Thank goodness. Perhaps Mr. Malet wouldfinallyrealize he’d picked the wrong heiress to intimidate.
They went inside. Despite the late hour, a woman in her fifties dressed in a nightgown and wrapper descended the stairs. Her graying red hair fell to her waist and she was closer to Kitty’s height than Heywood’s, but other than that, she and Heywood bore a decided resemblance. It was in the shape of her jaw, her high cheekbones, and her aquiline nose. So this pretty woman must be Heywood’s mother.
“My goodness, what have we here?” she asked, taking in Cass and Kitty with a curious gaze as Heywood gave the footman his greatcoat and hat. “I heard the carriage drive up in front and couldn’t believe you would return from your visit to Douglas’s relations in such bad weather.”
“I’m glad I did. These are two of the ladies I went to visit. On my way there I found their coach bogged down in the snow as they returned from a ball. The weather was already much worse there than it is here, so I dared not go farther north to take them home or else risk all of us becoming stranded.”
Cass barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the outrageous untruths, but his mother merely murmured, “How very wise of you.”
“I dropped their coachman off at the nearest inn and brought the ladies here. I didn’t think they should be left alone at an inn, and it wasn’t entirely proper for me to remain there with them. I hope you don’t mind.”
His mother raised an eyebrow at him. “You know I don’t, though I suspect there’s more to this story than you’re saying.”
“Would I lie to you, Mother?” he asked, cool as the snow they’d tracked in.
“If it kept you from getting into trouble? Absolutely.” She swept a weary hand over her face. “But let’s delay this discussion until tomorrow. I’m sure the ladies would like a hot cup of tea and a soft bed right now. So, be a dear and introduce me.”
Cass tried not to laugh as Heywood, suitably admonished, did so.
When he was done, Cass said, “We’re sorry to drag you from your bed so late, Your Grace.”
“Nonsense. I love having guests, even when my son has come by them in a most unconventional fashion.”
Cass had to bite her tongue to keep from informing his mother justhowunconventional a fashion it had been. But Heywood was right—it would serve no purpose to let his mother in on the secret.
Just then the butler stumbled in, still wearing his nightcap. “There you are, Mr. Fox,” the duchess said. She conferred with him a few moments in hushed tones.
As he hurried off, she faced them all with a smile. “It’s settled. We’re putting Kitty in my son Thornstock’s bedchamber and Cass in my son Greycourt’s old one. Neither Thorn nor Grey is returning from town until Christmas Eve, and I was planning to put Grey and his new wife in a bigger room upon their return, anyway. Thorn can take one of the other rooms. He’s not picky about such things.”
“If it helps matters,” Cass said, “Kitty and I don’t mind sharing a bedchamber or even a bed.”
“Nonsense,” the duchess said, most firmly. “We want you to be comfortable in case you have to stay through Christmas.”
Kitty’s face showed her chagrin. “Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but I hope we don’t impose upon you as long as allthat.”
“It’s no imposition, I assure you, though I do understand. There’s no place like home for the holidays.” The duchess patted Kitty’s hand kindly before turning to Cass. “Fox is fetching the maids to make fires in your rooms and put fresh linens on the beds as well as help you change your clothes. I can loan both of you nightdresses and all the gowns, reticules, et cetera, that you might need. Since Gwyn and I are still in mourning, we aren’t using much of our wardrobes at present.”
“We’d be most grateful for anything you could provide, Your Grace,” Cass said. “As you might imagine, we came here with only the gowns on our backs.”
The duchess cast her son a look of pure mischief. “Yes, how odd that you ladies left a ball with no cloaks or capes or any sort of protection from the weather.”
“That’s my fault,” Heywood said blandly. “We were in such a hurry to outrun the storm that the ladies forgot their cloaks in the stranded carriage.”
Cass eyed him askance. The fellow lied with amazing aplomb.
But apparently he couldn’t slide just any old tale past his mother, for she turned to stare at Cass. “Is that really what happened, my dear?”
“Oh, yes, Your Grace,” she gushed, “we weresoovercome with gratitude at the sight of your courageous son rushing to save us from certain death that we quite forgot our wits. We left everything behind in the coach—our reticules, our cloaks . . . our senses—in our eagerness to be rescued by our very own knight in shining armor.”
To Cass’s surprise, the duchess burst into laughter. “More like a knight in tarnished armor, knowing my son.”
“Good God, Mother,” Heywood grumbled.
“Oh, dear, am I embarrassing you?” his mother said with what sounded a great deal like glee. “I didn’t think anything shamed you, Son. Before you became a colonel, you were, shall we say, as eager as your older brothers to sow your wild oats. Though it’s been a few years since that was the case.”
“At least you acknowledge that.” Heywood arched an eyebrow. “And in my defense, Cass has a tendency to exaggerate.”
“She does indeed, sir,” Kitty said brightly. “How did you know?”
