Page 10 of Lady Graceless (A Series of Senseless Complications #2)

H ad Mrs. Right been alone in her efforts to display offense over Mr. Button’s alleged flirtation toward her, it might not have gone over as well as it had. After all, had it only been her acting alone, Mr. Button might have successfully written her off as a flighty and delusional woman.

In most households, the junior staff were all too enthusiastic about seeing a senior servant knocked down a peg. The duke’s household was different though, because Mrs. Right had made it so.

The housekeeper in this household was their protector—she was the head of the table who ensured they were not worked too hard, were paid a superior wage, and had more time off than most. If one of them chose to move on to another venture, Mrs. Right wrote a glowing recommendation and got the duke to sign it. She was the healer of cuts and bruises, the sympathetic listener, and the keeper of secrets.

Her housekeeper’s closet was often the scene of somebody pouring out a frustration or outlining a hope for the future. The housemaids might propose an easier way to get through their duties, Cook might make the case for a second kitchen maid, the stablemaster might petition for a late evening plate of meats and cheeses for his grooms as they were growing boys who were always ravenous. The average butler delighted in denying requests. Mrs. Right delighted in approving them. Nobody who worked for the duke wished that recipe to be changed one bit.

Mrs. Right was the general of a loyal army both above and below stairs. The army had been issued orders to drive Mr. Button to distraction and she would lead her forces forward.

Just now, an opportunity was presenting itself. She knew the footmen and maids were at table with their tea and just ahead was Mr. Button in the corridor heading toward them.

Mrs. Right picked up her pace, pushed past him and cried, “Mr. Button! I will not tolerate these impertinences!”

She raced ahead and found her loyal staff all well-prepared to playact with her.

Thomas stood and said, “What’s he done now, Mrs. Right?”

Mr. Button hurried into the room. “I’ve done nothing! I do not know why she keeps accusing me of doing something!”

The footman and the maids frowned. Charlie said, “Mr. Button, we’ve known Mrs. Right ever so many years. She don’t make things up.”

“But she is now,” Mr. Button said. “I was just walking down the corridor doing nothing at all!”

Mrs. Right sniffed and pulled her shawl tight round her shoulders. “For the first time in twenty years living in the duke’s household, I feel unsafe.”

The maids leapt to their feet and one of the girls moved a chair between them. “Sit with us, Mrs. Right. We’ll protect you.”

“We’ll all protect you,” Charlie said darkly.

Mr. Button had got very red in the face, as Mrs. Right supposed anybody would who’d been accused of taking liberties with a middle-aged housekeeper.

“I will not stand for this, this, whatever this is,” he shouted. “I will take steps!”

He turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

“Let’s hope them steps he’s taking lead him right out of the house,” Cook said.

There was much nodding round the table and a very pleasant tea commenced.

*

Grace had so far been to one dinner, and it was a dinner she should not have gone to. This evening was Lady Luthering’s ball and must be considered her first real foray into society. Lady Marchfield had arranged to have Felicity’s dresses made last year, but such was her aggravation with the duke she had not done it this year.

All was not lost though. Felicity had been so good as to send over all of her first year’s wardrobe. The styles were timeless so they looked as new, and they were close in size, enabling Mrs. Right to take in a bit here and there to make the fit.

Grace chose a lovely blue green silk with a delicate organza overlay dotted with embroidered white daisies. Felicity had particularly recommended it as everything that was fresh and young.

Grace paired it with an aquamarine necklace that had belonged to her mother. When Valor had been old enough to participate, the duke had laid out all of his deceased wife’s jewelry and allowed his daughters to choose what they would. It had been a rather frenetic exercise, she and Patience even scouring the floor for loose seed pearls in the fracas. It had eventually calmed when Mrs. Right pointed out that not everything could be worn at once and they would greatly increase their choices if they agreed to share.

That was probably for the best, as Valor had been only five and had gone for the gaudiest paste among the jewels, including an enameled parrot pin she wore regularly which was really very awful. Grace’s youngest sister would no doubt notice, as she matured, that her taste had not been what it could have been.

In preparation for the ball, Mrs. Right had been very careful with her hair as her sisters had looked on and peppered her with questions. They were, all of them including Grace, disappointed that Lord Dashlend was not to attend.

Their approval of the gentleman had grown since his visit, and even Valor said he must be a fine gentleman to have such a relation as Lady Margaret. Valor had received her first letter from that lady, and it had outlined Lady Margaret’s great and long-lasting friendship with a certain Doodle-do, who had been the stuffed rooster companion of her youth. The lady still had that item in a closet somewhere and it was her hope that Doodle-do and Mrs. Wendover might meet someday.

Valor was to spend the evening composing her response to this news.

Mrs. Right had very astutely chosen a dark blue velvet pelisse to complete Grace’s dress, and she and her father had been waved off by the rest of the family.

“Did you notice?” the duke asked as the carriage rumbled through the dark streets.

“Notice what, Papa?”

“Mr. Button. Where was he?”

“That is true,” Grace said. Mr. Button was so recently arrived that she’d not even noticed he was absent at their departure.

“Perhaps he’s already gone,” the duke said. “Mrs. Right has a certain spring in her step at the moment.”

“I wonder,” Grace said. “She’s given us no direction so far regarding her plans.”

The duke turned to her. “Do you imply that you and your sisters played a part in Mr. Sykes-Wycliff’s exit last year?”

“Only that we told him about the servants’ hunt. You were meant to chase the servants round the moors and shoot at them.”

The duke laughed long and hard. “Nobody has an imagination like Mrs. Right. Servants’ hunt, indeed. Though, it might be amusing with slingshots, eh?”

Grace laughed despite herself. That really might be amusing. She suspected the footmen would be all in on the idea.

“Now Gracie, what’s it to be? I understand Dashlend made a point to return the borrowed clothes himself and brought along some sort of relation too. Are you to settle your eyes on him or are you to meander through the season pretending you haven’t, just as Felicity did?”

“Papa, it is too soon to settle my eyes anywhere. Though, Lord Dashlend certainly has caught my eye.”

The duke chuckled. “I see, you feel you do not know him well enough.”

“Well, I do not,” she said. “But the more pressing thing is… he does not know me well enough.”

The duke looked at her quizzically. “You think he might be put off because you are clumsy on occasion?”

“He might be,” Grace said.

“If he is, then he is not the man I think he is. I suppose we just wait and see. What’s say you purposefully fall on the floor when he’s nearby and we’ll see what he says.”

“I will do no such thing and I know you are joking.”

“Maybe,” the duke said enigmatically.

The carriage rolled to a stop. “Here we are,” Grace said. “My first real ball.”

“Chin up, you are a duke’s daughter. You fear nobody and require nobody’s approval.”

Grace smiled. Perhaps she did not require anybody’s approval, but she wished for the approval of one gentleman in particular. He would not be there to approve on this particular occasion, but he would be soon enough.

Lady Luthering greeted them at the door. She was exceedingly gracious, even when the duke noted that he’d heard Lord Luthering had kicked off. Grace was certain a lady hosting a ball would not like to be reminded of a dead husband but she was very civil about it, only noting the sad event was “last March.”

They proceeded to the cloak room to deposit their coats and retrieve Grace’s dance card.

A dance card. An empty dance card. Would it be filled? Would she acquit herself creditably on the ballroom floor? She felt she had a very good chance of it. Some days she felt steadier than others and today she was solid on her two feet.

“Lady Grace!”

Grace turned to find Lady Lavender behind her. She curtsied. “Lady Lavender.”

Lady Lavender in turn curtsied. “Your Grace,” she said to the duke.

“Hah! Another victim of Lord Doanellen’s dinner,” the duke said. “I hope you escaped it as fast as we did.”

Lady Lavender nodded. “Almost as fast. When the gentlemen came in from their port, I marched my father right out the doors.”

The duke hooked a thumb toward Lady Lavender. “She’s got good sense.”

“My father has just made his way to the card room, Your Grace. If you care to do the same, Lady Grace and I can chaperone one another. We will be quite safe in Lady Luthering’s ballroom.”

“What say you, Gracie?”

“I am certain I will be very safe, Papa, go ahead and find a card table.”

“And a glass of claret too, I hope,” the duke said. He kissed Grace’s cheek and strolled off.

Lady Lavender took her arm as they made their way to the ballroom. “I was hoping your father would agree to it as I wished to have a confidential conversation about that dinner.”

“I did not know what it would be,” Grace said. “I went through the invitations sent to us on my own and while I did not know who was who, he was an earl at a good address.”

Lady Lavender nodded. “The same happened to me. My father left it to me as my mother is long gone and he has been renting out his house in Town for years. He’s quite lost any idea of the societal landscape. I have since asked a cousin to review all of my engagements.”

Grace said, “I am to have my brother-in-law do the same.”

“Gracious, we got ourselves into an awkward situation. My father has been much chastened by it. I suppose the duke feels the same.”

Grace laughed. “I cannot recall a time my father was chastened over anything.”

“Ah, I imagine a duke never does. I suppose we will discover this evening whether it is widely spoken of or not.”

“Will we?” Grace asked.

“If it is bandied about, if we are condemned by the matrons of society for attending, we may find ourselves ostracized.”

“Ostracized?” Grace asked, horrified over the idea.

“My cousin who is going into her third season explained it all to me. She knows absolutely everybody.”

Grace glanced down at her empty card. Would it stay empty? What was she to do—just stand at the edges of the room, doused in shame and humiliation?

“Oh, I am sure gentlemen will put themselves down on our cards,” Lady Lavender said, as if reading her thoughts. “But if certain gentlemen do not, we may make a guess as to why. For instance, the Marquess of Stonehelm is here, and so is his mother, the duchess. She is a stern old thing and seems to run him with an iron hand on his shoulder. If she’s heard anything, she will give him strict instructions to give us a wide berth.”

Grace sighed. “Last year, my aunt, Lady Marchfield, arranged the calendar for my sister. But my father does not get on with her and refused to let her do it again. That’s how I ended up with the task. I should have asked somebody for help, though.”

Lady Lavender patted her hand. “You were not to know.”

Grace would very much like to dislike Lady Lavender, on account of her being so accomplished at everything, but it was no use. The lady was also very accomplished at being kind.

“Lady Grace, Lady Lavender.”

It was Lord Montclave. She and Lady Lavender curtsied, though neither of them were enthusiastic to see him. He was a reminder of Lord Doanellen’s dinner and to be seen speaking to him might set talk flying.

Seeming to note their discomfort, he said, “I was hoping to encounter you. I wish to explain that I counseled Doanellen not to send invitations to people such as yourself. He insisted on doing it anyway and then was triumphant when both of your houses accepted. He was less triumphant when both of your fathers took you away upon noting who the hostess was. He will not try it again, I do not think.”

“Lord Montclave,” Grace said, “Lord Doanellen, through his carelessness and low morals, may have damaged our reputations. I hardly think I care that he has learned his lesson.”

The baron had the good grace to blush. “I apologize on his behalf and I can assure you it will not be widely known unless either of you put it about.”

“How are we to know that others who were there will not talk about it?” Lady Lavender asked.

“Because they are the sort of people who straddle two sides of the Town,” Lord Montclave said. “They like to be accepted everywhere and they also like to attend the sorts of parties Lord Doanellen hosts. They will not speak of it. Had I known you had accepted the invitations, I would have stopped you at the door.”

“But you, yourself, enjoy those sorts of parties?” Grace asked.

“I do not. However, my family does not keep a house in Town and Doanellen offered to have me. When I accepted, I had no idea of any of it, including the existence of Mrs. Featherby.”

Grace was satisfied with the explanation, and very relieved that it did not seem as if reports of that dinner would be widely spoken of.

“May I?” Lord Montclave said, motioning toward her card.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Grace said.

Lord Montclave put himself down for the dance before Lady Luthering’s supper. Grace was not certain how she felt about it, but she supposed at least she would dine with someone she had already met.

The lord put himself down for Lady Lavender’s first. Then he bowed and strolled away.

“I cannot decide if I like him or dislike him,” Lady Lavender said.

Grace nodded, and then proceeded with a shameless fishing expedition. “He is no Lord Dashlend, in my estimation.”

“Gracious no,” Lady Lavender said. “Lord Dashlend is a deal more sophisticated in his manner, I think.”

Grace was not entirely satisfied with that answer. She supposed she was hoping Lady Lavender would wrinkle her nose at the mention of Lord Dashlend. It was a rather stupid hope, of course, as who would not admire that gentleman?

“I understood he attended a musical evening you played at and he noted you were very accomplished.”

Lady Lavender laughed. “He is very kind to say so. I believe the truth is I am like most ladies—I applied myself just enough to learn in the middling style.”

Grace did not answer, as she had done far less than middling. She’d done next to nothing. Their pianoforte at home had been gathering dust for years, they did not even bother to have it tuned anymore.

This uncomfortable conversation was interrupted by a series of gentlemen approaching and writing their names down. Grace’s card was filled, including by a certain marquess with a stern duchess for a mother.

It seemed the secret of Lord Doanellen’s dinner was safe.

*

Miles was not certain he’d ever sat through a dinner that felt as long as this one did. He’d promised his father to accept the invitation in his stead, as it was from one of the earl’s oldest friends in the world.

Viscount Harraby was an elderly gentleman that Miles had known since he was a young boy. Harraby and his father had met while the earl attended Eton, and then Miles himself when it was his turn to go to the school. The viscount was closely connected to the institution as he had an estate nearby. He’d acted as mentor and host to the legions of boys coming through those halls. It was considered an honor to be invited to one of the viscount’s Friday evening dinners.

The headmaster looked upon Harraby as a mentor and appropriate example of manhood to his young charges, which he was. However, he was also the person to call upon when one was short of funds, got into a scrape, or required a few bottles of wine for a party.

Miles’ father had maintained a regular correspondence with Lord Harraby ever since his boyhood days. The gentleman, and his lady before she passed on, were often guests at the house, especially during the shooting.

The problem was, the old man looked upon Miles as if he were still a fifteen-year-old lad. The other problem was that Lady Margaret had insisted on requesting an invitation, as those two people had long known one another but not set eyes on each other for some years. Miles had been forced to write Harraby with the request and got a speedy reply in the affirmative.

This had prompted Meg, former burner of toast and current lady’s maid, to be sent with a footman to Lady Margaret’s house with a long list of items to be retrieved from various trunks and closets. A carriageful of who knew what had arrived and been hauled up to the lady’s bedchamber.

When the time came to depart for Lord Harraby’s house, Miles was apprised of precisely what had been gathered from Lady Margaret’s house.

In some sort of bid to be fashionable, Lady Margaret had arrived to the great hall in a puce-colored taffeta concoction that must have long ago, very long ago, been just the thing. It must also have fit better, as the lady had shrunk in her later years and the crinolines puffing it out lent her the appearance of a miniature sailing ship setting off for America. She wore a heavy gilded gold necklace decorated with birds on trees and her fingers sported an array of enameled and jeweled rings. This startling ensemble was topped off by a towering tiara and two molting ostrich feathers waving dangerously atop her head as if they were scanning the savannah for predators. Miles thought Wainwright’s eyes might fall out of his head and roll across the marble floor.

Naturally, they could not escape curious onlookers as they got in the carriage. Miles supposed people would be curious to see a little bird of a lady swimming in purple taffeta and sporting overwhelming headgear who needed to be picked up and put inside, as she could not manage the step. Nevertheless, they had set off.

Miles had thought it was to be a usual dinner party of at least fourteen, and perhaps far more. But no, it was just himself, Harraby, and Lady Margaret.

Lord Harraby, being of the same generation as Lady Margaret, was bowled over by her dress, noting he’d not seen such elegance in years. It seemed the old gentleman deplored the simpler cuts of today’s ladies’ dress as the style had “no panache.”

The evening was made even more uncomfortable as Lady Margaret had decided to put herself in charge of Miles’ future and was quickly luring Harraby into the idea too.

“I see what you say, Lady Margaret,” Lord Harraby said. “A young man does well to wed, it settles him, you see.”

“I do not require settling, though,” Miles said.

Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby exchanged looks and then laughed heartily.

“Leave it to us, Dashlend,” Lady Margaret said. “It is time Lord Harraby and I got out and about so we might size up the ladies of the season.”

“Very good notion, Lady Margaret,” Lord Harraby said with enthusiasm. “I’ve got a pile of invitations I was not planning to accept, but now, with a purpose in mind, I find I have a bit of a spring in my step. I’ll write to the ones I know well and ask that you be included.”

“Excellent idea.”

“I could even arrange for you to ride in my carriage, if that would suit.”

Miles could not imagine how that would work. Harraby did not look as if he had the strength to lift Lady Margaret in and out of carriages, and she had conveniently not bothered to mention that requirement.

“Your carriage? That would suit very well, Lord Harraby. I sold my carriage and all my horses when my stablemaster died of old age.”

“Old age,” Harraby said thoughtfully, “it is a menace, is it not?”

Lady Margaret nodded. “Just two months ago, one of my aging footmen fell down the stairs and broke his frail old neck. Of course, he’d fallen down them several times, so I suppose his luck was bound to run out.”

“If these young ones only knew what old bones feel like… well, no time to think of that now! We’ll down a bit of brandy and carry on—we have a job to do!”

Miles whipped his head back and forth between them. It seemed he was not even to be consulted. How had this happened to him? How was he in possession of two old busybodies who were determined to direct his future? His own father was not so importuning.

How had Lady Margaret gone from shabby and deteriorating isolation to out on the town with Lord Harraby? Those two should not be let loose on society, Miles could not imagine what they’d get up to.

“Now Lady Margaret, you did mention one promising candidate already,” Lord Harraby said.

“Ah yes, Lady Grace, she is lovely inside and out.”

“That does sound promising indeed,” Harraby said. “Though, if we are to do a proper job of it, we must not put blinders on! All eligible ladies must be considered and thoroughly examined.”

“You have a very good head on your shoulders, Lord Harraby. That is full of sense.”

The dessert course had been cleared and there came a bit of an awkward moment. It would be the time the ladies would retire to the drawing room for tea, but that would have left Lady Margaret on her own.

“Might I suggest, Lady Margaret,” Harraby said, “that you stay on at table. If your bones are anything like mine, I imagine they will be gratified by a tipple of port.”

“Excellent notion, Lord Harraby.”

And so a glass of port was set in front of Lady Margaret. To Harraby’s credit, his butler did a terrific job of pretending nothing was amiss.

Miles took a long draught and signaled a footman for a refill. He had somehow acquired two elderly duennas and he was inclined to drown his sorrows in strong drink.