Grace by Deneane Clark Page A

earl on this last trip. He would get to the root of all this, he thought staring up the stairs in the direction his employer had vanished.
    “Avery!” Trevor called again before he reached his chamber. The surprised valet came running out just as Trevor strode in, very nearly colliding with him on the threshold. “Evening clothes, please, and quickly.” He spotted a footman walking by the room. “Smythe!” The liveried man immediately reappeared in the doorway. “Have my secretary send up all the invitations we’ve received for events held this evening.” Smythe nodded and bowed backward out of the room, then turned and ran down the hall in his haste to do his master’s bidding.
    Trevor turned back to Avery, who had a black coat and breeches already laid out and stood stooped over the bed, brushing nonexistent specks of dust from an impeccably pressed sleeve. “I’ll need a shave, too,” Trevor added, rubbing his chin.
    Although he had yet to locate the bag that contained Trevor’s shaving things, Avery managed to look as cool and unperturbed as ever.
    Twenty minutes later, Trevor descended the steps in immaculate, superbly tailored evening clothes, his jaw smoothly shaved. He held in one hand a list of the evening’s balls to peruse on his way to the address Grace’s father had given him, and in the other hand a tasteful bouquet of pink tea roses and white daisies. Wilson swept open the front door and Trevor strode out. He gave his driver the address on Curzon Street, then settled into the coach with a smile, looking forward with pleasure to the company of his unknowing fiancée.

C
hapter
N
ine

    M iss Grace is not in to callers.”
    “What do you mean?” Trevor snapped at the stooped, elderly butler who had answered the door at the home of Grace’s aunt. After traveling across half of England, Trevor felt his lighthearted mood begin to deteriorate in the face of yet another setback.
    Greaves drew himself up as much as his diminutive height would allow, deeply affronted at the earl’s clipped, impatient tone. “I meant just what I said, my lord. Miss Grace is not in to callers.”
    Trevor took a deep breath and slowly counted to ten, reminding himself that this man did not purposely keep him from Grace. “And where might I find Miss Ackerly?” he asked in a more patient voice.
    “Which, my lord?” the butler inquired with raised brows.
    Trevor closed his eyes, again trying to quell his irritation. “Which what?” he asked.
    “Which Miss Ackerly, of course,” the old man said. He drew back into the house a bit and looked at Trevor as though he thought the young earl on the doorstep was bit batty.
    Trevor’s hands itched to close around the servant’s neck, but he checked the impulse and forced himself to answer.“Miss Grace,” he bit out between clenched teeth, enunciating each word clearly in an effort to control his rapidly crumbling temper.
    A look of baffled uncertainty crossed the butler’s face. “I’m not quite certain I remember, my lord,” Greaves said, scratching his bald head thoughtfully. “I know they went out, and I’m most certain Lady Egerton told me where they would go.” He squinted up at Trevor for a moment, trying as hard as he could to remember, then visibly brightened, struck with a most brilliant thought. He looked at the earl eagerly. “Do
you
know, my lord?” he asked hopefully.
    Trevor stared down at the smaller man in incredulity, unable to fathom why anybody with the slightest bit of common sense would employ this man, much less allow him to answer their door. “May I see Miss Ackerly’s maid, then?” he finally managed.
    Greaves immediately opened the door wider. “Of course, my lord. Which Miss—” he began.
    “Miss Grace!” Trevor snapped. He stepped inside and removed his gloves as the elderly butler shuffled off. Trevor hoped the man would manage to remember what he had set out to accomplish. He walked across the entranceway and glanced into