Clara grinned. “Obviously. It is probably a good thing Papa read the note. He will already know why I need the carriage tomorrow. Perhaps he will let me take the curricle.”
Radcliff paled. “Surely he will want a coachman to go with us.”
“I promise. No more wild races through the park.”
Radcliff looked disbelieving but said nothing.
Clara tucked the note away. “Help me prepare for the duke’s visit. It will help keep me from trying to find some nefarious meaning in Madame Adrienne’s note.”
She sat at the dressing table, and Radcliff began working on her hair, which had already worked loose from the morning chignon. Clara dusted a light powder over her cheeks in an effort to dim the redness that had started to bloom beneath her skin, especially when she became too warm. Although some of the summer heat had begun to wane, London remained an uncomfortable place, and Clara longed for the cooler countryside of Beckcott Abbey.Soon,she told herself.Soon.
Radcliff helped her into a neat but simple day gown of pale blue, tying a plain straw bonnet over the curls. Clara did not usually wear a cap in the house, but she was trying to be more formal in the duke’s presence. She glanced again at the clock. She had almost twenty minutes.
“I’m going to take Pockets to the garden while you gather your sewing.” Clara went to her pillow and scooped the tiny cat up. Although they no longer had to feed Pockets with milk in the finger of a glove, the kitten remained underweight and slept a lot, despite her occasional adventures in the garden or stables. Clara was, however, pleased with her progress and dreaded the day when the cat would no longer be content to curl up in her pocket for a walk.
They left the bedchamber, but as they turned toward the back stairs, Clara heard Jennings call for her. “My lady?”
She turned. “Yes?”
“The Duke of Wykeham has arrived.”
Clara’s eyes widened as she glanced at Radcliff. “Already?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Clara scowled, biting her tongue. “Thank you, Jennings. Please tell His Grace I will be down shortly.” Jennings bowed and left, and Clara turned on Radcliff, not hiding the snarl in her voice. “He’s testing me, the bastard. Checking to see if I have other callers. Or if I’m lazing about the house in my night rail.”
“My lady, he cannot know—”
Clara cut her off with a slice of her hand. “It is not that. If he knew about Lord Michael, he would have been in Father’s study before breakfast. No, this is more nefarious, and he wants me unsettled. Hmph.” She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “I am presentable?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You will have to do without your sewing today. Let us go see if the duke can handle with what I am prepared to deal out.”
Downstairs, Clara paused at the door of the receiving room, took a deep breath, then flung open the door and entered with a flourish that would have impressed Queen Charlotte herself. She gave an extravagant curtsy, feeling the weight of the kitten against her thigh. “Your Grace. Welcome once more to Beckcott Hall. I’m sure my father would have welcomed you himself had he known you would arrive so early.”
The duke had stood upon her entrance but now froze, his eyes narrowing. “Are you scolding me for appearing before our appointed time?”
Clara strode to the settee as Radcliff scurried around her to her chair near the window. “Not at all, Your Grace. I would never be so forward or impolite.” She settled on the settee, spreading her skirts and making sure that Pockets was tucked against her.
The duke sat once more, taking up his usual posture with his forearms draped over the arms of the chair, one hand dangling as the other fiddled with his cane. “I hear you had a most intriguing visit with my mother on Sunday afternoon. She seems to like you.”
Pockets, it appeared, was not as content as usual. Tiny kitten claws made their presence known in Clara’s thigh. She fought not to wince. “Indeed. The Dowager Duchess Wykeham is a charming and delightful woman.”
The dangling hand circled. “She is an unpleasant old bat who makes life as difficult as possible for her family and those around her. She should retire to the dowager house on our estate and never return to London. That she seems to enjoy your company makes this situation even more... intriguing.”
“Should a mother not enjoy the company of her son’s wife?”
He made a rude noise in the back of his throat. “She certainly did not enjoy my first wife’s presence. Did all she could to torment her.”
Clara tried to conceive of the woman who she would always think of as a lovely raspberry pudding as a tormenter. “I am sure that it was a mere clash of—”
“Nonsense. She knew my wife—Arabella—did not like animals in the house, nor do I, but my mother insisted on bringing her blasted dogs everywhere.”
Pockets stirred, and Clara bit her lower lip. “I believe she said the family bred and raised Skye—”
“Shedoes.Wedo not. They are an affectation for aristocratic women who see them as accessories in the same way they see combs and reticules. Nasty creatures.”
