Page 4 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)
Chapter Four
G race looked one last time in the mirror. She ran a lightly shaking hand over her hair. Mary had made fine work of it. But Lady Haversham had a most discerning eye, and if anything was out of place, she would surely notice.
Grace lifted her thumbnail to her lips but quickly pulled it away. Lady Haversham had been adamant that nail biting was a sign of low breeding. Grace had nearly stopped the habit altogether—except in very trying situations. And meeting Lady Haversham after so long a time was just such a situation.
Besides, Grace did not want their first encounter in almost a year to be one of criticism—even when it was kindly intended. She would already be at a disadvantage as she was presenting herself without an invitation.
But she’d received no response to the letter she’d sent last week, the day after their arrival. Perhaps Lady Haversham had not yet arrived in London? The only way Grace would know was to present herself at Number 15 Berkeley Square.
She took a breath and nodded to her reflection. There was nothing else to fix. She would never be more ready than she was then.
“You look very handsome, Gracie,” Elle said from the doorway. “Are you ready?”
Grace nodded. “I believe I am.” She gave Elle a tentative smile. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. Lady Haversham was always kind to me.” She frowned. Or she was as kind as someone in her position knew how to be.
She looked at Elle side-eyed. Elle was nothing like Lady Haversham. She was kind to everyone, no matter their social status. But Grace could imagine that most of the ton were more like Lady Haversham than Elle.
“Let’s be on our way,” Elle motioned Grace toward the door.
The footman handed them up into the carriage, and Elle rapped on the side. As the carriage set off, Elle looked over to Grace. “Are you certain you do not wish for me to come in with you?”
Grace shook her head. “I believe Lady Haversham will be more comfortable if it is only me. Perhaps I can invite her to tea at Bloomsbury Square?”
Elle nodded. “Of course. You may invite anyone you wish. We are here for you, after all. I do not need a London Season.”
Grace watched as the British Museum passed by. It felt like hours before the carriage stopped in front of a lovely white townhome. The door opened, and a footman stood waiting to hand her down.
“I shall call back in an hour?” Elle asked.
Grace hesitated. She had not told Elle that her letter had gone unanswered. What would she do for an hour if Lady Haversham was not in London, as she suspected? Perhaps she should ask Elle to wait? But she pushed that thought away. Elle would wonder why Grace had not told her sooner that Lady Haversham had not replied.
And why hadn’t she mentioned it? Grace could not say. If she admitted that she’d received no response, did it mean she and Lady Haversham were not the dear friends she believed? Hoped?
“That should be enough time.” She stepped out of the carriage but leaned her head back in. “Thank you, Elle. Have an enjoyable time shopping.”
The carriage door shut, and Grace watched as it slowly moved back into traffic and disappeared.
She took in a deep breath. It was time. She still had several weeks before the Season would be in full swing. It would be best if she and Lady Haversham had a plan in place.
Grace moved to the front door and dropped the knocker several times. As she waited, she pulled a calling card from her reticule. She tapped the side of the card on her gloved hand in a fast rhythm. Several carriages passed by before the door opened. An older man, Grace assumed he must be the butler, stared at her. “Yes?”
Grace handed over her card. “I’ve come to see Lady Haversham.”
The butler opened the door wider and led her into a small parlor just off the entryway. “Wait here, please.”
He disappeared, and Grace sat stiff-backed on a chair. She looked discreetly around the room. It was not a very welcoming room, as far as parlors went. It was barely the size of their cloakroom back at Graystone, with only two armchairs and a small round table between them. Not much else would fit. Regardless of its small size, it was tastefully decorated in pale blue and green. Sunlight trickled in through the small round window perch high on the wall, keeping the room from being immersed completely in darkness. But it did not give it a cheerful air by any stretch of the imagination.
A noise in the corridor drew Grace’s eyes to the doorway.
The butler came in and bowed. “I’m sorry,” he glanced at the card, “Miss Jenkins, but Lady Haversham has not yet arrived from the country. We do not expect her for several weeks yet.”
Grace blinked at him. Lady Haversham was not even in London? Why had he not told her that at the front door?
She stood up and smoothed her skirt, smiling to mask her confusion. “Oh, I see.” She did not. But what else could she do? She couldn’t stay there until Lady Haversham arrived. “Perhaps I may call back in a fortnight?”
The butler handed back her card, and Grace stared down at it. “If you’ll please let her know I visited.”
The butler nodded. “Indeed, I will, Miss.”
He motioned toward the door. It was a fairly clear message. She was to leave. Immediately. She looked at her calling card again. How would he remember her name if she took the card with her?
They reached the front door, and she held up the card. “Shall I leave this for Lady Haversham?”
The butler shook his head. “There is no need, Miss.”
There was no need because he would not forget her name? Or because he had no intention of informing Lady Haversham of Grace’s visit?
The butler opened the door. “Good day to you, Miss.”
She stepped out onto the pavement. She turned to say good day, but the door had already swung closed.
Grace flicked the card against her fingertip as she looked both ways down the street. What was she to do until Elle returned with the carriage? It could not have been more than a quarter of an hour since she entered the house. Likely even less. Lawks, she had a fair amount of time until Elle promised to return.
Perhaps she could wait on a bench in the park across the street. She waited for a carriage to pass before she crossed the road. Trying to fight the anxiousness clawing up her throat, she sat down on the closest bench. It was situated in an alcove of shrubbery but would not mar Grace’s view of the street should Elle return early.
What was she to do now? If Lady Haversham was not even to arrive for another fortnight, would they have time to make a plan? And would Lady Haversham reach out to Grace, or would Grace need to reach out first?
She ran her thumb over her name printed on the card. Why had the butler not kept it? Was it not customary to keep cards so the mistress would know who had visited?
The whole affair was odd to say the least. But she felt better knowing her letter had gone unanswered because Lady Haversham had not yet seen it.
The closing of a door drew Grace’s attention, and she looked to the row of townhouses across the street. Her brows rose.
There, standing on the pavement, looking both directions down the street, was Lady Haversham.
Grace’s brows creased. But why had the butler said she had not yet arrived in Town? And then, like a flood, it hit Grace—taking her breath away. His mistress had surely directed the butler to say what he had. He had not needed her card because Lady Haversham had already seen it.
The tightness already choking Grace’s throat intensified, and she worried for a moment that she might not breathe past it.
Lady Haversham did not wish to see her. But why? Had she not promised to help her find a baron or a viscount? Had she not said that once she was married, she would be in the position to help Grace?
Grace leaned over, trying to catch her breath. What was she to do now? How was she to be introduced to the gentlemen she needed to secure her family’s future? How could it be that her Season was a failure before it had even begun?
Tears stung at her eyes. Perhaps she should return to Somerset before Philip put out any more money. Was it possible to stop the modiste before she completed Grace’s order?
Her breath came out hard and fast.
And then a voice floated through her mind. Miles would be happy to help you if you need it.
“Miles,” Grace muttered. Could he help her? Would it be awkward considering she had rejected his offer? She shook her head. It was not as if he had offered for her out of love. And there had been no obvious attraction on his part when they had dined together before Christmastide. He was her friend. And did not friends help each other?
She closed her eyes. It may not be awkward for Miles, but it would be for her. She could push through, however, it if it ensured her family’s security, could she not?