was in there when I arrived. Amelia said she saw him walking by the doorway and thought he was you.”
His body shuddered. Visibly. “What did he say?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. And then I couldn’t very well interrogate her in his presence.”
“No, of course not.”
Grace waited in silence for him to say more. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, and he looked rather as if his head were aching. Trying to offer some sort of not unpleasant news, she said, “I’m quite sure that he did not reveal his…”
Oh, good heavens. How was she to put it?