Page 8 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter Eight

G race stretched and yawned as she walked down the staircase to the entry hall. Her mind was exhausted, but her eyes would not stay shut any longer. How long would it be before she grew accustomed to Town hours?

As she stepped down onto the first-floor landing, her eye caught an array of colors. A squeak of joy sounded, and she rushed down the rest of the stairs in a most unladylike fashion. Mrs. Bootle would be appalled.

She stopped in front of a table full of bouquets. She had forgotten the custom of gentlemen sending flowers the morning after a ball.

Grinning like a child, she looked around at all the bouquets. Her first ball had been better than she could have imagined. She had danced nearly every dance. Mr. Yardley had even danced with her twice, which had been a welcome respite. With him, there was no need for pretense. He knew who she was and where she’d come from. And none of it seemed to bother him in the least.

She sighed. She doubted she could say as much for the other men she danced with. Indeed, she wondered if any of them would have asked her had they known her history. But she pushed that thought from her mind. It was only a matter of her becoming better acquainted with the gentlemen. Then surely they would not care as much about her family connections. She frowned, not wanting to admit how wrong she likely was.

As she looked at the lovely flowers, she pushed the dark thoughts away. For the time being, she would enjoy the sweet and fragrant smell they added to the entryway.

She plucked out one card after another, remembering the gentlemen as she read. Or most of the gentlemen. They were not all memorable. Was Mr. Wheaton the fourth set or the set following dinner? And she did not recall Mr. Worthington at all. She smiled when she saw the card from Lord Weymouth. There were also cards from Lord Wetherby and Lord Marcrum.

She pulled a card from a bouquet of pink roses and white daisies. The simplicity of the arrangement made it beautiful. She lifted the card and read the name. Viscount Dunsmore was written in a cursive font in raised black. An oval of swirls and scrollwork encircled the name, with a smaller Manchester Square in the lower right-hand corner.

Grace ran her thumb over the words as she looked at the flowers. She would have expected something a bit more ostentatious from Lord Dunsmore. Which just showed how little she knew about the man.

Lord Dunsmore was an arrogant man, from what she had seen. But once he’d grown at ease with her, he’d not been distasteful. At least not very distasteful.

She wondered briefly if Miles had sent any flowers but shook the thought away quickly. She need not worry after him. He did not fit into her plans. At least not now that he had introduced her to his friends.

She frowned. It all sounded very cold and calculating. If only things were different, she might consider him. After all, he had thought her amiable enough to propose last year. She sighed and lifted her thumbnail to her lips. But things were not different. And she had not the luxury of imagining anything with him.

Her stomach twisted even more. She had not intended to use him ill. Yet, she could not help but feel as though she had done just that. But he’d said that was what friends were for, had he not? To introduce one friend to another? He surely did not think her calculating. Or she hoped he didn’t.

There had to be almost a dozen bouquets. She hardly remembered dancing so much.

With the stack of calling cards in her hand, she took one last whiff of her flowers before turning down the corridor.

The breakfast room was empty when she stepped inside, which was for the best. She was still far too tired to carry on much of a conversation.

She moved to the table, and a footman held out her chair before disappearing to collect the trays from the kitchen. Grace enjoyed the quiet.

“Good morning, Gracie,” her brother bounced into the room, almost as if they had not been out until the early morning hours. How did he look so sprightly? She had a slight desire to throw something at him. But nothing had come up from the kitchen yet.

“It is far too early to proclaim the day good, Philip.” She dropped her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. The action would have vexed Mrs. Bootle to no end, but Grace could not care. She was in her own home, dining with her family.

“I slept later than usual this morning. It’s odd not to be up and working with the horses at dawn.” He grinned at her, and all she could do was raise a brow.

He laughed. “Perhaps what I have here will cheer you up.” He held a small cream card between his fingers.

“I’m not unhappy, Philip. I’m simply fatigued.” She squinted at the card. What kind of card might make her cheerful? “What is that, and why is it the answer to all my unhappiness?”

Philip grinned. “But I thought you weren’t unhappy.”

She closed her eyes and shut out the sight of him. She could not bear his exuberance yet. Not without some sustenance first.

“This isn’t just a calling card. It holds a message.” He dropped off like he was delaying the most important part.

“Oh?” She could feign very little excitement for him. And there was no happiness as yet.

“Yes. It is from one Lord Dunsmore. It says you made his acquaintance last evening?”

Grace perked up, sitting up straight in her chair. “Lord Dunsmore sent you a note?”

She reached for the card, but Philip pulled it out of her reach. “I thought you were too tired for it.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Sometimes I do not understand why Elle loves you as she does.” She folded her arms across her chest.

“I love him because he is kind and handsome.” Elle stepped into the room and settled in the chair to her husband’s right. She looked at Philip. “Are you teasing her again?”

Philip grinned. “It is my right as her older brother.”

“That is not an actual right, Philip.” Grace reached over the table again. “Now let me see the card.” When Philip still held it away from her, she sagged. “Please?”

He released a heavy breath and handed it to her.

She grinned. “I knew you would capitulate.” The card was just like the one she’d pulled from his bouquet. But when she flipped it over, she saw tight, cramped handwriting.

Mr. Jenkins,

I request the honor of escorting Miss Jenkins to the Exeter ‘Change Menagerie tomorrow afternoon at two. If it is agreeable, please send your acceptance at your earliest convenience.

Yours,

Lord Dunsmore

Grace turned the card over, as if she expected more writing to magically appear there. But when she saw nothing, she looked up at Philip. “He wishes to escort me to the menagerie? How will you reply?”

Philip lifted a shoulder. “That depends on you. Do you wish to go?”

Grace’s brow creased. Did she want to go? She’d not had time to consider it. Her first inclination was to accept before he changed his mind. But upon further thought, she wasn’t certain. She hardly knew the gentleman. But then, was that not the purpose of such an outing?

While she did not immediately like him, she was certain after they spent an afternoon at the—what was it...a menagerie—that they would find even more things in common. She might even enjoy their conversation. They’d not talked much while they danced, as interrupted as it was.

She licked her lips and looked back down at the card. She’d heard of the menagerie in the Tower of London, but she had no notion what the Exeter ‘Change Menagerie was. Were they the same? She frowned, realizing how out of her sphere she truly was in London. But the outing was not until tomorrow. That meant she had all day to prepare and make certain she did not sound like a complete dolt.

“I would like to go,” she looked up from the card. “Unless you have an objection.”

Philip looked over at his wife. “Elle has a few reservations, but since the gentleman is a friend of Yardley’s, I’m inclined to allow it.” He tapped the end of the card on the table. “But Elle will go as your chaperone.”

Grace nodded. “Of course. I should not think of going without her.” She flashed a smile at her sister-in-law. “Perhaps you can tell me of this menagerie? I’ve never heard of it before.”

Elle patted her hand. “Of course. I think you’ll enjoy it.

Grace looked back at her brother. “Was that the only invitation you received?”

Philip cocked a brow. “You were expecting more?”

She shook her head with a frown. “No,” she paused.

Philip stared at her, waiting for her to continue.

“There were just several other gentlemen who showed an interest. I thought perhaps they would also send you a card.” Lord Dunsmore was the only one to send an invitation for an outing. That was bothersome.

“Patience, Grace,” Elle said. “If all the gentlemen invite you this week, what will you do for the rest of the Season?”

Grace shrugged. Elle was correct. She must not exhaust herself too soon.

Lansing, the butler, appeared in the doorway and bowed. “Yes, Lansing?” Elle asked.

“Mr. Yardley is here, Madam. Are you at home for visits?”

Philip smiled. “Of course, I invited him. But we’re always at home for Mr. Yardley.”

“Very good, sir.” He disappeared down the corridor.

Was this not a pleasant surprise? Had she not hoped he’d sent flowers? A visit was better than flowers, was it not?

Mr. Yardley stepped into the breakfast room, a bouquet of flowers in each hand. He smiled at her. “Good morning, Miss Jenkins.” His eyes flicked over to Philip. “Philip, Mrs. Jenkins. I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Philip shook his head. “I invited you for breakfast last evening, did I not?”

“Indeed.” Mr. Yardley grinned at Grace. “You look well-rested after your late night.”

Philip let out a guffaw. “I believe you need to have your eyes examined, Yardley. When I came in the room, she could scarcely keep hers open.”

Mr. Yardley’s lips seemed to hover constantly in a half smile. “You look livesome enough now. What accounts for the change?”

Philip grinned. “I received an invitation on her behalf from Lord Dunsmore. He asked to take her to the menagerie tomorrow afternoon.”

Mr. Yardley’s smile dropped but only for a moment. “Oh? Have you been to the Tower yet?”

“He said the Exeter ‘Change Menagerie.” Grace bit the side of her cheek. She hated appearing dimwitted in front of people. Even Mr. Yardley.

He nodded. “Ah, the Exeter Menagerie. It is perhaps less known but equally entertaining. And it is indoors. Which will be more enjoyable this early in the Season.” He looked down and seemed to only then remember the flowers in his hands. He thrust one of the bouquets at Elle and the other one to Grace. “I should have sent these on ahead, but as I knew I was coming, I thought it better to deliver them myself.” He frowned as if he thought of something distasteful. What could he think so terrible as to cause such a look?

“Thank you, Mr. Yardley,” Elle said. She gave Grace a pointed look.

“Oh, yes.” Grace heated at having to be reminded. She would have remembered when she pulled her gaze away from Mr. Yardley, surely. “Thank you, Mr. Yardley. They are lovely.” Grace covered a yawn with her hand. “You see, I am not so recovered as you believed.” She smiled, hoping to set Mr. Yardley at ease as he had been when he’d first arrived. She motioned to the chair opposite her. “You spend more time in London than I do, Mr. Yardley. Tell me, how long until I am accustomed to the hours?”

Mr. Yardley pulled out his chair just as Henry walked in, followed by two maids, each laden with trays of eggs, bread, cheeses, and preserves.

At last, Mr. Yardley’s smile returned. “It should be no reflection on my cook, but I do not eat like this at Red Lion Square.” He licked his lips. “It would be wasted when there is only me there.”

Philip smirked. “Careful, Yardley. We may think that you come to see us only for the food.”

Mr. Yardley laughed. “Come now, Jenkins. You know I come to see all of you.” He waggled his brows. “The food is just an added benefit.”

He pushed his chair out and waited at the end of the sideboard for the servants to place the trays and move away.

Henry looked at Elle. “Shall I prepare your plate, Ma’am?”

Elle shook her head. “No, thank you, Henry. We will prepare them ourselves.”

Henry bowed and moved around the table, first pulling out Elle’s chair and then Grace’s.

Grace filled her plate, then retook her seat across from Mr. Yardley.

“It seems you are engaged tomorrow afternoon,” Mr. Yardley kept his eyes on his plate. “But do you have plans tomorrow next?”

Grace shook her head and tugged at her lip with her teeth, trying not to worry over the lack of invitations. She had assumed several would have come before breakfast. Especially after such a successful ball last evening. “No. We have no plans, do we, Elle?”

“Would you like to accompany me to the British Museum?”

Grace’s eyes lit, and her concerns fell away. She had not yet been but had wanted to go. There just had not been time. She looked over at Philip and Elle. Would they let her go? They had to agree. It was with Mr. Yardley, after all. Did not Philip trust him explicitly?

“Please, Philip, may I go?” She held her breath as she waited for his answer. She would far prefer the museum to the menagerie.

Philip looked at Elle. She nodded, and Grace’s stomach fluttered excitedly. If Elle agreed, surely Philip would also.

“Yes, you may go. Elle will act as chaperone.”

Grace clapped her hands together. “Oh, I can hardly wait.” She knew she should decline the invitation. What if someone else asked to escort her somewhere that afternoon? Mr. Yardley was not part of her Season plans. But it was the museum. And she would be lying if she said she did not enjoy Mr. Yardley’s company. She wiped at her mouth with her napkin. Indeed, Mr. Yardley was the person she preferred to go with—regardless of her plans.

“Would you care to join us for dinner, Mr. Yardley?” Elle asked.

“I can think of nothing I would like more, Mrs. Jenkins. Thank you.” He wiped his mouth and pushed out of his chair.

“Are you leaving?” Grace frowned. “But you only just arrived.”

He grinned the easy smile she was so used to seeing on his face. “I will be back tonight at…” He looked at Elle.

“I know we are in Town, but I think seven will be appropriate for dinner.”

Mr. Yardley nodded and looked back at Grace. “You see, Miss Jenkins? I shall be back at seven.” He rubbed his hands together. Was it possible that he would spend more time with Grace in London than he ever had in Somerset? Who would have guessed? “But if I’m to prepare for our adventure tomorrow next, I really must be on my way.”

Grace scowled at his back as he left. Just how much did one have to prepare to attend a museum? Or was there another reason for his departure? Was there something she had said that set him on edge? Or perhaps he had just tired of her company already.