“Do you know anything about the duke? I mean, other than that he’s kind of old and a duke. Is he kind? A good man? What is he like?”
“I do not know, miss.” Muriel’s face was serious if a little sad. “He was married before, but the duchess passed away in childbirth. His Grace’s son is up at Eton. That is all I know, s’truth.”
Leah dropped Muriel’s hands. “He’s got a son?”
Muriel shook out the gown again. “Yes, miss.”
His heir. No wonder Miss Stapleton had said that. Leah wanted to smack herself on the forehead. Of course that was what she meant. Okay, a widower with a son. Wow.
Muriel sniffed, regaining her composure. “Now please, allow me to help you dress. Lawks, you shall be late if we do not hurry. Hannah is dressing her ladyship, so come.”
Leah followed directions numbly, not sure what else to do. Things weren’t going anything like she’d imagined. But what could she do at this point?
Muriel managed to get Leah dressed and ready by the time Lady Chesterfield descended from her room. Tonight, Leah’s patroness was outfitted in a brassy gold satin, pheasant feathers towering from a simple-looking hairdo. Lady Chesterfield smiled in a long-suffering way as she rounded the bottom step.
“I trust you know, dear Miss Ramsey, what a sacrifice it has been for me to allow you the use of my personal lady’s maid. My coiffure is much plainer than I would like, but that cannot be helped. But I must say”—she patted Leah’s cheek with a proud smile—“you look ravishing, my dear.”
“It’s thanks to you and Muriel.” Leah smiled back. “The clothes and hair are all you guys.”
“No matter, my dear. The beauty is all yours. Tonight, you take the ton by storm!” With that proclamation, and a trilling, birdlike laugh, Lady Chesterfield sailed through the front door, held open by a dour-looking Graves.
Shouldering her evening wrap, Leah smiled at the butler.
“Good night, Graves. Thank you.”
He acknowledged her words with the barest of nods. Oh well. He was a tough nut to crack. She followed Lady Chesterfield into the damp and drizzly night, wondering what the hell to do about the mess she’d made of this whole situation.
The Duke of Granville’s carriage rolled to a stop in front of Waterson Manor. A tiger jumped to the ground and opened the door only a moment before the duke stepped out, dressed elegantly in white pantaloons, a black coat, and crimson waistcoat. Once Lord Granville was escorted into the house by the Watersons’ butler, the boy resumed his position and the carriage rolled around to wait in the back of the manor.
“Pissin’ down, it is,” the tiger, Edmond, muttered as he jumped to the shiny wet cobbles. “Night not fit for man nor beast.”
“Mind your tongue, lad. ’Tis fine enough for the likes of you,” the coachman replied as he loosed the horses from their traces. “Oy, who’s with ye back there?”
“Oh, ’im?” Edmond rubbed his hands together. “It’s Russell.”
Avery tossed his hood back and jumped to the ground. Riding on the back of the carriage, Avery was sure his employer hadn’t noted his presence—exactly as he’d planned it. After all, how could he explain that he was there to assure himself of Miss Ramsey’s well-being?
A note had been shoved beneath his door sometime during the night, and the contents had frozen the blood in his veins.
Harm to himself, he could stand. Pain was a familiar friend after all these years. His aunt was safe enough with Mrs. Comstock watching out for her. But even thinking about Prachett harming Leah made rage thunder through him. He’d had to make sure she was safe.
Rounding the back of the manor house, Avery found his way into the back garden. He peered through the windows of the house.
People milled about, dressed in their lesser finery for a smaller gathering. But even the poorest-dressed among them still shone like a polished gem. They chatted and laughed easily, the cares of the world as foreign to them as the colonies.
Bitterness lodged in the back of his throat. He coughed quietly, then resumed searching for her.
His efforts were rewarded only a moment later. Leah followed Lady Chesterfield into the room, a delicate smile on her face. A footman took her wrap, revealing her creamy shoulders and smooth arms, framed as they were by the delicate ivory lace of her dress. She laughed at something Lady Chesterfield said, tilting her head back in abandon, revealing the slender column he’d love to kiss.
Lord, she was beautiful.
He curled his fingers into a fist as he fought the urge to go to her. He was nothing to her, nothing at all. She was here for the duke. And he was only here to see that she remained unharmed by Prachett or his men.
They couldn’t know that this glittering debutante was the maid from Granville House, could they?
The rain had stopped, but the air was cold, thick, and damp. Music started in the house, the plaintive sound of a pianoforte seeming to echo the strain in his chest.
He slapped his hand against the brick.
Thinking of her was such foolishness. Why perpetuate a fantasy?
Avery turned and looked through the window once more. She stood at the back of the room, a polite smile on her face as she addressed the gentleman next to her. His stomach dropped. The gentleman next to her was none other than his employer. The man she seemed determined to catch.
Jealousy roared through Avery. He dug his fingers into the brick, gritting his teeth so hard they ached. He could not tear his gaze away from the couple.
Why should he care? Granville was a gentleman, despite his age, and would make an exemplary match for Miss Ramsey. He’d always been kind to Avery. So why did Avery want nothing more than to rip her away from the duke’s side?
The song ended, and a polite smattering of applause sounded.
He spent nearly an hour by the bush in the back garden, growing more and more angry as Leah remained by the duke’s side. Avery’s employer took a glass of ratafia from a passing servant and offered it to her. A cold wind kissed Avery’s burning skin, but it did nothing to cool his rage at the sight of the duke’s hand brushing Leah’s. She blushed, smiling down at the glass in her gloved hands.
Damn it.
It should be Avery she smiled at, Avery touching her.
He snarled as he ripped the bush beside him out of the ground, spraying damp earth in all directions.
When the haze lifted, he realized his hands were cut and bleeding. The holly’s sharp edges had punished his impetuous actions with aplomb—and the Watersons’ poor gardener would have an apoplexy.
He knelt in the damp earth, replacing the battered bush as best he could. Would his rages ever be controlled? Would he ever be the master of his own mind and body?
He flexed his sore palms, ignoring the trickles of blood that dripped to the ground below. His gaze locked on the group inside. The duke had moved to another part of the room. He stood by the front door, but where was Leah?
Avery’s heart raced as he desperately scanned the room for her. Where had she gone? He must find her before someone else did.
The squeak of a nearby door’s hinges chased him behind the mangled bush. He crouched low. Footsteps
