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.