Lois Menzel Read Free Page A

she must surely die of shame.
    When Anthony once again asked her if she was all right, she mumbled, “I am well, sir, thank you. Please excuse me.” With her eyes downcast, she moved as quickly as possible toward the cloakroom, wanting only to escape the scene of her disgrace.
    Mrs. Demming followed her daughter. As she passed Anthony, he said, “With your permission, Mrs. Demming, I will call in the morning to be certain she was not hurt.”
    “You are very kind, sir,” Lavinia replied. “Good night.”
    It was only after they had gone that he realized he did not know where they lived.
     

Chapter 2
    Late the following morning Anthony Graydon wasted no time in learning the direction of the Demming family. His source of information was Lord Roth.
    “Is there a Mr. Demming, Roth?”
    “So I understand, though I have never met the gentleman. His property is in Yorkshire, and I believe he prefers the dales to the smoky city. It is said that his flocks produce the best wool in the county, and he is rumored to be considerably wealthy. His four older daughters were handsomely dowered, and Miss Celia, so the gossips say, has an equal portion.”
    “It is not Miss Demming’s fortune that concerns me at this moment. I cannot believe that so frail a creature did not suffer some injury from her fall last night. It was utterly appalling. It happened so quickly, there was nothing I could do. And all those stuffy matrons were standing about. No doubt their tongues are rattling today, eager to spread the tale of someone else’s misadventure. They live in Brook Street, you say?”
    “Yes. Number seventeen.”
    “I will call there directly after my stop at the War Office.”
    “Since you are still going there every day, I assume there has been no word of Wexford.”
    “No. But I refuse to give up hope.”
     

     
    After hearing at the War Office the same tidings he had heard time and time again, Anthony called in Brook Street and found Mrs. Demming at home. She was alone when he was ushered into a handsomely appointed salon.
    “So good of you to call, Mr. Graydon.”
    “How is your daughter this morning, ma’am? Last night she said she was fine, but I cannot help worrying.”
    “She has a few ugly bruises, I fear, but nothing more serious. No broken bones or anything of that nature.”
    “I am relieved to hear it, Mrs. Demming, for I must tell you that I feel in some part responsible for this accident.”
    “Goodness, sir! Certainly not!”
    “Indeed,” he insisted. “I had caught her eye, and she was looking at me instead of minding her step. If I had not distracted her . . .”
    “However that may be, sir, she was not seriously hurt. She is greatly embarrassed, but will overcome that in time.”
    “I was hoping I could see her this morning,” he said.
    “She decided not to come down today . . . but perhaps tomorrow . . .” She left the sentence unfinished, clearly an invitation.
    “I will call again tomorrow, then, ma’am, if you are sure it is not an imposition.”
    “We would be delighted, Mr. Graydon.”
    When he had gone, Lavinia whisked herself up to Celia’s room. Celia was still abed, studying fashion plates.
    “You will never guess who came to call,” Lavinia said as she seated herself in a chair near the bed.
    “I am not in a mood for games, Mama,” Celia answered sourly. “If you would simply tell me, there would be no need for me to guess.”
    “Very well. It was Mr. Anthony Graydon.”
    Celia’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. “You jest, Mama.”
    “Certainly not. And he asked after you. What is more, he intends to return tomorrow to see for himself that you suffered no harm in your fall.”
    “My fall? You should say my public disgrace. And he may save himself the trouble of stopping again, for I will not see him!”
    “Of course, you will. You cannot hide in your room forever.”
    “How can I show my face anywhere, Mama? Dozens of people saw me fall, and they must have given an