Audley smiled blandly, and Grace, God bless her, looked ready to jump between them again, should they attack each other anew.

He dipped his head toward her, in an expression of wry salute, then tossed back his liquor in one shockingly large swallow. “I am going out.”

“Where?” demanded the dowager.

Thomas paused in the doorway. “I have not yet decided.”

Truly, it didn’t matter. Anything was fine. Just not here.

Chapter 8

Isn’t that Wyndham over there?”

Amelia blinked, shading her eyes with her hand (a fat lot of good her bonnet seemed to be doing her this morning) as she peered across the street. “It does look like him, doesn’t it?”

Her younger sister Milly, who had accompanied her on the outing to Stamford, leaned into her for a better view. “I think it is Wyndham. Won’t Mother be pleased.”

Amelia glanced nervously over her shoulder. Her mother, who was inside a nearby shop, had resembled nothing so much as a woodpecker all morning. Peck peck peck, do this, Amelia, peck peck peck, don’t do that. Wear your bonnet, you’re getting freckles, don’t sit so inelegantly, the duke will never get around to marrying you.

Peck peck peck peck peck peck peck.

Amelia had never been able to make the connection between her posture whilst in the privacy of her own breakfast room and her fiancé’s inability to choose a date for the wedding, but then again, she’d never been able to understand how her mother could know exactly which of her five daughters had nicked a bit of her marzipan, or accidentally let the dogs in, or (Amelia winced; this one had been her fault) knocked over the chamber pot.

Onto her mother’s favorite dressing gown.

Blinking her eyes into focus, Amelia looked back across the street at the man Milly had pointed out.

It couldn’t be Wyndham. It was true, the man in question did look remarkably like her fiancé, but he was clearly…how did one say it…?

Disheveled.

Except disheveled was putting it a bit kindly.

“Is he sotted?” Milly asked.

“It’s not Wyndham,” Amelia said firmly. Because Wyndham was never so unsteady.

“I really think—”

“It’s not.” But she wasn’t so sure.

Milly held her tongue for all of five seconds. “We should tell Mother.”

“We should not tell Mother,” Amelia hissed, whipping around to face her.

“Ow! Amy, you’re hurting me!”

Amelia reluctantly loosened her grip on her sister’s upper arm. “Listen to me, Milly. You will not say a word to Mother. Not…a…word. Do you understand me?”

Milly’s eyes grew very round. “Then you do think it’s Wyndham.”

Amelia swallowed, unsure of what to do. It certainly looked like the duke, and if it was, surely she had a duty to aid him. Or hide him. She had a feeling his preference would be for the latter.

“Amelia?” Milly whispered.