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She looked surprised. “Oh, I’d be happy to.”

Caleb paused. This seemed too easy.

And indeed it was. Grace smiled innocently. “Just as soon as you tell me why you don’t want them up,” she said sweetly. “I assume you have a good reason for wanting this hall to look like we’ve taken to pawning the frames to buy our bread?”

She blinked guilelessly. What a littleliar.

In honesty, he didn’t know what her goal was. He was an army man; he was accustomed to facing an enemy with clear goals. Land, resources, money. That kind of thing.

But Grace had resources, and money, too, if one counted her pin money, which Caleb decided he did. Besides, she couldn’tobtainthose things by asking him annoying personal questions, which left her motives a complete mystery.

Thank the saints they didn’t let women in armies. Battles were chaotic enough, what with all the noise and the guns and thedeath. Adding in women and their mysteries would be quite beyond the pale.

Even so, Caleb had the army in his bones, and so he knew two things: one, only a fool would underestimate an enemy when she was doing something strange; two, sometimes one had to sacrifice the battle to win the war.

“Do what ye want,” he grumbled, turning on his heel, clenching his fists at his side.

He stalked away, telling himself that a dignified retreat was best. His little wife may think she’d won something this time, but soon enough she would see who really had control in this household, mark his words.

The next nearest gentlefolk were a baron and his wife. Once she got the house into something that was starting to resemble a respectable state, Grace invited them to tea. “Thank you so much for coming, Lord and Lady Fenwick,” she said effusively as she led them into the duchess’ parlor. She’d decorated the room to correspond more with her own personal states than through a strict adherence to current fashions, and the effect was warm, comfortable, and full of soft places to sit.

Grace never wanted to be cold again. She intended to find all the comfort she could in life and cling to it. Thus, she felt ratherproud of her little room, with its soft lighting and warm colors. It was a nice place to justbe.

She felt inspired, furthermore, to spread comfort where she could. Hence, today’s meeting.

She still didn’t know what was going on with her husband and the other nearby residents, but she intended to get to the bottom of it. With or without the duke’s help.

Well,she allowed mentally,‘without’ is more likely.

“We appreciate the invitation ever so much,” tittered Lady Fenwick, a woman in her late thirties, perhaps, who was, despite her relatively advanced age for such things, quite massive with child. She had a nervous aspect about her, one echoed by her husband, who hovered at his wife’s side.

Although, Grace thought, this was perhaps necessity rather than solicitousness, as it took Lady Fenwick several tries to get herself safely lowered onto the settee.

Grace watched this procedure with some trepidation. Surely the woman should have politely declined, given her state? It was, of course, hideously rude to mention a woman being in the family way, but it seemed somehow evenmorerude not to mention it.

“I hope it was no inconvenience to make the journey,” she said gently, hoping the rest could remain implied.

Lady Fenwick looked a bit less uncomfortable at that, despite the allusion to an uncouth topic.

“Oh, because it seems like I’d scarcely fit in the carriage?” she asked with a self-deprecating little laugh. “Don’t fret. I’m quite used to it by this point. This—” She gestured at her curved middle. “—is our eleventh.”

“Eleventh!”Grace exclaimed before she could stop herself. “My goodness—I’m very sorry. That’s merely…”

“Quite a lot of children?” the lady offered, a touch of dryness creeping into her tone. “You are quite right there, Your Grace.”

“I suspect it’s twins again,” the baron murmured. If his wife seemed retiring, this man seemed outright shy.

Though apparently not shy enough to avoiding getting eleven—or possiblytwelve—children on his wisp of a wife.

“This would be the third set,” Lady Fenwick explained at the wide-eyed look that Grace, who was no longer even attempting to hide her reactions, gave her. “They rather run in the family.”

“I should say so!” Grace exclaimed. She pushed the plate of sandwiches and cakes that Mrs. Bradley had prepared in the woman’s direction. “Do you like cakes? I feel somehow that youdeservecakes.”

Lady Fenwick’s smile came more easily each time it appeared on her face.

“I very much do like cakes, Your Grace,” she said warmly. “I appreciate it.”

The ice thus broken between the three, they set upon the provisions contentedly, Grace drawing out the conversation as they ate. She learned about her neighbors’ children, starting with Matthew, the eldest, away at school at sixteen, down to Eloise, the baby (though not for long) who was not yet two years old.