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Grace shot a demanding look at Serendipity, who responded with a subtle shrug that shouted she had no idea Chance had invited Thornton Armstrong, the Earl of Middlebie, a boisterous Scot, to come to the manor for a stay of an undetermined length.

The man was nice enough. Charming and gentlemanly too, even though he was always loud.

But rumor had it that his propensity for poor investments and lavish spending had left him with little more than a crumbling castle in the Highlands and the kilt belted at his waist.

Grace fixed a hard look on her brother, determined that he feel her thoughts. She would not be bartered off to ease the financial woes of one of Chance’s friends. The will said she would marry for love—not money.

Walters appeared at the doorway of the dining room and struck the small gong he held suspended from a golden ribbon. “Dinner is served.”

Chance and Serendipity led the way, followed by the Duke of Wolfebourne and Lady Longmorten.

The Marquess of Strathyre and his wife came next, and then the Earl of Middlebie and Lady Margaret.

The Scot bathed the woman in laughter and endless chatter, and she appeared to enjoy it.

The sour-faced viscount, Lord Blytheston, took his place beside Grace, and Sir Andrew fell in step beside Joy.

Felicity and Merry ended the ridiculous ranked-by-peerage parade into the dining room.

The footmen hurried to fill the wine glasses and serve the soup.

Grace didn’t even attempt to repress a despondent sigh as she stared down at the creamy quagmire she had always hated.

She couldn’t refuse it. It simply wasn’t done.

One must never refuse the first course, her conscience reminded her in dear Mama’s voice.

Felicity nudged her and whispered, “I convinced Cook to change the recipe. It is much better. Try it, Gracie.”

With the side of her spoon barely touching the thick broth, Grace risked a glance down the table and almost laughed.

Wolfebourne was staring down at his soup with a similar expression of dislike.

Then he lifted his head and their gazes met.

Ever so slowly, he smiled, and she had to do the same.

The pea soup was their shared enemy. At least they had that in common.

The servants brought in the second course, arranging the joint of mutton, chicken, roasted carrots, turnips, and parsnips in a pleasing array of platters. Pickled vegetables were also placed on each end of the table so the footmen could better fill the guests’ plates.

Salmon pie, baked fish with wine and mushrooms, and potato pudding made up the third course.

By that time, Grace had picked at all she could bear, but politely slid bits of food around on her plate since others were still enjoying their meal.

Now and then, she slipped a tidbit to Gastric, who waited under the table to help her make it look as though she were eating.

She couldn’t hope to escape until after the dessert course, when the females would be excused to the smaller parlor while the men enjoyed their port and cigars in the library.

Grace noticed Lady Longmorten had eaten very little, if anything, as well.

The woman had even given up on shoving the food in circles on her plate.

She simply sat there with her hands in her lap, glaring at Wolfebourne and occasionally glancing down the table at her daughter.

Even if Connor and Sissy hadn’t told Grace of the woman’s plan to be rid of them, Grace wouldn’t like her.

As Mama had always said, Rarely can a mean-spirited person hide the blackness of their heart.

They will always reveal their soulless ways.

As the fritters, syllabub, cream puffs, jellies, and nuts were brought out, Grace breathed easier.

Not much longer now until the women would be dismissed to the small parlor near the side garden.

From there, she could slip outside and climb the trellis up to the second floor.

She had done that so many times in the past that she could scale the wall with her eyes closed.

If someone missed her after that, no one would bother to drag her back downstairs because, at least, she had made a showing when it mattered.

Chance might get a little fractious with her, but she didn’t care.

She had behaved properly as long as she could.

When they were finally dismissed, she rose so quickly from the table that she nearly knocked her chair over backward.

That earned her a hard look from Serendipity, which she answered with a roll of her eyes.

They had all best be happy she had been the dutiful sister.

She hated the societal and sometimes political maneuvering of balls, dinner parties, and tiresome soirees.

A refreshing breeze cutting across a peaceful meadow sang to her soul and comforted her.

Presenting herself like a fine, plump goose in the butcher window, all trussed up and ready for marriage, did not.

While Felicity talked recipes with Lady Strathyre, and Joy and Merry chatted about card games with Lady Margaret, Serendipity did her best to entertain Lady Longmorten.

Bless her soul, Grace thought as she looked on from her escape route beside the doors thrown open to the cool breeze coming in from the side garden. Serendipity would surely earn a special place in heaven for the patience and politeness she always displayed.

Grace was fairly certain her place in heaven would be shoveling out the stalls for the Almighty’s animals. At least, she hoped so. If anyone understood her, it had to be the Creator.

She eased back another few steps as Serendipity leaned forward in an earnest attempt to draw the aloof Lady Longmorten into some semblance of conversation.

Then Grace slipped through the doors and was free.

She scampered down the line of the wall, running her fingers along the roughness of the stucco and masonry, more relieved than anyone would ever understand.

She almost laughed as she took hold of her old friend, the iron trellis, that had provided her an escape route to the countryside many times.

Papa had once threatened to have it removed, but thankfully, he had relented when she gave in to a rare case of tears and begged him to let it stay.

The only time she ever cried was when one of her beloved animals died.

Papa knew that, and the sight of her reduced to such distress had stayed his hand.

Of course, it had been a few years since the last time she had climbed the old trellis.

But she had no doubt she still remembered every foot- and handhold.

She had nearly reached the second-floor windows when the ivy-covered iron framework reacted to her presence with a disturbing shudder.

How many dangerously rusted joints did the leafy ivy hide?

“Hold fast, old friend. I know I am a bit larger, but surely your strength can still bear me.”

Metal gritted against stone with a sickening grind. She stretched but couldn’t quite reach the ledge to the balcony of the bedroom she and her sisters shared. “Just a little more. Hold fast for a little longer. I am almost there.”

And then the thing groaned and slowly wilted away from the wall, dangling her over the ground that was entirely too far down there to let herself drop.

She held on tight and bit back a scream.

“A cool head always wins, Gracie,” she said under her breath while gently swaying back and forth.

As long as the iron continued its gradual bending away from the wall, she could drop to the ground as soon as she got close enough, and no one would be any the wiser.

But then it snapped and bounced her so brutally against the wall that she lost her grip. “Drat it all!”

“I have you, my lady.”

She landed in the muscular arms of the Duke of Wolfebourne, elbowing him in the face rather hard.

“Bloody hell, woman!”

“Oh, dear heavens.” The shadowy darkness hid his features, so she gently touched his face, checking him for injury.

A warm, slick wetness met her fingertips.

“Bless you, Your Grace, you are bleeding. I am so very sorry.” She pulled a handkerchief from its usual place, snug between her breasts down behind her stays, and pressed it first to his nose and then his mouth.

“Is it your lip or your nose?” she asked in a frantic whisper.

“I can’t tell. The moon has gone behind the clouds.

” Her heart pounded at a deafening rate, and her middle churned as if holding a thousand little birds madly batting their wings to be freed.

The night breeze blew the clouds aside as if trying to help.

Moonlight flooded the small clearing beside the trellis, revealing she had indeed bloodied the poor man’s nose.

Without realizing it, she slid her fingers deeper into the silkiness of his hair and gently cradled his head while stanching the trickle of blood with her handkerchief.

“I am so, so sorry,” she said. “I hope I have not broken it. Can you breathe? Do you feel lightheaded?” Of course, that was a most silly question, because he still held her in his arms as if cuddling a cherished pet.

That realization made her swallow hard. It would probably do them both a world of good if he would set her down.

“Place me on my feet and let me tend to you. You have not answered a thing I have asked. Are you all right, Your Grace?”

Rather than lower her to the clearing, he hitched her higher against his chest. One of his dark brows ratcheted higher and, if she was not mistaken, sheer amusement flashed in his eyes. “I have not answered because I am unable to get a word in edgewise, my lady.”