“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.