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She sputtered at that for a moment, and then finally she scowled and said, “It is in your speech.”

“Felled by my accent.” He looked at Miss Eversleigh and shrugged. “Pommy R’s and proper H’s. What’s a man to do?”

But the dowager was not prepared to let the subject drop. “You are educated, are you not?”

It was tempting to claim he’d been schooled with the local lads, if only to witness her reaction. But he owed his aunt and uncle better than that, and so he turned to the dowager and said, “Portora Royal, followed by two months at Trinity College—Dublin, that is, not Cambridge—and then six years serving in His Majesty’s army and protecting you from invasion.” He cocked his head to the side. “I’ll take those thanks now, if you will.”

The dowager’s lips parted with outrage.

“No?” He lifted his brows. “Funny how no one seems to care that they still speak English and curtsy to good King George.”

“I do,” Miss Eversleigh said. And when he looked at her, she blinked and added, “Er, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said, and it occurred to him that this was the first time he’d had cause to say it. Sadly, the dowager was not unique in her sense of entitlement. Soldiers were occasionally feted, and it was true that the uniforms were quite effective when attracting the ladies, but no one ever thought to say thank you. Not to him, and especially not to the men who’d suffered permanent injury or disfigurement.

“Tell everyone we shared fencing lessons,” Jack said to Miss Eversleigh, ignoring the dowager as best he could. “It’s as good a ruse as any. Wyndham says he’s passable with a sword?”

“I do not know,” she said.

Of course she wouldn’t. But no matter. If Wyndham had said he was passable, then he was almost certainly a master. They would be well-matched if ever they had to offer proof of their lie. Fencing had been his best subject in school. It was probably the only reason they had kept him to age eighteen.

“Shall we?” he murmured, tilting his head toward the door.

“The blue silk bedroom,” the dowager called out sourly.

“She does not like to be left out of a conversation, does she?” Jack murmured, so that only Miss Eversleigh could hear.

He’d known she could not answer, not with her employer so close, but he saw her eyes dart away, as if trying to hide her amusement.

“You may retire for the night as well, Miss Eversleigh,” the dowager directed.

Grace turned in surprise. “You don’t wish for me to attend to you? It’s early yet.”

“Nancy can do it,” she replied with a pinch of her lips. “She’s an acceptable hand with buttons, and what’s more, she doesn’t say a word. I find that to be an exceptionally good trait in a servant.”

As Grace held her tongue more often than not, she decided to take that as a compliment, rather than the rear-door insult it was meant to be. “Of course, ma’am,” she said, bobbing a demure curtsy. “I shall see you in the morning, then, with your chocolate and the newspaper.”

Mr. Audley was already at the door and was holding out his hand to motion for her to precede him, so she walked out into the hall. She had no idea what the dowager was up to, giving her the rest of the evening off, but she was not going to argue further.

“Nancy is her maid,” she explained to Mr. Audley once he reached her side.

“I’d guessed.”

“It’s most odd.” She shook her head. “She—“

Mr. Audley waited rather patiently for her to finish her sentence, but Grace decided the better of it. She had been going to say that the dowager hated Nancy. In fact, the dowager complained most bitterly and at painful length each time she had a day out and Nancy served as a substitute.

“You were saying, Miss Eversleigh?” he murmured.

She almost told him. It was strange, because she barely knew him, and furthermore, he could not possibly be interested in the trivialities of the Belgrave household. Even if he did become the duke—and the thought of it still made her somewhat sick to her stomach—well, it wasn’t as if Thomas could have identified any of the housemaids. And if asked which ones his grandmother disliked, he’d surely have said, All of them.

Which, Grace thought with a wry smile, was probably true.

“You’re smiling, Miss Eversleigh,” Mr. Audley remarked, looking very much as if he were the one with a secret. “Do tell why.”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” she said. “Certainly nothing that would be of interest to you.” She motioned toward the staircase at the rear of the hall. “Here, the bedchambers are this way.”

“You were smiling,” he said again, falling in step beside her.