“Mostly fine,” Mrs. Clove said hesitantly.
“Mostly?”
“There is a new servant,” she said. “Just a boy, and he has not yet learned all the rules. He made the error of knocking on Her Grace’s door.”
Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose. There were many rules in the household, some of them quite unusual, and one was that none of the staff shouldeverknock on a door. His grandmother was terrified of knocking sounds. For no discernable reason, she feared that every knock on the door was some careless burglar seeking to cause her harm. When that happened, she would insist on having the entire staff accompany her, searching the house for any signs of intruders.
When none were found, that only seemed to make her more anxious, and she would insist upon checking again. And again.
“I do not imagine he will make such an error again,” Lewis said. “If he does, he will need to find himself another profession. Tell the boy that. Unlike Her Grace, I do not repeat myself.”
Mrs. Clove inclined her head, acknowledging the order.
“I have other obligations this evening,” Lewis added. “I do not have time to speak with my grandmother.”
“Will you at least see her, Your Grace?” Mrs. Clove asked. “For just a moment? It will do her heart some good.”
Lewis clenched his jaw. The last thing he wanted to do was see his grandmother. She would want to tell him about how worried she had been, and he would experience that familiar sensation of guilt mingling with frustration. His grandmother seemed to have no notion of how frustrating it was to be expected to construct his entire life around her wants.
“Fine,” he said flatly.
Despite the sharpness of his words, he was cautious in opening the door. Silently, he prayed that his grandmother would be asleep. If she was, he could slip away unscathed, and it would be the one thing that had gone right on this wretched day.
Lewis tread softly over the Persian rug, his heart sinking when his grandmother met his gaze. As Mrs. Clove had said, the Dowager Duchess was in her bed. The woman’s white hair was wild about her shoulders, pulled free of whatever style Mrs. Clove had doubtlessly put it in that morning; when distressed, his grandmother sometimes became obsessed with pulling at her hair. She would pick it apart and rip out the strands one by one, watching with a strange fascination.
“Lewis!” she exclaimed, her eyes wide. “You do not know what a trying day it has been! You must—no, you must stay—and?—”
Her eyes darted about, as if she could not decide what he ought to do. Lewis had thrown her entire routine into disarray by arriving late, but if he remained, he would only continue to disturb her. His grandmother made a low, pained sound.
“As you can see, I am whole and hale,” Lewis said.
He just did not need this today.
“I have other obligations this evening, so I apologize for the quick visit. However, I must go.”
“But—but I was worried about you!”
“You always worry!” he snapped, temper fraying. “And I am always fine!”
She stared at him with wide eyes, so still that he might have believed she had stopped breathing if it was not for the subtle rise and fall of her chest.
“Good day.”
He turned brusquely away, determined to leave before either his grandmother or Mrs. Clove could make him feel guilty enough to stay. After everything, Lewis just wanted to visit his usual club and have a strong drink. Hedeservedthat.
A better man might have been able to resist the impulse, especially when his grandmother began sobbing behind him, but Lewis was not a better man. He was just himself, flaws and all.
George Bingley, the Marquess of Morington, tossed his head back in laughter. His hazel eyes were full of mirth, and when he smiled, the expression was so infectious that Lewis’s own lips twitched upward just the smallest amount. Morington was a lively and energetic man, and after the whole dreadful day, Lewis found himself feeling even fonder than usual of his one and only friend. A drink and conversation had been precisely what he needed.
“I cannot believe that you are to be married!” Morington exclaimed, lifting his glass of scotch in a toast. “Congratulations, Wheelton.”
Lewis clinked his glass against the other man’s. “Thank you, although I am uncertain that congratulations are really warranted. The lady was disgraced because of me. It was by chance that I found a bride.”
“It does not sound so disgraceful to me,” Morington said.
Lewis arched an eyebrow. “What manner of lady haveyoubeen spending your time with?”
“I will concede that ripping her skirts and exposing her sounds distasteful,” Morington said. “But it is not as though you did it intentionally.”
