Delia stood on the stone steps of her grandfather's townhouse, the weight of a dozen unspoken questions heavy on her shoulders. She had spent the day with the Dowager Duchess, a pleasant but distracting affair, and now it was time for the real business of her visit.
"Mr. Preston, is my grandfather in?" she asked the butler who answered the door.
The old butler's face broke into a warm, familiar smile at the sight of her. "Yes, he is, my lady," he replied, bowing deeply. He paused, his eyes widening slightly as he realized his mistake. "I am so sorry, Your Grace. My apologies."
Delia gave him a small, kind smile. "It's fine, Preston. I am still getting used to it myself."
