Page 7 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter Seven

F reddie and Grace took the spots next to them in the line.

The music started, and Miles danced the steps without even thinking of them. As he passed behind Miss Courser, Miles caught sight of Grace.

She smiled at Freddie, who smiled back. Since when did Freddie smile at Grace? At any woman, for that matter? Miles couldn’t remember it happening before. Or if it had, it was rare. Was it because she had saved him from Miss Courser? Or was he learning more about her as they talked while they danced? Why did that make Miles uneasy?

He came back in front of Miss Courser again. The girl stared down at her feet as if she were not confident in her footing. Or perhaps she was just not confident in society. He glanced over at Grace, who held her head high as she made her way through the steps. If anyone should not be confident in society, it was Grace. She had not been raised to be a lady. Her early training had been to be a maid or some other kind of servant. Yet, she was dancing with Freddie as if she belonged at a Society ball.

Grace laughed, and Miles glanced over at her.

What would it be like to be married to her?

He did not know why the thought had come just then, but now that it was there, he could not shake it. If she had accepted him, what would their marriage be like? Would it be one in which they spent little time in each other’s company, as so many other marriages were? Or would they grow to love each other and live quite companionably?

He rolled his eyes and shook the thoughts from his mind. If he didn’t take heed, he’d have himself convinced they were already married. Which they weren’t. Grace had made her wishes quite clear on that matter.

After what felt like an eternity, the music ended, and they moved into place for the next dance. Miles took in a deep breath. He would cleanse his mind of such thoughts. It was simply a matter of will. And he had all the will he needed.

Finally, the dance came to an end, and he was free of Miss Courser. The girl was not a blight on the dance floor, so he did not understand why she was so insecure. Although, with a mother like hers, it was likely difficult not to live in the shadows.

He escorted Miss Courser back to her mother before searching the crowd for Grace and Freddie. They had moved to the drink table, each with a lemonade in their hands.

Miles made his way through the crowd and joined them. He nudged his brother in the arm, and the lemonade sloshed over Freddie’s hand.

“Watch yourself, Miles,” Freddie glared up at him, and he reached for a napkin to wipe up the liquid.

“I beg your pardon,” Miles made a face at Grace, which earned him a smile. Victory. “I thought to come over so you could thank me properly.”

Freddie gave him a bland look. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I saved you from dancing with Miss Courser. Or did you miss that she was my partner?” Miles folded his arms across his chest.

“I believe Miss Jenkins is the one who saved me,” Freddie gave Miles a smug look. “Therefore, I have nothing to thank you for.” He looked down at the spot on his pale yellow waistcoat. “Except, perhaps, for soiling my waistcoat.”

Miles rolled his eyes. “You cannot even see it. It blends in with the—” He peered closer. “Are those bees?”

Freddie lifted his chin. “Indeed, they are.”

Miles chortled. “They are ridiculous, that is what they are.”

“I think they are very nice,” Grace said. Her voice was not quiet, but nor was it sharp. Just loud enough to be heard over the crush of people. She smiled at Freddie. “Did you know the bee symbolizes industry and status?”

Both Freddie and Miles stared at her. Although Miles was certain Freddie stared for a completely different reason than he did. Miles doubted there were too many ladies among the ton who knew a fact such as that. But Freddie would not appreciate it.

Freddie shrugged. “I’m uncertain I like the notion of industry upon my waistcoat. But I suppose the status inference makes up for it.” He dipped a bow to Grace. “Thank you for pointing that out.” And then, flicking a smirk at Miles, he continued. “I shall have to have a whole set of bee-themed waistcoats made up.” He looked toward the door. “And now, I will make my escape to the card room before anyone else has any machination notions.” He narrowed his eyes at the crowd at large as he maneuvered his way to the edge of the room and out the door.

Grace took a sip from her drink, eyeing Miles over the rim.

He took a breath. The time had come, had it not? He was to introduce her to his “friends”? Indeed, he wasn’t certain how he felt about anyone believing Marcrum, Wetherby, or Dunsmore were his friends.

His stomach twisted at the thought. While none of the men were known to be physically unkind, they were not known for their amiable dispositions. And the closer they came to the introductions, the more Miles debated the prudence of the plan. The only thing that pushed him forward was Grace herself. She was everything that was lovely. How could the men find anything to grouse about with her? Surely, they could find nothing lacking in her and therefore would have no cutting remarks to make.

He nodded at the far corner. “There are Lords Marcrum, Wetherby, and Dunsmore. Why do we not go introduce you to them now?” His chest tightened. Grace would do fine. Had she not handled Lord Stanhope well enough? He frowned, knowing there was no comparison between Stanhope and the men they were moving towards.

Someone stepped between them, and for a brief moment they were separated. Miles reached back and took hold of Grace’s hand. Instantly, a tingle raced up his arm at the contact. He pushed the sensation away.

She allowed him to pull her through the crowds behind him. “Thank you, again, Mr. Yardley,” she said a little breathlessly.

They pulled up short in front of a group of men talking and smirking at a group of ladies not too far away. It was almost certain their remarks were discernible to the subjects of their disdain. “Do you see the cut of her gown? It’s obviously from several years past.” Lord Dunsmore’s lips flattened out.

Tugging Grace slightly behind him, Miles looked at the men. What was he doing introducing her to these kinds of men? How had he ever thought this an acceptable idea? Would they be cruel to her? Granted, her gowns were newly made and the height of fashion, but what would they say if they learned of her upbringing?

He took a step back, deciding to abandon the plan altogether. The men had not noticed them yet. They could move away with no one the wiser. But, with his second step back, she let out a small cry as the heel of his boot stepped on her slippered toe. It brought all three pairs of eyes onto them. Thunder and turf!

“Yardley,” Mr. Dunsmore made a head-to-foot appraisal of Miles.

Miles smiled. He had nothing to worry about from Lord Dunsmore. While his clothes were not as fine as Freddie’s, they were more than appropriate for his position as a barrister.

“Dunsmore,” Miles dipped his head, tugging Grace a little farther behind him.

Lord Marcum and Lord Wetherby smiled, if that is what one could call the look of arrogance twisting their lips.

While Miles would never call these men friends, they had attended Eton together. He’d learned early what kind of men they were.

“Who do you have with you, Yardley? I don’t believe I’ve made her acquaintance,” Marcrum said with a smile that Miles thought looked a bit too condescending.

Miles sucked in a deep breath. Lud, he was in too deep to turn back now. Introductions could not be avoided. He pulled Grace out from behind him. “Lord Marcrum, Lord Wetherby, Lord Dunsmore, may I introduce Miss Grace Jenkins? Her brother’s estate is located near Briarcliff in Somerset.”

The men were quiet as they openly appraised her.

For her part, Grace smiled and dipped a very elegant curtsy. No one would know she had not trained for this precise moment. He must reconsider his ideas about Mrs. Bootle’s School for Young Girls. The woman obviously instilled useful skills in her young students.

“Somerset is an unfortunate county to hail from, but I suppose I shall not hold that against you.” Lord Dunsmore smiled at her as if he had bestowed a compliment rather than a slight.

“Miss Jenkins, may I claim your next set?” Lord Wetherby asked.

Grace smiled and dipped her head. “I’d be honored, my lord.”

Lud, it had begun. Miles’ heart thudded painfully. He placed his hand on his chest. How had he thought this was a good plan? Why had he allowed Freddie and Fin—neither of whom had ever had inclinations toward a lady—to talk him into this hairbrained idea?

“Perhaps you can save the next for me, Miss?” Lord Marcrum spoke up.

“But I wished for the next set,” Lord Dunsmore scowled at his friend.

Lord Marcrum smirked at him. “I spoke for it first. You will simply have to wait for the next one.”

“Gentlemen, I will dance with each of you, I promise.” She smiled sweetly, and the pain in Miles’ chest intensified. It was as if he had sent a sparrow into the tempest. “I will save you each a set.”

Miles stood uncomfortably looking on. The music from the set ended, and Lord Wetherby lifted his arm to Grace. “It looks as though our time has come, Miss Jenkins.”

Grace looked utterly thrilled to be on his arm.

Miles’ stomach curled, and he questioned the prudence of his second helping of biscuits with his tea before coming. Lud, it was going to be a long night.