Courage. Leah’s eyes closed and the memory of Avery’s kiss came unbidden. It had been incredible, a kiss that she could replay a thousand times and never get tired of. The feeling that curled low in her belly and crept up to her chest was hard to define. There was lust there, a familiar and comforting friend. But there was something more. What the hell was going on with her?
Cupping her chin in her hands, she stared as hard as she could, trying to make out the street below her window. No use. The rain was coming down too hard. What a miserable day, and it fit her miserable mood to a T.
“Miss?” Muriel’s head poked through the crack in the door. “I’ve come to dress you. Lady Chesterfield said that you’re attending the Watersons’ musicale tonight.”
Leah yawned and stretched, shuddering as her joints popped like Rice Krispies. She’d been sitting here and wallowing too long, apparently. “Yeah, that’s right. She said they can’t sing worth a crap. This is going to be awful, isn’t it?”
“Oh no, miss.” Muriel pulled a gown, one of the many that Lady Chesterfield had commissioned for Leah, and yet another source of Leah’s growing burden of guilt, from the tall oak wardrobe. Shaking out the pale cream and lace, Muriel spoke matter-of-factly. “Graves has told me that His Grace has returned. He’s to attend tonight.”
“His Grace? Like, the Duke of Granville, that His Grace?” Leah wrinkled her nose in uncertainty.
“Why yes, miss. Lady Chesterfield is quite pleased.” The maid picked at a loose thread on the ivory gown. “Shall I help you to dress?”
Leah reached out and grabbed Muriel’s hands, forcing the maid to turn and look at her.
“Muriel, listen. I need to ask you something, and I need you to promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”
Muriel nodded. “Of course, miss.”
“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.
Eighteen
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.
Russell,
I am most displeased. Your mission was clear, and you failed to carry it out. Do not be surprised if those you care for come to sudden harm.
Be ready for my instructions if you’d like to protect them. You know what I can do.
Prachett
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.