“After an afternoon spent imbibing tea laced with mead and Scots whisky.” Alyssa laughed. “How could you not?”
Miranda groaned. “We’re all going to need the remedy tomorrow.”
“How did it go?” Griff asked, as soon as Alyssa and Miranda walked through the door.
“She was indisposed,” Alyssa told him. “But we saw her anyway.”
Miranda laughed. “That lady’s maid didn’t stand a chance against the Duchess of Avon.”
“Is she all right?”
Alyssa nodded matter-of-factly. “Her monthly arrived with a vengeance.”
Miranda blushed bright red. Almost as red as Griffin. He coughed. “I’m not so sure that Lady Grantham would appreciate your confiding such personal information, my love.” He gave her a rueful look. “I’m not certain I want to have such personal knowledge.”
“You don’t,” Alyssa told him. “But Colin will.” She looked at her husband. “Especially when he learns he’s not going to be a father right away.”
Griff nodded. Although Colin had accepted full responsibility when he married her, there was no doubt that this would be welcome news. For now he knew that when he did become a father, there would be no doubting the paternity. “That will be welcome news, given the circumstances.”
Alyssa turned to Miranda. “Did you tell her about her lady’s maid?”
Miranda nodded. “I told her that her maid had been dismissed from Lord Chemsford’s, Lord Barfield’s, and the Earl of Exeter’s households.”
Griff froze at the sound of the three peers whose wayward daughters had eloped to Scotland. “What is this about her maid?” he asked. “Tell me everything.”
Miranda related everything she could remember, and when she finished, Griffin asked, “Do you think the maid suspected you knew anything?”
“Of course she suspected,” Alyssa answered. “She was a perfect gorgon to Miranda. They recognized each other on sight.”
Griff crossed the drawing room in several long strides and rang for the butler and the footmen. “Send someone through the back garden to alert Manners and Shepherdston. Hurry. It’s time to put the plan into action.”
“What
plan?” Alyssa demanded.
“I’ll tell you later.” Griff grabbed the tall hat and overcoat his butler handed him, kissed his wife, and hurried out the door.
Chapter Thirty
“Saint George, that swing’d the dragon, and e’er since
Sits on his horse back at mine hostess’ door!”
—William Shakespeare, 1564-1616
King John
Gillian looked up from the book she was reading as Lavery entered the bedchamber.
“Did you have a pleasant afternoon, madame?” Lavery asked, straightening the bed Gillian had left.
“Yes, I did,” Gillian answered. “Very much. Thank you.”
“Then you didn’t mind receiving visitors after all?” There was an edge to Lavery’s voice that made the hair on the back of Gillian’s neck stand on end. “No,” she answered cautiously.
“Then you won’t mind receiving one more.”
“What are you doing here?” Gillian felt a heated rush of outrage ripple through her as she recognized the voice from her past. She pushed out of the wing chair and stood up to face him.