Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

She looked up at him. “Nothing is as it seems, is it?”

  He was silent for just long enough to make her wonder if they were still talking about maps. And then he said, his face devoid of emotion, “No.”

  She shook her head, turning back to the map. “Strange.”

  And she thought she heard him say, “You have no idea.” She glanced at him curiously, intending to ask what he meant, but he’d already returned his attention to the map.

  “These projections do have their advantages,” he said, sounding somewhat brisk, as if it were his turn to wish to change the subject. “It is true that they do not preserve actual area, but the local angles remain true, which is why they are so useful in navigation.”

  She was not sure that she fully understood what he was saying, but she enjoyed listening to him discuss something so academic. And she adored that he had not brushed it aside as a topic that would surely be of no interest to a lady. She looked over at him and smiled. “You certainly seem to know a great deal about this.”

  He shrugged modestly. “It is an interest of mine.”

  She sucked in her lips, a habit of hers that her mother detested. But she could not seem to help it. It was something she always did when she was deciding what to say. Or whether to say it.

  “There is a name for this subject, is there not?” she asked. One of her feet was tapping nervously in her shoe. She wanted to know the name, because she wanted to try to look it up in her father’s encyclopedia at home, but she hated revealing her ignorance. It brought to mind all those times she’d been forced to smile politely when her mother described her as smart (but not too smart).

  “You mean mapmaking?”

  She nodded.

  “It is called cartography. From the Greek chartis, for map, and graphein, to write.”

  “I should have known that,” she muttered. “Not the Greek, I suppose, but at least the word. Did my parents think we would never have use for a map?”

  “I imagine they thought you would have others to read them for you,” Thomas said gently.

  She looked over at him in dismay. “You agree, then? That I have been educated appropriately?”

  It was a terrible question to ask him. She’d put him in a dreadful spot, but she couldn’t help it.

  “I think,” he said, his voice soft and deliberate, “that if you showed a desire for more knowledge, you should have been given the opportunity to acquire it.”

  And that was the moment. She didn’t realize it right away, and in fact she wouldn’t realize it—or rather, she wouldn’t let herself realize it—for several weeks to come. But that was the moment she fell in love with him.

  Chapter 11

  An hour later, after pulling fourteen atlases from the shelves and explaining to Amelia the difference between Mercator, sinusoidal, and conical map projections, Thomas deposited her in one of the front drawing rooms and notified the butler that she was there to see Miss Eversleigh.

  Grace would have to be informed of the morning’s activities, there was no getting around that. If a lie could not be made as close as possible to the truth, then Thomas was of the opinion that the truth ought to be made as close as possible to the lie. Everyone was far less likely to get confused that way. This meant, however, that Amelia needed to visit with Grace, and more important, that Grace understood that she was to have been shopping in Stamford that morning and invited Amelia back to Belgrave.

  He, however, needed to speak with Grace first, without Amelia’s knowledge, and so he positioned himself in the doorway of another drawing room, closer to the stairs, where he might intercept her before she reached her destination.

  After five minutes he heard footsteps coming softly down the stairs. Definitely a feminine footfall. He moved closer to the doorway, confirmed that it was indeed Grace, and, when the time came, reached out and yanked her inside.

  “Thomas!” she exclaimed after her initial yelp of shock. Her eyes widened as she took in his disheveled appearance. “What happened to you?”

  He put his finger to his lips and shut the door behind them. “Were you expecting someone else?” he asked, since her surprise had seemed more to the who than the actual event.

  “No, of course not,” she said quickly. But her skin colored all the same. She looked about the room, probably to discern if they were alone. “What is wrong?”

  “I needed to speak with you before you see Lady Amelia.”

  “Oh, then you know she is here?”

  “I brought her,” he confirmed.

  Grace silenced, her face showing her surprise. She glanced over at the mantel clock, which revealed the time to be still before noon.

  “It is a long story,” he said preemptively. “But suffice it to say, Amelia will inform you that you were in Stamford this morning, and you invited her back to Belgrave.”

  “Thomas, any number of people know quite well that I was not in Stamford this morning.”

  “Yes, but her mother is not among that number.”

  “Er, Thomas…” Grace began, sounding very much as if she was not certain how to proceed. “I feel I must tell you, given the number of delays thus far, I would imagine that Lady Crowland would be delighted to know—”

  “Oh for God’s sake, it is nothing like that,” he muttered, half expecting her to cry out, “Despoiler of innocents!”

  He ground his teeth together, not at all enjoying the singular experience of having to explain his actions to another human being. “She assisted me home when I was…impaired.”

  “That was most charitable of her,” Grace said primly.

  Thomas glared at her. She looked as if she were about to laugh.

  Grace cleared her throat. “Have you, er, considered tidying up?”

  “No,” he bit off, all sarcasm now, “I rather enjoy looking like a slovenly fool.”

  She winced—audibly—at that.

  “Now listen,” he continued, eager to bypass her embarrassment, “Amelia will repeat what I have told you, but it is imperative that you not tell her about Mr. Audley.” He nearly growled the last; it was difficult to utter his name without an accompanying wave of revulsion.

  “I would never do that,” Grace replied. “It is not my place.”

  “Good.” He’d known he could trust her.

  “But she will want to know why you were, er…”

  “You don’t know why,” he said firmly. “Just tell her that. Why would she suspect that you would know more?”

  “She knows that I consider you a friend,” Grace said. “And furthermore, I live here. Servants always know everything. She knows that, too.”

  “You’re not a servant,” he muttered.

  “I am and you know it,” she replied, her lips twitching with amusement. “The only difference is that I am allowed to wear finer clothing and occasionally converse with the guests. But I assure you, I am privy to all of the household gossip.”

  Good Lord, what went on in this house? Had any of his actions been private? Ever? Thomas turned his head and swore, and then, after taking a long, fortifying breath, looked back at her and said, “For me, Grace, will you please just tell her you don’t know?”

  Soon Amelia would know everything, but he just didn’t want it to be today. He was too tired to make explanations, too worn-out from his own shock to deal with hers, and beyond that…

  For the first time in his life he was glad she was his fiancée. Surely no one would begrudge him the desire to hold onto that for a few more days.

  “Of course,” Grace said, not quite looking at him. And then, because she had been brought up to look people in the eye, she met his gaze and added, “You have my word.”

  He nodded. “Amelia will be expecting you,” he said gruffly.

  “Yes. Yes, of course.” She hurried to the door, then stopped and turned around. “Will you be all right?”

  What a question.

  “No, don’t answer that,” she mumbled, and dashed from the room.

  Amelia waited pa
tiently in the silver drawing room, trying not to tap her toes while she waited for Grace. Then she realized that she was drumming her fingers, which was an even worse habit (according to her mother), so she forced herself to stop that.

  Her toes immediately started tapping again.

  She let out a long breath and decided she didn’t care. There was no one here to see her, anyway, and despite what her mother insisted, toe tapping was not a bad habit when done in private. As opposed to chewing one’s fingernails (which she would never do), which left one stubby and unkempt, all ’round the clock.

  She’d tried to explain the difference to Milly, who could sit still as stone for six hours straight but hadn’t seen the whites of her nails for years. Milly had declared herself quite unable to detect the distinction. For purely selfish reasons, of course.

  Amelia examined her own nails, which she noticed looked not quite as clean as usual. Probably from hauling Wyndham across Stamford. Heaven only knew what sort of dirt he’d been rolling about in. She supposed he was upstairs now, cleaning up. She’d never seen him look so untidy. She rather thought he’d never been so untidy. And, in fact—

  Was that him? Striding past the doorway? She jumped up. “Thomas? Is that—”

  The gentleman stopped, turned, and then Amelia realized that it was someone else. He was of a similar height and coloring, but she had never seen him before, of that she was quite certain. He was tall, although not awkwardly so, and his hair was perhaps a shade or two darker than Thomas’s. And his cheek was bruised.

  How interesting.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said hastily. But she was curious, and so she stepped toward the door. If she moved in his direction, he could not continue on his way without being unforgivably rude.

  “Sorry to disappoint,” the gentleman said, smiling at her in a most flirtatious fashion. Amelia felt rather pleased despite herself. She wondered if he knew who she was. Probably not. Who would dare flirt with the Duke of Wyndham’s fiancée in his own house?

  “No,” she said quickly, “of course not. It was my mistake. I was just sitting back there.” She motioned behind her. “You looked rather like the duke as you walked by.”

  Indeed, the two gentlemen even shared the same stride. How odd. Amelia had not realized that she could recognize Thomas’s walk, but the moment she’d seen this man, she immediately realized that they moved in the same way.

  He swept into a gracious bow. “Captain Jack Audley, at your service, ma’am.”

  She bobbed a polite curtsy. “Lady Amelia Willoughby.”

  “Wyndham’s fiancée.”

  “You know him, then? Oh, well, of course you do. You are a guest here.” Then she recalled their conversation back at the Happy Hare. “Oh, you must be his fencing partner.”

  Captain Audley stepped forward. “He told you about me?”

  “Not much,” she admitted, trying not to look at the bruise on his cheek. It could not be a coincidence that both he and Thomas showed signs of an altercation.

  “Ah, this,” Captain Audley murmured. He looked somewhat embarrassed as he touched his fingers to his cheek. “It looks much worse than it actually is.”

  She was trying to figure out the best way to ask him about it when he added, in a most conversational tone, “Tell me, Lady Amelia, what color is it today?”

  “Your cheek?” she asked, surprised by his forthrightness.

  “Indeed. Bruises tend to look worse as they age, have you noticed? Yesterday it was quite purple, almost regally so, with a hint of blue in it. I haven’t checked in the mirror lately.” He turned his head, offering her a better view. “Is it still as attractive?”

  Amelia stared at him in awe, unsure of what to say. She had never met anyone quite so glib. It had to be a talent.

  “Er, no,” she finally replied, since it made absolutely no sense to lie when he was within ten feet of a mirror. “I would not call it attractive.”

  He laughed. “No mincing words for you, eh?”

  “I’m afraid those blue undertones of which you were so proud have gone a bit green.” She smiled, rather pleased with her analysis.

  He leaned in, smiling wickedly. “To match my eyes?”

  “No,” she said, finding herself quite immune to his charms, although she did recognize them to be legion, indeed. The man probably had women falling at his feet at every turn. “Not with the purple overlaying it,” she explained. “It looks quite horrible.”

  “Purple mixed with green makes…?”

  “Quite a mess.”

  He laughed again. “You are charming, Lady Amelia. But I am sure your fiancé tells you that on every possible occasion.”

  She was not quite certain how to reply to that. Certainly not every possible occasion. But today had been different. Better.

  “Do you await him here?” the captain asked.

  “No, I just—” She caught herself before she said that she’d just seen Thomas. She had never been good at telling tales. “I am here to see Miss Eversleigh.”

  Something intriguing flickered in his eyes, so she asked, “Have you met Miss Eversleigh?”

  “Indeed I have. She is most lovely.”

  “Yes,” Amelia said. Everyone thought so, didn’t they? She pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth just long enough to hide the fact that she wanted to frown, and added, “She is universally admired.”

  “Are you and Miss Eversleigh acquaintances?” the captain asked.

  “Yes. I mean, no. More than that, I should say. I have known Grace since childhood. She is most friendly with my elder sister.”

  “And surely with you, as well.”

  “Of course.” Amelia dipped her chin in acknowledgment. To do anything else would imply that Grace was less than gracious, which would be a falsehood. It was not Grace’s fault that Thomas held her in such high esteem. And this gentleman, too, if his interest was any indication. “But more so with my sister. They are of an age, you see.”

  “Ah, the plight of the younger sibling,” he murmured sympathetically.

  Amelia looked at him with interest. “You share the experience?”

  “Not at all,” he said with a grin. “I was the one ignoring the hangers-on. I was the eldest of the brood. A fortuitous position, I think. I should have been most unhappy not to have been in charge.”

  Amelia understood that well. She’d often thought she was a different person with Elizabeth than she was with Milly. “I am the second of five,” she said, “so I can appreciate your sentiments as well.”

  “Five!” He looked impressed. “All girls?”

  Amelia’s lips parted with surprise. “How did you know?”

  “I have no idea,” he replied, “except that it is such a charming image. It would have been a shame to have sullied it with a male.”

  Good heavens, he was a rogue. “Is your tongue always this silver, Captain Audley?”

  And, indeed, the smile he gave her was positively lethal. “Except,” he said, “when it’s gold.”

  “Amelia!”

  They both turned. Grace had entered the room. “And Mr. Audley,” she said, with some surprise.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Amelia said, somewhat confused. “I thought it was Captain Audley.”

  “It is,” he said with a very slight shrug. “Depending upon my mood.” He turned to Grace and bowed. “It is indeed a privilege to see you again so soon, Miss Eversleigh.”

  Grace curtsied in return. “I did not realize you were here.”

  “There is no reason why you should have done,” Mr. Audley said politely. “I was heading outside for a restorative walk when Lady Amelia intercepted me.”

  “I thought he was Wyndham,” Amelia told Grace. “Isn’t that the oddest thing?”

  “Indeed,” Grace replied.

  Amelia thought Grace’s voice sounded a bit irregular, but it was probably just a bit of dust in her throat. It seemed impolite to mention it, however, and so she said, “Of course I was not paying much att
ention, which I am sure explains it. I only caught sight of him out of the corner of my eye as he strode past the open doorway.”

  Captain, er, Mister Audley turned to Grace. “It makes so much sense when put that way, does it not?”

  “So much sense,” Grace echoed. She glanced over her shoulder.

  “Are you waiting for someone, Miss Eversleigh?” he inquired.

  “No, I was just thinking that his grace might like to join us. Er, since his fiancée is here, of course.”

  Amelia swallowed awkwardly, grateful that neither one of them was looking at her. Grace did not know that she had spent the entire morning with Thomas. Or that she was supposed to have been shopping in Stamford. And she never would, Amelia thought, with the beginnings of irritation, if Mr. Audley did not go on his way. Hadn’t he said he wanted to take a walk?

  “Is he returned, then?” Mr. Audley asked. “I was not aware.”

  “That is what I have been told,” Grace said. “I have not seen him myself.”

  “Alas,” Mr. Audley said, “he has been absent for some time.”

  Amelia tried to catch Grace’s attention but was unable to do so. Thomas would not like it to be well-known that he had been so impaired the night before—and this morning as well, for that matter.

  “I think I should get him,” Grace said.

  “But you only just got here,” Mr. Audley said.

  “Nonetheless—”

  “We shall ring for him,” Mr. Audley said firmly, and he crossed the room to the bellpull. “There,” he said, giving it a good yank. “It is done.”

  Amelia looked at Grace, whose face now held a vague expression of alarm, and then back to Mr. Audley, who was placidity personified. Neither spoke, nor did either seem to recall that she was in the room with them.

  It did make one wonder just what, exactly, was going on.

  Amelia looked back to Grace, since she knew her better, but Grace was already hurrying across the room to the sofa. “I believe I will sit down,” she mumbled.

  “I will join you,” Amelia said, recognizing an opportunity to have a private word. She took a seat directly next to Grace, even though there was quite a length of cushion. All she needed was for Mr. Audley to excuse himself, or look the other way, or do anything other than follow the two of them about the room with those catlike green eyes of his.