She swallowed thickly. Yes, the only way she was going to escape this place was if Stephen let her out. And he hadn’t seemed interested at all in freeing her.
No,she thought moodily.If I am to escape from this oddly comfortable prison, I need a miracle.
And then she heard voices outside.
The first voice was female, youngish, and decidedly anxious.
“Your Grace, Ican’t. His Grace was so very specific. He’ll be so angry if I?—”
“Jane, my dear, you leave managing His Grace to me. Now, are you going to step aside and hand me the key, or must I resort to other methods? I might be an old woman, but I reckon I can still wrestle that key from yourgrip, my dear.”
The second voice was distinctly older, weathered, yet laced with a resounding confidence and even cheerfulness. Amelia slid offthe bench and padded over to the door. She twisted her fingers together anxiously, straining to hear.
“I… I don’t know if I can let you in,” the younger voice stammered. A maid, Amelia guessed.
The older woman chuckled. “Oh, but of course you can, my dear. You see, I just heard from another maid about this whole silly situation. I ought to have been clearer with my grandson. He should not have treated a guest this way! You see, the lady in this room is my companion, and I completely forgot to tell my grandson that she was coming.”
“Oh,” the maid breathed, and Amelia could hear the relief in her voice. “Oh, of course! What a silly misunderstanding.”
“Yes, I thought so. Now, come along, Jane. Open the door.”
Amelia’s heart jumped when she heard a key turn in the lock. The door creaked open, revealing a rather harried-looking maid in a mob cap and apron. She was carrying a tray in one hand rather awkwardly, her other hand resting on the door handle.
Beside her stood an older woman, stooped and thin with age, resplendent in black velvet and glittering pearls around her neck. She appeared to be in her seventies, with thick white hair and bright, intelligent eyes. She leaned heavily on a thick silver stick, watching Amelia closely. When their eyes met, she broke into a wide smile.
“Well, good day, my dear. You are a little late. Most impolite for a guest, although we will not hold it against you.”
Amelia swallowed thickly. “Madam, I am no guest. I?—”
“Ah-Ah-Ah,” the woman interrupted, wagging a gnarled finger. She paused, dropping a heavy-lidded wink.Play along,that wink said. “You must be exhausted after your journey. And being confined in the attic! Do forgive the caprices of my grandson. But men must have their little foibles, is that not so?”
Grandson,Amelia thought, her mind ticking furiously.They called him His Grace. Does that mean that my captor is a duke?
Sure, he was broad-shouldered and serious-faced. She remembered his hands, large and oddly graceful, reaching for her, and that made her shiver.
She had imagined that he was an important man, of course. Rich and probably titled, but aduke? What sort of duke would live in anonymity?
“Now,” said the old woman briskly. “I shall show you to your chambers, which are much more comfortable than the attic. Off we go, then.”
“Your Grace—” the maid began uncertainly, but was cut off by an easy wave of the older woman’s hand.
“I take full responsibility, Jane. Now… Amelia, was it? Let’s go.”
Without another word, the older woman—the Dowager Duchess, apparently—turned and began tip-tapping away down the hallway at a quick pace, the tip of her walking stick clacking against the floor.
Amelia had two choices. She could stay where she was, hovering in the doorway, with an uncertain maid who looked ready to slam and lock the door at any moment, trapping her in the attic. Or she could follow the strange old lady, who was apparently the grandmother of her captor.
She chose the second option, hurrying down the corridor before the maid could make up her mind. It was easy enough to catch up to the older woman, despite her brisk pace.
The old woman flashed her another bright smile. “I wouldn’t worry. We won’t run into him,” she promised. “So, how did my grandson introduce himself to you? As Orion?”
“Yes, but he also said his name was Stephen,” Amelia responded, twisting to look around.
This was more or less the same way they had come, seeing the deep carpeting and expensive-looking paper on the walls. How could the Dowager Duchess be so sure they wouldn’t run into Stephen?
“And… and you are his grandmother?” Amelia ventured, suddenly keen to make an ally.
There was no apparent reason as to why the old woman would free her, but it was probably a good idea to befriend her while she could.
