Page 23 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter Twenty-Three

E lle and Mary stood behind Grace as she sat at her dressing table. Mary reached forward and grasped the pomade. She opened the lid and scooped some out with her fingers, then rubbed her hands together, spreading the mixture over her palms. Working it into small sections at a time, she teased and twisted at Grace’s hair.

Grace bit her lip, waiting to see how it would turn out. If it did not look well, at least she could hide the worst of it under her bonnet. That would get her through this outing, would it not? Then Mary would have several days before the card party to learn how to style Grace’s new Titus cut.

Mary worked the pomade into her hair for several minutes. She would tweak a section of hair and then take a step back, tilting her head from side to side before stepping forward and reworking a different section.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Mary stepped back and wiped her hands on a towel. “There you are, Miss. You look very handsome, if I say so myself.”

Elle walked around the chair, taking in the style from every angle. Finally, she smiled and patted Mary on the arm. “You did very well, Mary.” Elle leaned over and put her face next to Grace’s, both looking into the mirror. “You know, I may just summon Mr. Farmer and ask him to give me a Titus cut also.”

Grace smiled tentatively. “I know you are just being kind, but I do appreciate it, Elle.”

Elle shook her head. “I’m not simply being nice. I truly like it.”

“As do I, Miss.” Mary nodded with bright eyes.

Grace sucked in a deep breath. The style differed greatly from what she often saw at the gatherings she’d attended. Granted, there had not been many. But there had been enough to let her know she would be in the minority.

She twisted her head back and forth. But she liked it, nonetheless. She would not be a diamond of the Season with such a cut. But there had never been a question of her being one before.

“Do you think there will be much scandal over it?” Grace asked.

Elle shook her head. “Do not worry about such things. People will think what they think. There is nothing for it.”

She nodded and stood up, embracing Mary tightly. “Thank you, Mary. I could not have done it without you.” She whispered in her ear.

Mary pulled away and curtsied. “It was my pleasure, Miss.”

Elle glanced at the mantel clock. “You still have some time before Lord Marcrum is to arrive. Why do you not take your book into the parlor to wait for him?”

Grace nodded. “I believe I shall.” She picked up the book Miles had given her and moved down the stairs, amazed at how much lighter her new cut felt.

She had barely settled herself and opened her book when Lansing entered the room. “Lord Marcrum and his mother are here to see you, Miss Jenkins.”

Grace’s brows rose. His mother? Lord Marcrum had not included that information in his note when he’d asked if he might take her on a carriage ride. “Please show them in, Lansing.” Grace smiled and put a hand to her hair. Gracious, she’d hoped she might put her bonnet on before he arrived. But he was nearly twenty minutes early.

Closing her eyes, Grace willed the courage and strength Miles’ advice gave her. Then, lifting her chin and squaring her shoulders, she stood up to await her guests.

Mr. Marcrum allowed his mother to enter the room first. The lady was older, with graying hair and a rather severe looking set to her lips. She lifted her nose to Grace. “Is that the girl?” She asked.

Lord Marcrum’s brow creased. “Yes, Mother. Except she has changed her hair.” He said it as if she had shaved herself bald, rather than simply cutting her locks.

“I don’t like it,” the lady said. “It’s garish.”

“I agree, Mother, but she did not look like that when I sent the note asking to escort her.”

His mother looked down her long, thin nose at Grace. She lifted a quizzing glass to her eye. “I don’t trust ladies who try to look like a man.”

Grace lifted her chin, consciously not taking a step back. “I’m not trying to look like a man, my lady. I’ve seen many ladies on fashion plates with a Titus cut.”

Elle stepped forward. “Why do you not fetch your bonnet, Grace?”

She nodded. “I’ll return shortly.”

As she stepped into the corridor, she heard the lady speaking to Elle. Grace waited just out of sight to see what was said. “I recognize you. Who is your father?”

Elle straightened. “My father was Viscount Crammer. But the title passed to my brother upon my father’s death.”

“I remember there was some scandal associated with your family. What was it?” She squinted at Elle.

Elle narrowed her eyes. “I have no notion of what you are speaking, my lady.”

“Of course you do. I do not forget things like that.” The woman pointed a boney finger at her.

Just then Lansing arrived with Grace’s bonnet, gloves, and spencer. “I thought you may wish to leave immediately, Miss.”

Grace gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you, Lansing.” How was she to endure an entire carriage ride with that woman? She grabbed her things and stepped back into the room. “I’m ready, my lord. Shall we be on our way? We do not wish to miss the fashionable hour. And traffic is sure to be thick.”

Lord Marcrum looked to his mother, waiting for her permission. She gave Elle a disapproving look. “I will remember the scandal. And I’ll expect answers when I do.”

Elle smiled. “Then I fear you’ll be disappointed, my lady.” Elle moved toward Grace. “Have a lovely ride,” she said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies for what she said to you, Elle,” Grace hissed. “Of all the?—”

“Make haste, Miss Jenkins,” the viscountess said.

“Yes, yes. Mother does not like to wait,” Lord Marcrum simpered. Was there not a viscount or baron in all of England that was tolerable?

“She doesn’t appear to like much of anything,” Elle said happily.

Grace’s lips quirked up, but she pushed them down. If she was to spend the next hour or more with Lord Marcrum and his mother, she should say nothing to make her any more distempered than she already was.

Leading the way down the corridor and out to the carriage, Grace moved as quickly as she could. She would not allow her family to be subjected to them a minute longer. The footman opened the door of the topless carriage. Grace stepped forward to allow him to hand her in. But she was halted by a throat clearing.

Grace turned around and was met with a stern look.

Lord Marcrum led his mother past her and handed her into the carriage. He then climbed in after her, leaving Grace alone on the pavement. She looked at the ground and lifted her brows. Why had she assumed anything different would happen?

The footman motioned her forward and then handed her in. Grace took the rear-facing seat, content to have some distance between Lord and Lady Marcrum and herself. Although she would not have begrudged even more space. Perhaps a county or two.

The carriage set off, and Grace settled onto the bench content to watch the scenery pass.

Lady Marcrum harrumphed. “At least your bonnet covers most of that atrocity.”

Grace smiled. “Thank you, my lady.” She doubted that thanking the lady for every insulting comment she made would make her stop saying them. But it made Grace feel better, and that seemed a victory. No matter how small.

* * *

Miles walked into his house and sucked in a deep breath, a huge smile on his face. Miss Barrington’s cause had gone well, and he expected the ruling to be in her favor. What would come of the brother if it did? Miles was uncertain. But it would not be up to him to decide.

He would begin preparing the Whittle cause in earnest tomorrow. It would be a bit more difficult. Breach of promise causes always were. Especially if there were not formal documents for it. So often it devolved into a matter of one gentleman’s word against another’s.

He went up to his room to have Farmer help him change out of his professional clothes and into something a bit more fashionable.

“Good day, sir. How was the bar?” Farmer asked as he emerged from the dressing room.

“Splendid, Farmer. I believe it will go in my favor.”

“Very good, sir.” He stood in front of him. “What do you wish to wear today? Do you have any preferences?”

Miles looked down at his dark bar clothing. “Perhaps my dark blue tailcoat and the yellow waistcoat. The one with the hummingbirds.”

Farmer nodded.

Miles took off his white bands and untied his cravat. He felt restless after all his time preparing for his cause. A ride is what he needed. He had spent far too much time sitting in his study since coming to London. A bruising ride in Hyde Park would prove beneficial for both him and his horse.

Then perhaps he would go to his father’s for tea. He’d not seen his sisters in days. They would be just as thrilled to see him as he was to see them. He was certain of it. Perhaps they would even take an outing to Gunter’s.

“What are your plans for the day, sir?” Farmer helped Miles out of his bar coats, then helped him shrug into his yellow waistcoat and blue tailcoat.

“I have not yet decided. I’m to take Rhadamanthus for a ride in Hyde Park, and then I think I shall visit my sisters.”

“Are you to meet your brother or Lord Finsbury at their club?”

Miles’ nose crinkled. “Not today. We are having tea tomorrow.” He sighed. “I’ve spent too much time indoors of late. Both Rhadamanthus and I could use a bruising ride. It’s been far too long since we’ve been on one, and he’ll become soft if I do not exercise him properly.”

Farmer’s lips flicked downward a fraction. “But is Hyde Park the best place to exercise him? It is almost the fashionable hour.”

Miles narrowed his eyes at his valet. “And why should that matter?”

Farmer sighed. “I simply wondered if there might be other reasons for you choosing Hyde Park.”

Miles stepped away from him and turned. “What is wrong with Hyde Park? There is plenty of space to give him his head on Rotten Row. Indeed, that is what it’s for.”

His valet continued to brush at his coat. “There are certain to be crowds. And with the way your luck has gone of late, I simply wondered at the prudence.”

His poor luck was only regarding one unsuspecting young lady. And she was not to be anywhere near Hyde Park. “What do you know of my poor luck?” He narrowed his eyes at Farmer. If the man had not been with him for decades, he would take him to task.

Farmer tipped his head to the side and made one final swipe with the brush. “You talk in your sleep, sir.”

“I did not ask for your opinion, Farmer.” Miles swatted the brush away. “And no one will be there to tempt my luck.”

Farmer did not look wholly convinced, but he dipped his head. “Ah, good. Then there shall be no more accidents .”

Accidents . The man acted as if every time Miles left the house, something terrible happened. While that might be the case of late, it had not always been that way. It was Grace. She made him do unreasonable things.

He frowned. Perhaps she did not make him do them. It was more a matter that his brain ceased to function properly when she was around, or rather with another man. Or in a garden. Or when he thought about her. Lud, he was a milksop!

He sucked in a breath. But he would not be seeing Grace this afternoon. “There shall be no incidents. No one need worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it, sir. You deserve to have good things come to you.”

Miles buttoned his coat, and his irritation faded. “Thank you, Farmer.”

“Yes, sir.” Farmer gathered up the discarded clothes and disappeared into the dressing room.

Miles looked one last time in the mirror, straightening his coats on his shoulders. There shall be no incidents. Miles grunted. Perhaps if he chanted it enough times, it would become the truth.

He bounded down the stairs and out the back door, heading toward the mews to collect his horse. Rhadamanthus waited for him with a stable boy. The lad handed Miles the reins. “Your horse, sir.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

Miles mounted, feeling the tension in his neck and shoulders wash away. This was what he needed. Today was going to be a good day.

“Come on, Rhady. It’s about time I gave you some exercise.” He set the horse into a trot down High Holburn toward Oxford Street. By the time he reached the Grosvenor Gate, he felt almost like himself again.

If he’d been intent on being a part of the fashionable crowd, would he have entered off Grosvenor? Certainly not. He would have entered through the Hyde Park Corner Gate.

He followed the paths to Rotten Row and was pleased to see it was nearly empty. He was a bit early, and he could not say he regretted it. He would have several good runs in before it filled with people and carriages. And that is when he would take his leave and visit his sisters. He had nothing to see in the park that afternoon.

He dug his heels into Rhady’s side and set off down the road. The late April breeze chilled his cheeks and made his eyes water. But he did not care. He’d not felt this exhilarated in weeks. Perhaps even months. He came to the end of the road and set off in the opposite direction at an even faster pace. Rhady seemed to enjoy it even more than Miles.

He grinned and patted his horse’s neck when they slowed at the other end. He would need to plan this into his schedule more often.

The time flew by, and the crowds swelled around him. But Miles paid little heed to them. After a hearty ride, he pulled Rhadamanthus to a stop and breathed in the spring air.

He heard the tinkle of her voice before he saw her face. But it was enough to stop him in his tracks. Lud, what was she doing there? He swallowed. And who was she with?