Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

She felt like herself, which was something she was never allowed to feel in his presence. Or in the anticipation of his presence. Or the aftermath.

It was always about him. Wyndham this and Wyndham that, and oh how lucky she was to have snagged the most handsome duke in the land without even having to lift a finger.

The one time she allowed her rather dry humor to rise to the fore, and said, “Well, of course I had to lift my little baby rattle,” she’d been rewarded with two blank stares and one mutter of “ungrateful chit.”

That had been Jacinda Lennox’s mother, three weeks before Jacinda had received her shower of marriage proposals.

So Amelia generally kept her mouth shut and did what was expected of her. But now…

Well, this wasn’t London, and her mother wasn’t watching, and she was just so sick of the way he kept her on a leash. Really, she could have found someone else by now. She could have had fun. She could have kissed a man.

Oh, very well, not that. She wasn’t an idiot, and she did value her reputation. But she might have imagined it, which she’d certainly never bothered to do before.

And then, because she had no idea when she might feel so reckless again, she smiled up at her future husband and said, “But you should dance, if you wish it. I’m sure there are many ladies who would be happy to partner you.”

“But I wish to dance with you,” he ground out.

“Perhaps another time,” Amelia said. She gave him her sunniest smile. “Ta!”

And she walked away.

She walked away.

She wanted to skip. In fact, she did. But only once she’d turned the corner.

Thomas Cavendish liked to think himself a reasonable man, especially since his lofty position as the seventh Duke of Wyndham would have allowed him any number of unreasonable demands. He could have gone stark raving mad, dressed all in pink, and declared the world a triangle, and the ton would still have bowed and scraped and hung on his every word.

His own father, the sixth Duke of Wyndham, had not gone stark raving mad, nor had he dressed all in pink or declared the world a triangle, but he had certainly been a most unreasonable man. It was for that reason that Thomas most prided himself upon the evenness of his temper, the sanctity of his word, and, although he did not choose to reveal this side of his personality to many, his ability to find humor in the absurd.

And this was definitely absurd.

But as news of Lady Amelia’s departure from the assembly spread through the hall, and head after head swiveled in his direction, Thomas began to realize that the line between humor and fury was not so very much more substantial than the edge of a knife.

And twice as sharp.

Lady Elizabeth was gazing upon him with a fair dose of horror, as if he might turn into an ogre and tear someone from limb to limb. And Grace-drat the little minx-looked as if she might burst out laughing at any moment.

“Don’t,” he warned her.

She complied, but barely, so he turned to Lady Elizabeth and asked, “Shall I fetch her?”

She stared at him mutely.

“Your sister,” he clarified.

Still nothing. Good Lord, were they even educating females these days?

“The Lady Amelia,” he said, with extra enunciation. “My affianced bride. The one who just gave me the cut direct.”

“I wouldn’t call it direct,” Elizabeth finally choked out.

He stared at her for a moment longer than was comfortable (for her; he was perfectly at ease with it), then turned to Grace, who was, he had long since realized, one of the only people in the world upon whom he might rely for complete honesty.

“Shall I fetch her?”

“Oh, yes,” she said, her eyes shining with mischief. “Do.”

His brows rose a fraction of an inch as he pondered where the dratted female might have gone off to. She couldn’t actually leave the assembly; the front doors spilled right onto the main street in Stamford-certainly not an appropriate spot for an unescorted female. In the back there was a small garden. Thomas had never had occasion to inspect it personally, but he was told that many a marriage had been proposed in its leafy confines.

Proposed being something of a euphemism. Most proposals occurred in a rather more complete state of attire than those that came about in the back garden of the Lincolnshire Dance and Assembly Hall.

But Thomas didn’t much worry about being caught alone with Lady Amelia Willoughby. He was already shackled to the chit, wasn’t he? And he could not put off the wedding very much longer. He had informed her parents that they would wait until she was one-and-twenty, and surely she had to reach that age soon.

If she hadn’t already.

“My options appear to be thus,” he murmured. “I could fetch my lovely betrothed, drag her back for a dance, and demonstrate to the assembled multitudes that I have her clearly under my thumb.”

Grace stared at him with amusement. Elizabeth looked somewhat green.

“But then it would look as if I cared,” he continued.

“Don’t you?” Grace asked.

He thought about this. His pride was pricked, that was true, but more than anything he was amused. “Not so very much,” he answered, and then, because Elizabeth was her sister, he added, “Pardon.”

She nodded weakly.

“On the other hand,” he said, “I could simply remain here. Refuse to make a scene.”

“Oh, I think the scene was already made,” Grace murmured, giving him an arch look.

Which he returned in kind. “You’re lucky that you’re the only thing that makes my grandmother tolerable.”

Grace turned to Elizabeth. “I am apparently unsackable.”

“Much as I’ve been tempted,” Thomas added.

Which they both knew was untrue. Thomas would have laid himself prostrate at her feet if necessary, just to get her to remain in his grandmother’s employ. Luckily for him, Grace showed no inclination to leave.

Still, he would have done it. And tripled her salary at the same time. Every minute Grace spent in his grandmother’s company was a minute he didn’t have to, and truly, one could not put a price on something such as that.

But that was not the matter at hand. His grandmother was safely ensconced in the next room with her band of cronies, and he had every intention of being in and out of the assembly without their having to share a single word of conversation.

His fiancee, however, was another story entirely.

“I do believe I shall allow her her moment of triumph,” he said, coming to this decision as the words crossed his lips. He felt no need to demonstrate his authority-really, could there be any question of it?-and he did not particularly relish the idea that the good people of Lincolnshire might imagine he was besotted with his fiancee.

Thomas did not do infatuation.

“That’s very generous of you, I must say,” Grace remarked, her smile most irritating.

He shrugged. Barely. “I’m a generous sort of man.”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened, and he thought he heard her breathe, but other than that, she remained mute.

A wordless female. Maybe he should marry that one.

“Do you depart, then?” Grace asked.

“Are you trying to be rid of me?”

“Not at all. You know I always delight in your presence.”