Lady Redfield handed the duchess the note, though Penelope would have preferred to set it on fire. At this moment, her feelings were such that she would not have minded setting the whole house on fire.
The duchess read it aloud:
Dear Lady Heathway,
My mother and I cannot thank you enough for your courtesy in contacting us. It is rather wonderful to know that there is such a gracious individual living in the world. It is with a heavy heart that we must decline your generous offer.
My mother, Lady Barlow, does very poorly and has much need of me.
Again, thank you so much for the kindness.
Grace Yardley
“Well, that is unfortunate,” Lady Easton said, “though she does sound like a dutiful daughter.”
The butler looked almost faint at hearing the contents of the letter and staggered toward the door in a bid to escape the room.
Lady Heathway stood, feeling as if she did not move, she might explode into a thousand bits. “Unfortunate, you say? Unfortunate!” Her voice startled the company, as it was rather louder than most drawing rooms were accustomed to.
“Disappointing, then?” Lady Redfield said hopefully, never liking when somebody was out of spirits.
“Now Penelope,” Lady Easton said, “she does say the mother does poorly.”
“Verypoorly,” Lady Featherstone said, as if the addition ofverymust explain away all unpleasantness.
“Ranston!” Lady Heathway said imperiously, just as the poor butler had his hand on the door handle. “Pack a small trunk, tell the coachman I shall expect him at dawn tomorrow, and send word to my nephew that I have need of him forthwith! I will not be crossed by a lady who claims to do so poorly that she cannot gird herself to do what’s right for a daughter. That sickly lady shall soon find she is to be overcome!”
The ladies round the table sat in stunned silence, having understood that Lady Heathway was prepared to run rampant through the countryside to retrieve Miss Yardley.
That they all thanked the heavenstheywere not the sickly lady who was about to be set upon was simply a matter of course.
One generally did duck when Lady Heathway aimed her cannon.
Chapter One
Grace Yardley, daughterof the late Viscount Barlow, viewed her circumstances from the kitchen garden. It struck her once again that Barlow House had been named rather lofty for what it actually was. Though it was technically the dower house, Grace was not aware of any dowager ever having stayed there. Her grandmother certainly had not.
The cottage was only comprised of two bedchambers above stairs, and then a single room, kitchen, and small servants’ quarters below. The primary room for living, having to wear many hats, was cramped with four chairs near the fire. On the other side stood a small dining table and a rickety bookshelf. Grace thought of it as the room of all things—the drawing room, the dining room, and the library, all rolled into one. Even had they been able to afford more than a cook and a maid, there would have been nowhere to put them.
The size of the place was one inconvenience, the condition of it was another. The roof leaked and there were buckets placed about strategically to catch the rain in her bedchamber. She must just remind herself to be gratified that her mother’s own bedchamber remained dry. The lady was, at this moment in her history, too weak to stand up against the damp.
While he lived, the viscount had indulged Lady Barlow to a remarkable degree. When he had married the lady, he’d sworn he would care for her as a jewel in a velvet-lined case, and so he had. Nothing had ever been required of her and nothing she liked had ever been denied her. She had slept late on fine sheets and eaten a leisurely breakfast near noon, and she had lived in a household that moved heaven and earth for her comfort. Had not one of the footmen been hired solely to see that fire screens were in endless motion to suit the lady? The summers were even more ridiculous, as large fans on pulleys were operated to keep her cool, as if she were an Indian maharajah. The housekeeper and butler together ran things with no need of Lady Barlow’s involvement. It had been a life of indolence and coddling.
Nobody had ever begrudged the lady her comforts, though Grace was not unaware that this mode of going on had failed to prepare her mother to manage on her own with only her jointure at her disposal. Her father had always presumed that Grace would be long-married when he departed the world and his widow would be well cared for. But she was not yet married when he left them.
Upon her husband’s death, the lady had some idea that she and her daughter were to go on living in Barlow Hall, despite not ever having met the heir. The place was enormous so why should they not? Why should she even be made to give up her current apartments? Surely, the new viscount might choose any number of rooms for himself. Grace had not been at all confident of any of these ideas, but to Lady Barlow, anything else had been unimaginable.
That gentleman, arriving from York and having a peculiar, direct way of communicating his ideas, had set her mother straight in the most shocking terms. They could live in the dower house, or go live with relatives, or live as vagabonds in the forest. They might explore the far east or set sail for the Caribbean if they liked, but where they wouldnotbe living was in Barlow Hall with him.
Grace supposed the new viscount had thought they would go off to live with relatives and he would be done with them. However, the only possible relative they might have imposed on was Lady Barlow’s sister, and that was out of the question. Lady Barlow had long made her opinion known regarding her sister’s choice of husband, she finding the baron a rough sort and not suitably elevated. This had caused a cooling between the sisters, with only yearly rather terse Christmas cards exchanged. All these years later, the baron had now made his own opinion known, and that opinion was that Lady Barlow was never to breach his doors.
And so, into the leaky dower house they went. Or rather, Grace went and Lady Barlow was carried. She’d taken to her bed immediately and claimed she’d never rise from it.
Through strong broth and encouraging words, Grace had convinced her mother to venture downstairs during the day. However, the lady generally only made it to the chair closest to the fire and had yet to be out of doors.
The running of the household, such as it was, had fallen to Grace. She was not unhappy to take on the role, as it at least gave her something to do. Doing something was far better than giving oneself time to contemplate the future. She saw nothing but gray skies ahead.
Then had come a flicker of hope. A flame, really. A certain Lady Heathway, who had heard of their predicament by some mechanism, had written inviting Grace to stay with her for a London season.
