Lewis slowly shook his head. “You misunderstand me. I will not go at all.”
Morington’s eyes widened. “You have not missed a visit with your grandmother inyears.”
“I know.”
“You will upset her, Wheelton. I know that you are disappointed and reeling, but you must go to your grandmother!”
“And tell her what?” Lewis snapped. “That I have lost my wife, the one person who my grandmother likes?”
Morington sighed. “You cannot hide that your wife is gone, and I am certain that Her Grace would rather you visit her regardless of what you might tell her.”
“No,” Lewis said, pouring himself another glass of brandy. “Besides, I will probably do her more good if I stay away. Otherwise, I will just make her life worse, like I did with Bridget.”
“That is untrue, and you know it.”
Lewis grunted. A fissure of anger shot through him. Morington was being wholly reasonable, but Lewis really just wanted to bemoan his present state to a sympathetic ear.
“Your grandmother cares for you,” Morington said. “She will be sympathetic.”
Lewis was not so confident that she would be. Even if she was, Lewis suspected that her kindness would only make him feel worse about himself. He did not deserve anyone’s gentleness after he had driven Bridget away forever.
Morington climbed to his feet and fixed his friend with a stern look. “You are helping no one by lingering around here and brooding over the matter.”
“You are welcome to leave if you find my company to be so bothersome,” Lewis said.
“You know that I do not. I am only trying to help you,” Morington said. “I realize that you are angry, but that does not justify being unkind to me.”
Lewis rubbed his face. “Apologies.”
“You could not have said that less sincerely if you had tried,” Morington said. “You need to visit your grandmother, at least.”
The sound of a person clearing their throat interrupted the conversation. Lewis tilted his head back, spying St. Clairstanding in the doorway. The butler bowed. “Your Grace, you have a visitor.”
It could not be Bridget. She would never let herself be introduced like that. Perhaps it was her brother come to defend his sister’s honor?
“Who is it?” Morington asked.
Lewis scarcely dared to breathe.
“The Dowager Duchess,” St. Clair said. “Shall I show her to you?”
For a heartbeat, Lewis simply stared at the butler, certain that he must have misheard. “My grandmother?” he asked.
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
“She has not left her townhouse in over a decade,” Lewis said, baffled. “How can she be here?”
“I do not know, Your Grace,” St. Clair replied.
“Bring her here,” Lewis said.
He still thought that St. Clair must be somehow mistaken, for Lewis’s grandmother could not have possibly left her house. If anything, she might send somewhere to him, but she would never come herself.
St. Clair bowed. “At once, Your Grace.”
The butler hastened away, and Lewis looked morosely across the room. It could not be his grandmother. St. Clair must be mistaken.
“Well,” Morington said. “It seems as though you cannot avoid confrontations today.”
