Mr. Cavendish, I Presume by Julia Quinn Page A

going to get, because even if Amelia happened to be standing inside, entirely in the shadows, the dowager knew that her bonnet would not be affixed with the proper vigor when the time came to step into the sun.
    Truly, the things the dowager knew about her were frightening, both in their scope and inaccuracy.
    You will bear the next Duke of Wyndham! the dowager had snapped, more than once. Imperfection is not an option!
    Amelia envisioned the rest of the afternoon and let Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
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    out a sigh. “I’m eating the last biscuit,” she announced, sitting back down.
    The two other ladies nodded sympathetically and resumed their seats as well. “Perhaps I should order more?” Grace asked.
    Amelia nodded dejectedly.
    And then Wyndham came back. Amelia let out a growl of displeasure, because now she had to sit up straight again, and of course her mouth was full of crumbs, and of course of course , he wasn’t even addressing her, anyway, so she was agitating herself for naught.
    Inconsiderate man.
    “We nearly lost it on the stairs,” the duke was saying to Grace. “The whole thing swung to the right and nearly impaled itself on the railing.”
    “Oh, my,” Grace murmured.
    “It would have been a stake through the heart,” he said with a wry smile. “It would have been worth it just to see the look on her face.”
    Grace started to stand. “Your grandmother rose from bed, then?”
    “Only to oversee the transfer,” he told her. “You’re safe for now.”
    Grace looked relieved. Amelia couldn’t say that she blamed her.
    Wyndham looked over to the plate where the biscuits had once sat, saw only crumbs, then turned back to Grace. “I cannot believe she had the temerity to demand that you fetch it for her last night. Or,” he added, in a 60 Julia
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    voice that was not quite so sharp as it was dry, “that you actually thought you could do it.”
    Grace turned to her guests and explained, “The dowager requested that I bring her the painting last night.”
    “But it was huge!” Elizabeth exclaimed.
    Amelia said nothing. She was too busy being impressed by Grace’s verbal restraint. They all knew the dowager never requested anything.
    “My grandmother always favored her middle son,”
    the duke said grimly. And then, as if only just noticing the woman he planned to marry, he glanced at Amelia and said, “Lady Amelia.”
    “Your grace,” she replied dutifully.
    But she rather doubted he heard her. He was already back to Grace, saying, “You will of course support me if I lock her up?”
    Amelia’s eyes widened. She thought it was a question, but it might have been a directive. Which was far more interesting.
    “Thom—” Grace began, before clearing her throat and correcting herself. “Your grace. You must grant her extra patience this day. She is distraught.”
    Amelia swallowed the bitter, acidic taste that rose in her throat. How had she not known that Grace used Wyndham’s Christian name? They were friendly, of course. They lived in the same house—huge, to be sure, and filled with a flotilla of servants, but Grace dined with the dowager, which meant she often dined with Wyndham, and after five years they must have had countless conversations.

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    Amelia knew all that. She didn’t care. She had never cared. She didn’t even care that Grace had called him Thomas, and she, his fiancée, had never even thought of him as such.
    But how could she not have known? Shouldn’t she have known?
    And why did it bother her so much that she hadn’t known?
    She watched his profile closely. He was still speaking with Grace, and his expression was one that he’d never—not even once—used with her. There was familiarity in his gaze, a warmth of shared experiences, and—
    Oh, dear Lord. Had he kissed her? Had he kissed Grace?
    Amelia clutched the edge of the chair for support.
    He couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have. Grace was not her friend so much as she