She’d bought Leah dresses and hats, slippers and gloves.
If Leah backed out now, she’d look like a scam artist hell-bent on fleecing a nice old lady. If nothing else, she wanted to prove that old bat Miss Stapleton wrong. She wasn’t a bad person.
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Leah’s heavy breath fogged up the window. Pressing her forehead against the glass, she let her thoughts wander back home.
Was Pawpaw okay? He’d been so damn insistent that she find someone to marry. The old-fashioned notion wasn’t that out of the way for him, but the sincerity and demanding nature of his request had been. She drew a little heart in the fog of her breath on the glass.
Her grandfather meant everything to her. She couldn’t imagine loving anyone more than the man who’d raised her, who’d shown her what family and loyalty and courage meant.
Courage. Leah’s eyes closed and the memory of Avery’s kiss came unbidden. It had been an incredible, a kiss that she could replay a thousand times and never get tired of. The feeling that curled low in her belly and crept up to her chest was hard to define. There was lust there, a familiar and comforting friend. But there was something more. What the hell was going on with her?
Cupping her chin in her hands, she stared as hard as she could, trying to make out the street below her window. No use. The rain was coming down too hard.
What a miserable day, and it fit her miserable mood to a T.
“Miss?” Muriel’s head poked through the crack in the door. “I’ve come to dress you. Lady Chesterfield said that you’re attending the Waterson’s musicale tonight.”
Leah yawned and stretched, shuddering as her joints popped like Rice Krispies. She’d been sitting here and wallowing too long, apparently. “Yeah, that’s right. She said they can’t sing worth a crap. This is going to be awful, isn’t it?”
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“Oh no, miss.” Muriel pulled a gown, one of the many that Lady Chesterfield had commissioned for Leah, and yet another source of Leah’s growing burden of guilt, from the tall oak wardrobe. Shaking out the pale cream and lace, Muriel spoke matter-of- factly. “Graves has told me that His Grace has returned. He’s to attend tonight.”
“His Grace? Like, the Duke of Granville, that His Grace?” Leah wrinkled her nose in uncertainty.
“Why yes, miss. Lady Chesterfield is quite pleased.”
The maid picked at a loose thread on the ivory gown.
“Shall I help you to dress?”
Leah reached out and grabbed Muriel’s hands, forcing the maid to turn and look at her.
“Muriel, listen. I need to ask you something, and I need to promise me you’ll tell me the truth.”
Muriel nodded. “Of course, miss.”
“Do you know anything about the duke? I mean, other than that he’s kind of old and a duke. Is he kind?
A good man? What is he like?”
“I do not know, miss.” Muriel’s face was serious if a little sad. “He was married before, but the duchess passed away in childbirth. His Grace’s son is up at Eton. That is all I know, s’truth.”
Leah dropped Muriel’s hands. “He’s got a son?”
Muriel shook out the gown again. “Yes, miss.”
His heir. No wonder Miss Stapleton had said that. Leah wanted to smack herself in the forehead. Of course that was what she meant. Okay, a widower with a son. Wow.
Muriel sniffed, regaining her composure. “Now please, allow me to help you dress. Lawks, you shall be late if we do not hurry. Hannah is dressing her ladyship, so come.”
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Leah followed directions numbly, not sure what else to do. Things weren’t going anything like she’d imagined. But what could she do at this point?
Muriel managed to get Leah dressed and ready by the time Lady Chesterfield descended from her room.
Tonight, Leah’s patroness was outfitted in a brassy gold satin, pheasant feathers towering from a simple-looking hairdo. Lady Chesterfield smiled in a long-suffering way as she rounded the bottom step.
“I trust you know, dear Miss Ramsey, what a sacrifice it has been for me to allow you the use of my personal lady’s maid. My coiffure is much plainer than I would like, but that cannot be helped. But, I must say”— she patted Leah’s cheek with a proud smile— “you look ravishing, my dear.”
“It’s thanks to you and Muriel.” Leah smiled back.
“The clothes and hair are all you guys.”
“No matter, my dear. The beauty is all yours. Tonight, you take the ton by storm!” With that proclamation, and a trilling, birdlike laugh, Lady Chesterfield sailed through the front door, held open by a dour-looking Graves.
Shouldering her evening wrap, Leah smiled at the butler.
“Good night, Graves. Thank you.”