Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

Chapter 12

Aside from Harry Gladdish, the man who knew Thomas best was his valet, Grimsby, who had been with the duke since the day he left for university. Unlike most valets, Grimsby was of an exceedingly strong constitution. (Not that one would know this to look at him; he was quite slender, with pale skin that always worried the housekeeper, who kept trying to get him to eat more beef.)

When Thomas returned from a hell-for-leather gallop in the rain, his clothes soaked and muddied, Grimsby merely inquired after the horse.

When Thomas spent a day in the field, doing manual labor alongside his tenants, returning with any number of layers of grime on his skin, in his hair, and under his nails, Grimsby asked him if he preferred his bathwater warm, hot, or steaming.

But when Thomas staggered into his bedchamber, presumably still reeking of alcohol (he’d long since stopped noticing the odor), his cravat completely missing, and his eye a most remarkable shade of purple, Grimsby dropped his shoe brush.

It was possibly the only outward show of alarm he had ever displayed.

“Your eye,” Grimsby said.

Oh, right. He hadn’t seen Grimsby since his tussle with his lovely new cousin. Thomas gave him a flip sort of smile. “Perhaps we can choose a waistcoat to match.”

“I don’t believe we have one, your grace.”

“Is that so?” Thomas crossed to the basin. As usual, Grimsby had made sure it was filled with water. Lukewarm by this point, but he was in no position to complain. He splashed a bit on his face, rubbed himself with a hand towel, then repeated the entire process after a quick glance in the mirror revealed that he’d barely scratched the surface of his disrepair.

“We shall have to remedy that, Grimsby,” Thomas said, giving his forehead a good scrub. He looked back at his valet with a sarcastic grin. “Do you think you can memorize the hue for the next time we are in London?”

“Might I suggest, your grace, that you consider not subjecting your face to such abuse again?” Grimsby handed him another towel, even though Thomas had not requested one. “This would eliminate our need to consider the color when choosing your wardrobe for the upcoming year.” He held out a bar of soap. “You could still purchase a new waistcoat of the color, if you wish. I imagine the shade would be most handsome when displayed upon fabric, as opposed to one’s skin.”

“Elegantly said,” Thomas murmured. “It almost didn’t sound like a scolding.”

Grimsby smiled modestly. “I do try, your grace.” He held forth another towel. Good gad, Thomas thought, he must be more of a mess than he’d thought.

“Shall I ring for a bath, your grace?”

The question was purely rhetorical, as Grimsby had already done so before the your in your grace. Thomas stripped off his clothing, which Grimsby then picked up with tongs, and donned his dressing robe. He flopped onto his bed, and was seriously considering postponing the bath in favor of a good nap when a knock sounded at the door.

“That was quick,” Grimsby commented, crossing the room.

“His grace has a visitor,” came the unexpected voice of Penrith, Belgrave’s longtime butler.

Thomas did not bother to open his eyes. There could be no one worth rising for at this moment.

“The duke is not receiving at this time,” Grimsby said. Thomas resolved to raise his wages with all possible haste.

“It is his fiancée,” the butler said.

Thomas sat up like a shot. What the devil? Amelia was supposed to be here for Grace. It had all been planned. The two women would chitter chatter for an hour, and then he would make his usual appearance, and no one would suspect that Amelia had actually been at Belgrave all morning.

What could possibly have gone awry?

“Your grace,” Grimsby said when Thomas swung his legs over the side of the bed to get down, “you cannot possibly think of receiving Lady Amelia in such a state.”

“I do plan to dress, Grimsby,” Thomas said rather dryly.

“Yes, of course, but…”

Grimsby appeared unable to complete his sentence aloud, but his nose flared a bit, then wrinkled, which Thomas took to mean-Sir, you stink.

Nothing to be done about it, though. He couldn’t leave Amelia on her own if all had not gone according to plan. And indeed, Grimsby was able to work a small miracle in the space of ten minutes. By the time Thomas left his room, he looked wholly like himself again. (Himself in need of a shave, but this could not be helped.) But his hair was no longer sticking up like an exotic bird, and even though his eye still looked like death underneath, he no longer appeared quite so bloodshot and exhausted.

A bit of tooth powder and he was ready to go. Grimsby, on the other hand, gave every indication that he needed a good lie-down.

Thomas made his way downstairs, intending to head straight to the drawing room, but as he entered the hall, he saw Grace, standing about six feet from its entrance, gesticulating madly and holding one finger to her lips.

“Grace,” he said as he approached, “what is the meaning of this? Penrith told me that Amelia was here to see me?”

He did not pause, assuming that she would fall in step beside him. But just as he passed, she grabbed his arm and yanked him to a stop. “Thomas, wait!”

He turned, lifting one of his brows in question.

“It’s Mr. Audley,” she said, pulling him back even farther from the door. “He is in the drawing room.”

Thomas glanced toward the drawing room and then back at Grace, wondering why he’d been told that Amelia was there.

“With Amelia,” Grace practically hissed.

He cursed, unable to stop himself, despite the presence of a lady. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” Grace said, her voice quite snappish. “He was in there when I arrived. Amelia said she saw him walking by the doorway and thought he was you.”

Oh now, that was rich. Blessed with a family resemblance, they were. How quaint.

“What did he say?” Thomas finally asked.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t there. And then I couldn’t very well interrogate her in his presence.”

“No, of course not.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. This was a disaster.

“I’m quite sure he did not reveal his…identity to her.”

Thomas gave her a dry look.

“It is not my fault, Thomas,” Grace said angrily.

“I did not say that it was.” He let out his own irritated snort and then pressed on toward the drawing room. Mr. Audley was a cancer in their midst. In all the years Grace had worked here, they had never exchanged angry words. And God only knew what the man was saying to Amelia.

From the moment Grace rushed from the room, neither Amelia nor Mr. Audley had uttered a word. It was as if they had reached an unspoken agreement; silence would prevail while they both tried to make out what was being said in the hall.

But unless Mr. Audley’s hearing was superior to hers, Amelia accepted that they had both been stymied. She could not make out a thing. Grace must have intercepted Thomas at the far end of the hall.

Grace did seem exceedingly agitated that afternoon, which Amelia found strange. She realized that she had asked a great deal of her, especially when Grace’s friendship was more to her sister than herself, but surely that could not account for her odd demeanor.

Amelia leaned forward, as if that might possibly improve her eavesdropping. Something was brewing at Belgrave, and she was growing rather irritated that she seemed to be the only person left in the dark.

“You won’t be able to hear them,” Mr. Audley said.

She gave him a look that tried to be reproving.

“Oh, don’t pretend you weren’t trying. I certainly was.”

“Very well.” Amelia decided there was no point in protesting. “What do you suppose they are talking about?”

Mr. Audley shrugged. “Difficult to say. I would never presume to understand the female mind, or that of our esteemed host.”

“You do not like the duke?” Because surely the implication was in his tone.

“I did not say that,” he chided gently.

She pressed her lips together, wanting to say that he did not have to say it. But there was nothing to be gained in provocation, at least not at this moment, so instead she asked, “How long do you stay at Belgrave?”

“Eager to be rid of me, Lady Amelia?”

“Of course not.” Which was more or less true. She did not mind him, on principle, although he had been rather inconvenient this afternoon. “I saw the servants moving trunks about. I thought perhaps they were yours.”

“I imagine they belong to the dowager,” he replied.

“Is she going somewhere?” Amelia knew she ought not to have sounded quite so excited, but there was only so much disinterest a young lady could feign.

“Ireland,” he replied.

Before she could ask more, Thomas appeared in the doorway, looking decidedly more like himself than the last time she’d seen him.

“Amelia,” he said, striding toward her.

“Your grace,” she replied.

“How lovely to see you. I see that you have met our guest.”

“Yes,” she said. “Mr. Audley is quite diverting.”

Thomas glanced over at the other gentleman, not, Amelia noted, with particular affection. “Quite.”

There was an ominous silence, and then Amelia said, “I came to see Grace.”

“Yes, of course,” Thomas murmured. It was, after all, the ruse they’d concocted.

“Alas,” Mr. Audley said, “I found her first.”

Thomas gave him a look that would have quelled any man of Amelia’s acquaintance, but Mr. Audley only smirked.

“I found him, actually,” she put in. “I saw him in the hall. I thought he was you.”

“Astounding, isn’t it?” Mr. Audley murmured. He turned to Amelia. “We are nothing alike.”

Amelia looked to Thomas.

“No,” he said brusquely, “we are not.”

“What do you think, Miss Eversleigh?” Mr. Audley asked.

Amelia turned toward the doorway. She had not realized that Grace had returned.

Mr. Audley rose to his feet, his eyes never leaving Grace. “Do the duke and I share any traits?”

At first Grace seemed not to know how to answer. “I’m afraid I do not know you well enough to be an accurate judge,” she finally replied.

Mr. Audley smiled, and Amelia got the sense that they were sharing a moment she did not understand. “Well said, Miss Eversleigh,” he said. “May I infer, then, that you know the duke quite well?”

“I have worked for his grandmother for five years,” Grace said, her bearing stiff and formal. “During that time I have been fortunate enough to learn something of his character.”

“Lady Amelia,” Thomas cut in, “may I escort you home?”

“Of course,” Amelia agreed, rather looking forward to the journey. She had not been expecting his company. It was a most delightful change of plans.

“So soon?” Mr. Audley murmured.

“My family will be expecting me,” Amelia said.

“We will leave right now, then,” Thomas said, offering her his arm. Amelia took it and stood.

“Er, your grace!”

They turned toward Grace, who was still standing near the doorway. She looked rather agitated. “If I might have a word with you,” she said haltingly, “before you, er, depart. Please.”

Thomas excused himself and followed Grace into the hall. They were still visible from the drawing room, although it was difficult-indeed impossible-to glean their conversation.

“Whatever can they be discussing?” Mr. Audley said, and she could tell from his tone that he knew exactly what they were discussing, and that he knew she did not know, and that he absolutely knew that raising the question would irritate her mightily.

“I am sure I have no idea,” she bit off.

“Nor I,” he said, breezy as always.

And then they heard: “Ireland!”

This was Thomas, his voice most uncharacteristically loud. Amelia would like to have known what was uttered next, but Thomas took Grace’s arm and moved them both to the side, where they were completely out of view. And, apparently, out of earshot as well.

“We have our answer,” Mr. Audley murmured.

“He can’t be upset that his grandmother is leaving the country,” Amelia said. “I would think he’d be planning a celebration.”

“I rather think Miss Eversleigh has informed him that his grandmother intends that he accompany her.”

“To Ireland?” Amelia drew back with surprise. “Oh, you must be mistaken.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. I am but a newcomer here.”

“Aside from the fact that I cannot imagine why the dowager would wish to go to Ireland-not,” she hastened to add, as she recalled that this was his birthplace, “that I wouldn’t like to see your beautiful country, but it does not seem in character for the dowager, whom I have heard speak disparagingly of Northumberland, the Lake District, and indeed, all of Scotland.” She paused, trying to imagine the dowager enjoying the rigors of travel. “Ireland seems a bit of a stretch for her.”

He nodded graciously.

“But really, it makes no sense that she would wish for Wyndham to accompany her. They do not care for each other’s company.”

“How politely said, Lady Amelia. Does anyone care for their company?”

Her eyes widened in surprise. This was an even clearer declaration that he disliked Thomas. And said in his own house! It was really remarkably impolite.

And curious.

Just then, Thomas strode back into the room. “Amelia,” he said rather briskly, “I am afraid I will not be able to see you home. I do apologize.”

“Of course,” she replied, shooting a look at Mr. Audley, although why she would do so, she wasn’t quite sure.

“I shall make every arrangement for your comfort. Perhaps you would like to select a book from the library?”

“Can you read in a coach?” Mr. Audley queried.

“Can you not?” Amelia returned.

“I can. I can do almost anything in a coach. Or with a coach,” he added with an odd smile.

Thomas took her arm with a rather surprising firmness and pulled her to her feet.

“It was lovely meeting you, Mr. Audley,” Amelia said.

“Yes,” he murmured, “it does seem that you are leaving.”

“Amelia,” Thomas said curtly, leading her away.

“Is something wrong?” she asked him once they had reached the hall. She looked about for Grace, but she had disappeared.

“Of course not,” he said. “Merely matters to which I must attend.”

Amelia was about to ask about the upcoming trip to Ireland, but for some reason she did not. She wasn’t sure why; it was not a conscious decision, more of a feeling than anything else. Thomas seemed so distracted. She did not wish to upset him further.

And aside from that, she rather doubted he would answer her honestly if she did ask. He would not lie; that would be entirely out of his character. But he would brush off the query with something vague and condescending, and she would lose all the lovely feelings she had gained that morning.

“Might I take with me one of the atlases?” she asked. The trip home would be less than an hour, but she had so enjoyed looking at the maps. It was something they had done together, their heads bowed over the books, their foreheads nearly touching.

The outline of a continent, the pale blue shading of an ocean on the page-these would forever make her think of him.

As she was riding home, the carriage bumping gently over the ruts in the road, she turned the pages until she found Ireland. She rather liked the shape of it, all flat in the east, then seeming to reach out its arms toward the Atlantic in the west.

She would ask Thomas about the trip the next time she saw him. Surely he would not leave the country without telling her.

She closed her eyes, picturing his face, conveniently editing out his blackened eye. They had entered a new chapter in their relationship. Of this she was certain.

She still did not know why Thomas had been drinking the night before, but she told herself that she did not care. All that mattered was that it had led him to her, and perhaps her to herself.

She’d woken up. After years of sleepwalking, she’d woken up.