Page 27 of Mr. Cavendish, I Presume

Amelia stared at the dowager in horror. For a moment it looked as if she might cry. Which could not be possible. The woman was biologically incapable of tears. She was sure of it.

Grace stepped forward, stunning them all when she placed her arm around the dowager’s shoulders. “Ma’am,” she said soothingly, “it has been a difficult day.”

“It has not been difficult,” the dowager snapped, shaking her off. “It has been anything but difficult.”

“Ma’am,” Grace said again, and again Amelia marveled at the gentle calmness of her voice.

“Leave me alone!” the dowager roared. “I have a dynasty to worry about! You are nothing! Nothing!”

Grace lurched back. Amelia saw her throat work, and she could not tell if she was near tears or absolute fury.

“Grace?” she said carefully, and she wasn’t even sure what she was asking, just that she thought she should say something.

Grace responded with a quick little shake of her head that clearly meant don’t ask, leaving Amelia to wonder just what, exactly, had happened the night before. Because no one was acting normally. Not Grace, not the dowager, and certainly not Wyndham.

Apart from his disappearance from the scene. That, at least, was precisely as expected.

“We will accompany Lady Amelia and her sister back to Burges Park,” the dowager ordered. “Miss Eversleigh, have our carriage readied at once. We will ride with our guests and then return in our own conveyance.”

Grace’s lips parted with surprise, but she was accustomed to the dowager and her furious whims, and so she nodded and hurried toward the front of the castle.

“Elizabeth!” Amelia said desperately, spotting her sister in the doorway. The traitorous wretch had already turned on the ball of her foot and was attempting to slink away, leaving her to deal with the dowager by herself.

Amelia reached out and grabbed her elbow, reeling her in with a teeth-grinding, “Sister, dear.”

“My tea,” Elizabeth said feebly, motioning toward the drawing room.

“Is cold,” Amelia said firmly.

Elizabeth attempted a weak smile in the dowager’s direction, but the expression did not make it much beyond grimace.

“Sarah,” the dowager said.

Elizabeth didn’t bother to correct her.

“Or Jane,” the dowager snapped. “Which is it?”

“Elizabeth,” Elizabeth said.

The dowager’s eyes narrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe her, and her nostrils flared most unattractively as she said, “I see you accompanied your sister again.”

“She accompanied me,” Elizabeth said, in what Amelia was quite certain was the most controversial sentence she’d ever uttered in the dowager’s presence.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Er, I was returning the books my mother borrowed,” Elizabeth stammered.

“Bah! Your mother doesn’t read, and we all know it. It’s a silly and transparent excuse to send her”—at this she motioned to Amelia—“into our midst.”

Amelia’s lips parted with surprise, because she’d always thought that the dowager wanted her in her midst. Not that the dowager liked her, just that she wanted her to hurry up and marry her grandson so she might start growing little Wyndhams in her belly.

“It’s an acceptable excuse,” the dowager grumbled, “but it hardly seems to be working. Where is my grandson?”

“I do not know, your grace,” Amelia answered. Which was the absolute truth. He’d not given her any indication of his plans when he abandoned her earlier. He’d apparently kissed her so senseless he hadn’t thought any explanations were necessary.

“Stupid chit,” the dowager muttered. “I don’t have time for this. Does no one understand their duty? I’ve heirs dying off right and left, and you”—at this she shoved Amelia in the shoulder—“can’t even lift your skirts to—”

“Your grace!” Amelia exclaimed.

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