else. For her plan to work, he needed to be near destitute.
“Whether he misses it or not, I detest having to borrow anything from him. And I certainly do not want Father to be able to gain anything from him.” Grace frowned into the mirror as she placed the bonnet upon her head. How she hated being in anyone’s debt. It was the very thing she’d both endured and fought against her entire life. “I suppose Mr. Kingsley believes it better that we’re gone before Lord Sutherland arises.”
“I’d wager you’re right,” Miranda said.
Grace’s fingers stilled on the bonnet strings. “Must you use that term?” She stood abruptly and faced Miranda.
Miranda looked as stricken as Grace felt. “My apologies, Miss Thatcher.” Miranda curtsied before crossing the room to pack the valise.
Grace winced at the formality she’d all but begged those in her employ not to use. “It’s all right,” she said, regretful for having given the reprimand. She’d acted as many did toward their servants, but she felt she oughtn’t have. Miranda had meant no harm, but Grace could tell that her rebuke had done plenty to injure the tenuous friendship they’d formed since Grandfather’s passing. Before then, Grace had had as little interaction with Miranda as possible, but in the months since Grandfather had died, and during the ensuing crisis of her father’s debts, Miranda had become much more than a servant. She’d become a friend and confidante.
Miranda’s back had stiffened, and the mask of aloofness had descended over her face once more. Her lips pressed together into what Grace was certain would be an extended silence. With one sentence, she had sent Miranda firmly back into her role as her maid.
Grace tried another apology. “You know the term wager dredges up many a painful memory for me. But it’s none of your doing. I am truly sorry I said anything at all.”
“A lady does not apologize to her staff,” Miranda pointed out, her tone somewhat stern.
Grace smiled. “ This lady will apologize as she needs to. I believe my mother named me Grace in the hopes that I would exhibit some.”
Miranda did not return her smile, but Grace thought she might have seen a hint of approval in the older woman’s eyes. No doubt she feels as much a governess as a lady’s maid .
But there wasn’t much Grace could do about that at the moment. She was trying her best to find her way in this world so different from the one she’d grown up in. It wasn’t easy, and at times, when she thought about her old life, she realized that in some ways, it had been far simpler before the duke had offered her his home and a secure future.
Miranda continued to pack in silence, and Grace crossed to the window, looking out at the unkempt grounds while rehearsing in her mind all that she, Miranda, and Harrison had discussed this morning in a hasty tête-à-tête in the privacy of this room.
“Your wet clothing really ought to be washed before we leave.” Miranda held up Grace’s still-damp, muddy gown. “I’d intended to see to it this morning.”
“No matter,” Grace said, privately glad she’d been wearing one of her plainest, black mourning frocks, and not one of her newer gowns, for travel. “It’s likely ruined. We cannot spare another minute on such frivolities.” In part, that was true. The sooner they arrived at Sir Preston’s in Lord Sutherland’s carriage — something that had been Harrison’s idea — the sooner Miranda and Harrison could start spreading the tale that would lead to her ruin. More than that, Grace had a strong desire to avoid another meeting with Lord Sutherland. As she guessed Mr. Kingsley felt the same, she thought it far better if she was gone when the lord awoke.
Miranda held up the borrowed nightgown. “And I don’t know what to do about this. The whole side is practically torn out.”
“Bring it with us,” Grace said. “It’s no good to anyone else in that condition, and what better
“Whether he misses it or not, I detest having to borrow anything from him. And I certainly do not want Father to be able to gain anything from him.” Grace frowned into the mirror as she placed the bonnet upon her head. How she hated being in anyone’s debt. It was the very thing she’d both endured and fought against her entire life. “I suppose Mr. Kingsley believes it better that we’re gone before Lord Sutherland arises.”
“I’d wager you’re right,” Miranda said.
Grace’s fingers stilled on the bonnet strings. “Must you use that term?” She stood abruptly and faced Miranda.
Miranda looked as stricken as Grace felt. “My apologies, Miss Thatcher.” Miranda curtsied before crossing the room to pack the valise.
Grace winced at the formality she’d all but begged those in her employ not to use. “It’s all right,” she said, regretful for having given the reprimand. She’d acted as many did toward their servants, but she felt she oughtn’t have. Miranda had meant no harm, but Grace could tell that her rebuke had done plenty to injure the tenuous friendship they’d formed since Grandfather’s passing. Before then, Grace had had as little interaction with Miranda as possible, but in the months since Grandfather had died, and during the ensuing crisis of her father’s debts, Miranda had become much more than a servant. She’d become a friend and confidante.
Miranda’s back had stiffened, and the mask of aloofness had descended over her face once more. Her lips pressed together into what Grace was certain would be an extended silence. With one sentence, she had sent Miranda firmly back into her role as her maid.
Grace tried another apology. “You know the term wager dredges up many a painful memory for me. But it’s none of your doing. I am truly sorry I said anything at all.”
“A lady does not apologize to her staff,” Miranda pointed out, her tone somewhat stern.
Grace smiled. “ This lady will apologize as she needs to. I believe my mother named me Grace in the hopes that I would exhibit some.”
Miranda did not return her smile, but Grace thought she might have seen a hint of approval in the older woman’s eyes. No doubt she feels as much a governess as a lady’s maid .
But there wasn’t much Grace could do about that at the moment. She was trying her best to find her way in this world so different from the one she’d grown up in. It wasn’t easy, and at times, when she thought about her old life, she realized that in some ways, it had been far simpler before the duke had offered her his home and a secure future.
Miranda continued to pack in silence, and Grace crossed to the window, looking out at the unkempt grounds while rehearsing in her mind all that she, Miranda, and Harrison had discussed this morning in a hasty tête-à-tête in the privacy of this room.
“Your wet clothing really ought to be washed before we leave.” Miranda held up Grace’s still-damp, muddy gown. “I’d intended to see to it this morning.”
“No matter,” Grace said, privately glad she’d been wearing one of her plainest, black mourning frocks, and not one of her newer gowns, for travel. “It’s likely ruined. We cannot spare another minute on such frivolities.” In part, that was true. The sooner they arrived at Sir Preston’s in Lord Sutherland’s carriage — something that had been Harrison’s idea — the sooner Miranda and Harrison could start spreading the tale that would lead to her ruin. More than that, Grace had a strong desire to avoid another meeting with Lord Sutherland. As she guessed Mr. Kingsley felt the same, she thought it far better if she was gone when the lord awoke.
Miranda held up the borrowed nightgown. “And I don’t know what to do about this. The whole side is practically torn out.”
“Bring it with us,” Grace said. “It’s no good to anyone else in that condition, and what better
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