“Disgusting,” Helen mumbled, unimpressed, and walked off with an armful of dresses.

Michael had turned to face the room, listening to the conversation without joining in, standing deep in thought.

Looking to him, Mrs. Howard inquired, “What do you think of all this then, Michael? Of the duke?”

Michael said nothing at first. No emotion crossed his features. Then he simply said, “I think he’s old.”

Mrs. Howard lifted her eyebrow. “That’s your only opinion? Don’t you interact with him when he comes in his carriage?”

“He treats his horses well,” Michael said dispassionately. “I haven’t got much to judge him by, since he’s not one to make conversation with a groom.”

“I’m just surprised her ladyship is permitting the match,” said Grace.

“Oh, nothing is set in stone yet,” Nora put in. “And Lady Maggie’s not one to let anyone tell her what to do. I don’t care how much she’s changed, she would never take a husband she didn’t care for. She’s too much a romantic for that.”

“I’ve got to get back to the horses,” Michael said, abruptly placing his glass in the sink and hurrying out. The back door slammed behind him.

“What’s gotten into him?” Mrs. Howard asked.

“Oh, you know he’s concerned for his position,” Rose pointed out. “A full stable with a groom is an expense Wentworth Hall might not be able to afford much longer. Especially now that no one goes riding. Why keep Michael on staff when they can simply employ Lord Darlington’s valet to care for a couple horses instead?”

“Poor dear,” Mrs. Howard said.

Therese descended the staircase, “Bonjour,” she greeted them shyly. She crossed to the pantry and took out the box of Nestle infant formula brought over from France especially for baby James. “May I heat this on the stove?”