The Missing Heir. Gail Ranstrom
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Название: The Missing Heir
Автор: Gail Ranstrom
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
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“Thank you for a lovely evening, gentlemen, but I really must be going. I have just recalled that Lord Barrington is quite right. We are long overdue for an appointment.”
Though it was the deepest part of night, traffic along the main thoroughfares did not stop. Drivers called to one another and the sound of hooves on cobblestones filled the air. The moment Barrington’s coach stopped moving, Grace did not wait for a footman, but threw the door open and hopped down. She had not spoken the entire ride, not trusting herself to remain rational. Mrs. Dewberry had waited up and stood just inside the foyer. She handed the housekeeper her pelisse and reticule. “You needn’t have waited up, Mrs. Dewberry.”
“I like to be sure everyone is all tucked up for the night, Mrs. Forbush. I don’t mind in the least.”
Before she went any further, Grace needed to be certain she and Barrington would not be interrupted. “Is Dianthe home yet?”
“Aye, Mrs. Forbush. Retired an hour ago.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dewberry. Now please get some sleep.”
“Shall I fetch more brandy for his lordship, Mrs. Forbush?”
She headed for the library, peeling her gloves away as she went. “He will not be staying long. Now off to bed with you.”
“Yes, Missus.” The woman hurried toward the coach house where she and her husband had separate quarters.
“Grace—”
She was already pouring herself a glass of brandy by the time Barrington caught up with her.
“Grace, talk to me,” he pleaded.
Grace had wanted to be safely home and out of the reach of society gossips and Leland’s informants before she gave vent to her anger. Her back to him, she gulped the brandy and braced herself as the fire seeped downward, relaxing her clenched stomach muscles and stilling her trembling. She rarely drank anything stronger than sherry, but this occasion called for it. The next few minutes were going to be extremely unpleasant and she would need fortification to get through it.
“Damn it all, Grace,” Barrington snarled, red-faced. “I won’t have it. I won’t have you cavorting at hells and flirting with every man there. It cheapens you.”
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