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G race purposely remained seated in front of the mirror as her sisters exited the large dressing room they all shared.

Maybe if she climbed into one of the wardrobes, they wouldn’t find her until it was too late, and then they would have to carry on the dinner party without her.

A loud snore rumbling at her feet reminded her that precious Gastric would surely betray her as he had often done when asked, Where’s Gracie?

The devoted hound thought it a wonderful game to sniff her out and bark until given the treat he felt he deserved for playing hide-and-seek so artfully.

“You are too quiet, my lady.” Her maid added a finishing touch to Grace’s curls and tucked a tall white feather into the beaded band that held her upswept hair in place. “Are you feeling poorly?”

Grace frowned at her reflection in the mirror.

That feather reminded her of an irritated cat with its tail fluffed straight in the air.

She snatched it off her head and tossed it onto the dressing table.

“No feathers, please. Just stick some inconspicuous flowers or something in there. Or just leave the band as it is. It has beads. Is that not enough?”

“Of course, my lady. Forgive me.”

Grace deflated with a heavy sigh. Lovely.

Now she’d allowed her dread of going downstairs to make her cross with her poor maid, who had done nothing wrong.

She turned on the cushioned stool and faced the older woman who always took the very best care of her.

“Forgive me , Nellie. My temper is not of your doing. As always, you are a gem for tolerating me.”

Nellie’s broad smile made her feel a little better, but not much.

The maid selected a delicate white spray of flowers crafted from silk and shimmering pearls.

As she pinned them to the side of Grace’s headband, she said, “Surely His Grace is not trying his hand at matchmaking out here in the country. Flora said old Froggie mentioned His Grace is already bored. Inviting folk in might help him feel better.”

“My brother is at his most dangerous when bored.” Grace eyed herself in the mirror, thankful that Nellie faithfully relayed the gossip among the servants. Old Froggie was Chance’s longtime valet, whose real name was Frogsden.

“You are ready, my lady.” The maid stepped back, clutching Grace’s extra combs to her middle.

“That is a matter of opinion.” Grace scowled at her reflection and heaved another sigh. There was no helping it. If she didn’t go downstairs now, one or more of her sisters would soon be up to fetch her. “Thank you for preparing me for battle, Nellie.”

“God be with you, my lady.” The maid gave her a prayerful nod.

“Indeed.” Grace held her head high as she left the room and descended the stairs as quietly as possible so as not to draw anyone’s attention.

If she’d had a brain, she would’ve taken the servants’ stairs down to the kitchen, slipped into the hallway, and kept to the shadows.

It wasn’t that she was a coward. She simply wasn’t in the mood for any of Chance’s ridiculous games.

Her only hope was to remain as unnoticed as possible.

“And there is my other sister,” Chance said when she erred and stepped out of the shadows. His deep voice filled the hallway, strangling her hopes of slipping in without being seen.

Grace forced a smile but slowed her pace toward the guests assembled in the manor house’s entryway. The area had been opened up by folding back several moveable walls to expand space into the parlor next to the massive dining room.

Chance went to her, looped her arm through his, and whispered, “Be nice, Gracie.” Before she could respond, he tugged her toward a pale, nondescript man who looked as if he would rather be anywhere but Broadmere Manor. “Lord Blytheston, this is yet another of my lovely sisters, Lady Grace.”

The viscount offered a cold but polite bow. “A pleasure, my lady.”

Apparently not, Grace thought while dropping a curtsy. “My lord.” The man’s aloofness suited her just fine. He reminded her of a lizard, constantly flicking the tip of his tongue out past his lips as if in search of a juicy bug.

Chance squeezed her arm, a gentle reminder of his plea for good behavior as he guided her deeper into the crowd. “Lord and Lady Strathyre, please meet the final piece of the Broadmere familial puzzle, my sister, Lady Grace.”

This pair didn’t seem all that bad. Grace gave them a curtsy, noting how the marquess kept exchanging glances with the Duke of Wolfebourne.

She would lay odds the two were chums. “Thank you for joining us tonight,” she told the kindly pair, pleasing Chance immensely, judging from the brightness of his expression.

“’Twas our pleasure to be invited,” Lady Strathyre said, revealing a soft Scottish accent. Her husband nodded his agreement with his wife’s sentiment.

“Sir Andrew Gransington,” Chance said as they moved to the next guest. “I would like you to meet another of my sisters, Lady Grace.”

“A pleasure, my lady,” said the tall, somber man, his voice quiet and somehow sad.

“The pleasure is mine, Sir Andrew.” Grace noticed his attention kept slipping over to the Duke of Wolfebourne and his entourage.

Was he part of the duke’s guard or something?

She also found it odd that Chance had saved introducing her to the duke’s party last. According to the silly pecking order laws of the ton , as the highest-ranking guest, she should have been presented to the duke first rather than last. Surely Chance knew that.

She knew for certain her sisters did because they were watching her—intently so.

Suspicion sprouted deep within her. What game was at play here?

“Wolfebourne,” Chance said as he tugged her over to the duke and the ladies beside him. “It is my understanding you and my sister are already acquainted—elsewise, I would have presented her to you first.”

The duke offered her the slightest nod, watching her with the tenacity of a predator on the hunt. “Yes. We are acquainted. A pleasure to see you again, Lady Grace.” He turned to the ladies on his left. “Allow me to present Lady Margaret and her mother, Lady Longmorten.”

Grace bit the inside of her cheek to keep from reacting.

Good heavens, but Connor and Sissy had been so right.

Lady Longmorten not only had the long face of a mule but the large, slightly protruding front teeth as well.

Her daughter was comelier, but the resemblance between the two was unmistakable.

Mama’s voice resounded loudly in Grace’s head: A beautiful heart outshines all else. Do not become an ugly beast by entertaining ugly thoughts. She offered the ladies her best curtsy. “Lady Margaret, Lady Longmorten, thank you for joining us this evening.”

Lady Margaret responded with a strained smile that made the coldness in her eyes even icier. Lady Longmorten simply gave a haughty sniff and a curt nod. The ladies, or at least the mother, did not wish to be here. Grace felt it as plain as a slap on the wrist.

She turned her attention back to the duke. “While I am sure my sister already made mention of it, I would like to add my thanks for the thoughtful gifts you sent for little Aurora and Quill. I am sure they will love them.”

Mischief flashed in his dark eyes and a slow, knowing smile tugged at his full lips. Good heavens, but the man was indeed handsome. Grace swallowed hard and struggled to calm her silly heart, which had taken to beating entirely too fast.

“It was my pleasure to send all the gifts, my lady.” His voice was as deep and sultry as a lion’s purr. “ Each of them was chosen with the greatest of care, I assure you.”

She clenched her teeth while forcing a polite smile, knowing he meant the buckskins. Wicked man. But she had to admit, it was well played. Perhaps he was a worthy adversary after all.

“Gifts?” Lady Margaret repeated with a nervous titter. Her mother narrowed her eyes in an incinerating glare focused on Wolfebourne.

“My sister and I had to rush out of Mettlestone’s before we finished our shopping,” Grace lied.

Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie. They had simply left before they bought any gifts.

“I can only assume His Grace overheard how we wished to surprise our precious little niece and nephew with some new toys when they arrive next week. Then, this afternoon, the perfect dolly was delivered for Aurora, and even though Quill is naught but a babe in arms, I am sure he will be most entertained by the brightly painted toy soldiers.”

“How nice,” Lady Margaret said, but she didn’t sound as though she thought it nice at all.

The poor lady was most unhappy, Grace decided. The rumor Serendipity had heard must be accurate. Perhaps Lady Margaret did love another. Or was she simply tired of waiting for Wolfebourne to take her to the altar?

“Yes,” Grace agreed, almost as an afterthought.

She was not good at meaningless chatter and was at a loss as to how to keep the conversation going without revealing too much of her history with the duke.

She glanced around, looking for Chance, who had wandered off like a dog that had chewed through its lead.

“It was a nice gesture, indeed.” She looked over and widened her eyes at her sisters with their agreed-upon signal for help me.

Before they came to her rescue, Walters announced in a surprisingly loud voice, “The Earl of Middlebie.”

“Bless my soul,” said the hulking Scot, his voice booming through the room like cannon fire. He swaggered forward and clapped a hand on Chance’s shoulder. “What a fine gathering, Broadmere. Thank ye for inviting me for a wee stay here in the English countryside.”

Chance grinned like the wiliest hunter who had just set the perfect snare.