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Grace smiled and said with perfect mildness, “You will not wish to see what I can do with my elbow, then.”

“Good Lord, no.” The dowager snorted and waved toward the door. “I am through with you. Go see to breakfast.”

“Shall I have Nancy help you dress?”

The dowager let out the most amazingly long-suffering sigh, as if a lifetime of aristocratic privilege was just too much. “Yes,” she agreed gracelessly, “if only because I can’t bear to look at your thumb.”

Grace chuckled. And she must have been feeling especially bold, because she did not even attempt to stifle it.

“Are you laughing at me, Miss Eversleigh?”

“Of course not!”

“Don’t,” the dowager said sharply, “even think about saying you’re laughing with me.”

“I was just laughing, ma’am,” Grace said, her face twitching with the smile she could not keep contained. “I do that sometimes.”

“I have never witnessed it.” Said as if this meant it couldn’t possibly be true.

Grace could not say any of the three rejoinders that immediately sprang to mind—

That is because you are not listening, your grace.

That is because I rarely have cause to laugh in your presence.

or

What of it?

So instead she smiled—warmly, even. Now this was strange. She’d spent so much of her time swallowing her retorts, and it always left a bitter taste in her mouth.

But not this time. This time she felt light. Unfettered. If she could not speak her mind to the dowager, she didn’t much care. She had too much to look forward to this morning.

Breakfast. Bacon and eggs. Kippers. Toast with butter and marmalade, too, and…

And him.

Mr. Audley.

Jack.

Chapter Nine

Jack staggered out of bed at precisely fourteen minutes before seven. Waking had been an elaborate undertaking. He had, after Miss Eversleigh had departed the night before, rung for a maid and given her strict orders to rap on his door at fifteen minutes past six. Then, as she was leaving, he thought the better of it and revised his directive to six sharp raps at the appointed time, followed by another twelve fifteen minutes later.

It wasn’t as if he was going to make it out of bed on the first attempt, anyway.

The maid had also been informed that if she did not see him at the door within ten seconds of the second set of raps, she was to enter the room and not depart until she was certain he was awake.

And finally, she was promised a shilling if she did not breathe a word of this to anyone.

“And I’ll know if you do,” he warned her, with his most disarming smile. “Gossip always makes its way back to me.”

It was true. No matter the house, no matter the establishment, the maids always told him everything. It was amazing how far one could travel on nothing but a smile and a puppy-dog expression.

Unfortunately for Jack, however, what his plan boasted in strategy, it lacked in eventual execution.

Not that the maid could be blamed. She carried out her part to the letter. Six sharp raps at fifteen minutes past six. Precisely. Jack managed to pry one eye about two-thirds of the way open, which proved to be just enough to focus upon the clock on his bedside table.