Page 14 of A Murder in Mayfair
“If such were the case, everyone would seek to attend.”
“There would be a rigorous entrance exam, of course, which would include references from trusted sources. Only those who qualified would be allowed to enroll.”
“And what would women do with that knowledge?”
Was he really that dense? “The same thing men do. They could become physicians, solicitors, scientists. There is no limit to what women can do. Half of our population is women, Your Grace. By denying them an education, Parliament is preventing progress.”
The door suddenly crashed open. Just as the day before, Petunia burst into the room. “Are you coming to tea, Rosie?” She came to a screeching stop when she realized I was not alone. “Oh.”
“Where are your manners, Petunia? You know you’re supposed to knock.”
She gazed down at the rug, a contrite expression on her face. “I’m sorry.” A grin poked through.
She wasn’t the least bit sorry, the little imp. I would need to have a serious discussion with her. But not at the moment.
“Your Grace, this is my scapegrace sister, Lady Petunia.” I gazed at him, expecting a polite acknowledgement. But his eyes had widened as if a jolt of lightning had coursed through his veins, leaving him momentarily stunned. Was it shock or disapproval at Petunia’s sudden entrance? He wouldn’t have anychildren in his life, given his wife had died in childbirth during their first year of marriage. Maybe he expected Petunia to be a miniature adult, cognizant of all the strictures demanded of Victorian society. She tended to follow her own set of rules. At the moment, however, she would need to observe some of the customary ones. “Petunia, make your curtsy to the Duke of Steele.”
“Milord.” Her curtsy could not be faulted. It was perfection itself.
But there was one thing I had to correct. “It’s Your Grace, not Milord.”
“Why?” she asked, scratching her nose.
“Because dukes are addressed in that fashion.”
“Why?”
“Because etiquette rules demand it. Now stop asking questions and return to the drawing room.”
Her face fell. “You’re not joining us for tea?”
“As you can see, I’m having a private conversation with His Grace. I’ll be there by and by.”
To my surprise, the duke came to his feet. “Actually, I’m afraid I must leave. I have an appointment at Westminster in half an hour. I’ll notify you regarding the disposition of the matter we discussed. No need to ring for your butler. I can find my own way out. Your servant, ladies.” He bowed, and in the next instance, was gone.
I stared at the space he’d occupied. How very odd. We’d been having a productive discussion. But as soon as Petunia barged into the room, his mood underwent a drastic change. He couldn’t leave fast enough.
“You’re not angry at me, Rosie?” Her lower lip was trembling, and her eyes were swimming with tears. This time, she was truly contrite.
“No, poppet. I’m not.”
Quick as lightning, her mood changed. “Good, let’s go have tea before Holly and Ivy gobble all the fairy cakes.”
She curled her hand around mine as we made our way to the drawing room, but even as we did, I kept thinking about the duke’s odd reaction to Petunia’s entrance. What on earth could have caused it?
Chapter
Five
A DUKE PONDERS HIS ACTIONS
The walk across the square to Steele House would not take long. After all, Steele House was located directly opposite the Rosehaven residence. But needing time to think, I opted for a stroll around the Grosvenor Square perimeter.
The main thought that occupied my mind was the impetuousness of my actions. To start with, I’d sent a note to Rosehaven requesting an audience with Lady Rosalynd to discuss the disposition of her petition. That had been out of character. I hadn’t committed the transgression; Naughton had. It would be up to him to apologize, not me. But after Lady Rosalynd’s outburst at the ball, I felt the need to take on that responsibility. It should have been an easy thing to do. A quick apology and a quicker exit. But then I found myself volunteering to bring up the petition before the full legislation committee. I’d had no intention of doing such a thing before I entered the room. I hadn’t even thought about it, if the truth be told. And yet the words had spilled out.
Why had I done it? The thing didn’t have a prayer of making it to the floor of the House of Lords. Was it because I wanted tomake amends for Naughton? Because I resented being branded as less than a gentleman? Or was it the spark of life—no, not a spark—the fire that blazed within Lady Rosalynd?
“Your Grace!” A loud female voice suddenly hailed me.
