Samantha nodded and cast a wary glance to the sky. “Let’s return to the coach.” They carefully crossed the street and strode a few yards to where the Kilpatrick coach waited.
Bond Street wasn’t very far from the viscount’s town home, yet even in that short ride the rain had progressed from a few drops to a torrential downpour.
“It sounds like thunder,” Grace commented, glancing up at the top of the carriage.
“It won’t last long,” Samantha replied with the confidence of someone who had lived there her whole life.
“Are you sure?” Grace gave her a dubious look.
“Certain,” Samantha returned.
When they pulled up to the house, John walked out with a wide black umbrella and, as a footman helped Samantha and then Grace alight from the carriage, he carried the umbrella over each of them till they made it safely into the foyer.
“It’s a bit wet out there,” Samantha commented teasingly.
“Indeed, my lady. Is there anything we need to fetch for you from the carriage?”
“No, thank you John,” Samantha said.
He bowed his head respectfully and went to shake out the umbrella.
“Well, just the two ladies I was about to search for.” The viscount was ambling down the hall, his words meant for both women, but his eyes only on his wife.
Grace glanced away, feeling the intruder.
“Oh? Lucky for you, here we are,” Samantha replied teasingly.
“I find Iamquite lucky.” He chuckled, his brogue making the words even lighter in inflection.
“I rather think so, after all, you’re married to me,” Samantha returned.
The viscount laughed, deep and rich. It was a comforting sound, one that made Grace relax, and feel safe. Though not old enough to be her father, the viscount certainly gave her the security of one, and it was welcome.
“Tonight, Ramsey,” he paused and Grace looked up to him. “The Marquess of Sterling, that is, will be arriving and I wanted to introduce you.”
“I finally will get to meet the man I’ve heard so much about,” Samantha replied.
“For dinner, I assume?” Grace asked.
“Yes. We have a few business matters to discuss and with Lucas, Lord Heightfield, still in Scotland for the next few weeks, it’s just Ramsey and me to keep everything running smoothly.”
Grace nodded, biting her lip to keep from smiling at the informal way the viscount addressed his friends. It was understood, yet ironic, because as a lady she would be required to address the gentlemen formally, yet she had only heard of them by their Christian names, and when she thought of them, especially Lord Heightfield—with whom she had grown pretty well acquainted in Scotland—it was always by their Christian names as well. It would take a concerted effort not to make a faux pas, but apparently that was just one mountain she’d have to move, and she’d rather get out all her faux pas in front of friends rather than the London ton.
Though she was sure she had enough bad luck to make mistakes abound in any situation.
Such was life.
Or hers, at least.
“Why the frown?” the viscount asked, and she shot her gaze to his.
“Fretting, mostly.”
“Oh? Shocking that. You have nothing to concern yourself with Ramsey . . . blast, that’s going to be a pain in the arse.” He shook his head.
Samantha swatted his arm, probably for the use of the word “arse” in front of Grace.
Grace bit her lip to keep from smiling, and waited for him to continue. He gave an unrepentant grin to his wife, and then spoke. “You must address him as Lord Sterling, which I know you understand. And I’m not helping matters by using his Christian name. I apologize; it will take some work on my part and I’m not entirely sure I’ll succeed. But at least know that I’ll try.”
