Free Mr. Cavendish, I Presume by Julia Quinn Page B

that they even numbered in the double digits), but this was the first time her anger had turned profane.
    “I don’t have any new freckles,” she ground out, wondering how Wyndham had managed to escape this scene. He’d slipped away the moment he returned her, pink-cheeked, to the drawing room, a sitting duck for the dowager, who had always held the sun in about as much affection as did a vampire bat.
    Which did hold a certain ironic justice, as she held the dowager in about as much affection as she did a vampire bat.
    The dowager drew back at her comment. “What did you just say?”
    As Amelia had never talked back to her before, she could not be surprised at her reaction. But she seemed to be turning over a new leaf these days, one of as-sertiveness and cheek, so she swallowed and said, “I don’t have any new freckles. I looked in the washroom mirror and counted.”
    It was a lie, and a very satisfying one at that.
    The dowager’s mouth pinched like a fish. She glared at Amelia for a good ten seconds, which was nine seconds longer than was required to make Amelia squirm, and then barked, “Miss Eversleigh!”

    80 Julia
    Quinn
    Grace practically leapt through the drawing room doorway and into the hall.
    The dowager seemed not to notice her arrival and continued with her tirade. “Does no one care about our name? Our blood? Good God above, am I the only person in this damnable world who understands the importance of . . . the meaning of . . . ”
    Amelia stared at the dowager in horror. For a moment it looked as if she might cry. Which could not be possible. The woman was biologically incapable of tears.
    She was sure of it.
    Grace stepped forward, stunning them all when she placed her arm around the dowager’s shoulders. “Ma’am,”
    she said soothingly, “it has been a difficult day.”
    “It has not been difficult,” the dowager snapped, shaking her off. “It has been anything but difficult.”
    “Ma’am,” Grace said again, and again Amelia marveled at the gentle calmness of her voice.
    “Leave me alone!” the dowager roared. “I have a dy-nasty to worry about! You are nothing! Nothing!”
    Grace lurched back. Amelia saw her throat work, and she could not tell if she was near tears or absolute fury.
    “Grace?” she said carefully, and she wasn’t even sure what she was asking, just that she thought she should say something.
    Grace responded with a quick little shake of her head that clearly meant don’t ask , leaving Amelia to wonder just what, exactly, had happened the night before. Because no one was acting normally. Not Grace, not the dowager, and certainly not Wyndham.

    Mr. Cavendish, I Presume
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    Apart from his disappearance from the scene. That, at least, was precisely as expected.
    “We will accompany Lady Amelia and her sister back to Burges Park,” the dowager ordered. “Miss Eversleigh, have our carriage readied at once. We will ride with our guests and then return in our own convey-ance.”
    Grace’s lips parted with surprise, but she was accustomed to the dowager and her furious whims, and so she nodded and hurried toward the front of the castle.
    “Elizabeth!” Amelia said desperately, spotting her sister in the doorway. The traitorous wretch had already turned on the ball of her foot and was attempting to slink away, leaving her to deal with the dowager by herself.
    Amelia reached out and grabbed her elbow, reeling her in with a teeth-grinding, “Sister, dear.”
    “My tea,” Elizabeth said feebly, motioning toward the drawing room.
    “Is cold,” Amelia said firmly.
    Elizabeth attempted a weak smile in the dowager’s direction, but the expression did not make it much beyond grimace.
    “Sarah,” the dowager said.
    Elizabeth didn’t bother to correct her.
    “Or Jane,” the dowager snapped. “Which is it?”
    “Elizabeth,” Elizabeth said.
    The dowager’s eyes narrowed, as if she didn’t quite believe her, and her nostrils flared most unattractively as she