She relaxed a fraction. “Then you know about carrying a sword.”
“I plan to dub several gentlemen knights of the realm.”
“Do be serious. You have to wear a sword. It’s required.”
He eyed her skeptically, then called Eliza over. “Must I wear a sword to the Queen’s Drawing Room?”
“Yes. Not a big one, mind you, but a genuine sword. A ceremonial one will do.”
“You may be surprised to hear this, but I haven’t been in any situation where a ceremonial sword was appropriate.” He shook his head. “Why, pray tell, do I need one? In case I need to defend Rosy’s honor in the garden?”
“The queen dictates these rules,” Diana said. “But I’m not sure of the reasoning behind the swords.” She cast him a mischievous smile. “Be sure to ask her while you’re there. I wouldn’t dare to do so myself, but you’re a duke—you can get away with anything.”
“I have no desire to converse with the queen beyond an introduction. Ifyoudisapprove of my cursing, God only knows how Her Lofty Majesty would react.” As Diana fought a laugh he headed for the door. “But I’ll solve this sword problem right now.”
Oh, no, that didn’t sound good. She hurried after him, wondering what he could possibly mean. But it was too late. He’d already found his valet.
His valet? What in heaven did he expect his valet to do?
“Tell me, Webb,” Grenwood said, “did your previous master have a sword he used for court things?”
Webb stared at him wide-eyed. “C–court things, Your Grace?”
Diana sighed. “He means a sword to use when appearing at court. Like for Lady Rosabel’s presentation this afternoon. And his own.”
“Ohhh,” Webb said. “Yes, Your Grace, I believe your predecessor did have such an item. I shall have it found at once.”
“In time for him to use it this afternoon?” Diana asked.
“Yes, my lady,” Webb said. “I will make sure of it.”
The valet rushed off, gathering footmen to look for the sword as he went.
Grenwood stared at her smugly. “There. Problem solved.”
“Ifthey find it in time. Which is by no means certain.”
“Diana, calm yourself,” he said in a low voice, “I can see you’re worried about this afternoon and tonight.”
Startled that he could tell, she blurted out the truth. “Of course I’m worried. These two events could destroy Rosy’s confidence if they go badly. She’ll blame herself. And we’ve worked so hard to give her confidence.” She shouldn’t have said that. One of their cardinal rules was never to confess their own fears and weaknesses to a client.
“Admit it,” he said, “that’s not the only thing you’re worried about. You’re concerned I won’t follow the rules. I promise I won’t shame you. I will use my best manners.”
“That hardly reassures me.”
“Fortunately, you will be able to keep me in line.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Aren’t you accompanying me and Rosy for the presentation? She said you were.”
“I can’t. I’m unmarried.”
“So is she.”
She folded her hands over her waist. “I’m not being presented to the queen. After a woman is presented, she goes to no drawing rooms at St. James’s Palace until she marries. But you needn’t worry. Eliza, the only one of us three who can sponsor Rosy, will make sure everything goes well. Your mother would normally be the one to do it, but she cannot because it must be someone who has already been presented to the queen, and your mother says she never even came to London after your parents met in Newcastle.”
“That seems damn—verycomplicated. If you’re not sponsoring Rosy, why did she say you were going with us?”
