Page 11 of Lady Graceless (A Series of Senseless Complications #2)

M ontclave had done his best to smooth things over with Lady Grace and Lady Lavender. In truth, he could not care less for Lady Lavender’s opinion, but Lady Grace was of possible interest to Dashlend, and so of interest to him.

He’d kept a close eye on the lady, and it might serve him that he did so. There was something odd in her dancing. She did not miss steps, but there were times she seemed to almost fall behind the tempo or otherwise look just the slightest bit awkward.

He was not certain how that information would serve him, but he was a firm believer in noticing details and storing them away for future use. He could not read Dashlend’s mind, but he did know that the fellow considered himself a Corinthian. Perhaps he would not be enthusiastic over a lady who could not keep a tempo or had no ear for music and rhythm?

As to how to steer Lady Grace away from Dashlend, as he’d mulled over the situation this way and that, his own situation had seeped into the various considerations and seemed to offer a possible solution.

He was, as always, short on funds. Two days before, he’d approached Lady Margaret for a loan, but the old bird had been in a mood and turned him away. All he could manage to leave with was a silver salver he picked up on his way out, counting on her bad eyesight to miss the maneuver. He’d promptly sold it, but it had not come to much.

This afternoon, he’d returned to Lady Margaret’s house, hoping to find her in more generous spirits. Most perplexingly, he’d found her departed from the house and a couple of burly watchmen employed to keep an eye on things. Those two fellows either did not know where she went or had been ordered not to say. All they would say was that her lady’s maid, who used to be the cook, had come and taken some of her things away.

What lady’s maid was this? As far as he knew, the cook was dead and Lady Margaret’s maid had been with her for twenty years. Where could Lady Margaret have gone? Why did she relocate herself? It made no sense.

He’d briefly thought of helping himself to some of her things some late night, as the house was empty, but the watchmen posed too much of a risk. He’d checked the newspapers for a notice of funeral, but no, she was still alive somewhere.

He was short of money, a duke’s daughter came with money, this particular duke’s daughter needed to be lured away from Dashlend. It seemed the answer to a multitude of problems was to court Lady Grace.

And then, if he were successful in eventually becoming the earl’s heir, who best to become the next countess than a duke’s daughter? It would confer an instant legitimacy.

Of course, there was the current problem of convincing the lady. At the moment, he could only promise a future as a baroness of a middling estate. He could say nothing of his hopes for anything higher. As well, as much as he despised Dashlend, he was not clouded in his judgments. The fellow was suave and seemed to be well-liked by the ladies, including Lady Grace.

His own allurements were not quite as interesting. But he had cleverness and the ability to conceive of and execute an intricate game. That was what he must do—find the right hook for this lady fish and carefully reel her to his banks. He must find a weakness, a flaw, and exploit it to his advantage.

Montclave collected Lady Grace for the dance before supper and led her to the floor. “I presume you have enjoyed the ball so far?” he asked as an opening gambit.

“Indeed, yes,” Lady Grace said. “Everyone has been so genial.”

The orchestra struck up for the cotillion, as Lady Luthering was in the habit of placing that dance before supper.

They began Le Grand Rond. Montclave said, “And the dancing? Do you enjoy it?”

A flash of worry crossed Lady Grace’s expression and Montclave knew he was on to something. He had hit on an insecurity.

He did not know precisely why it was a sore spot. Certainly, the duke would have seen to his daughters having a dancing master and she seemed to know all the steps. And yet, he’d noticed that she sometimes fell behind the tempo. Perhaps she knew it as a fault?

“Oh yes, the dancing,” Lady Grace said. “Very enjoyable.”

He did not quite believe that. He led Lady Grace through the figure and then an allemande. There it was again. She completed the step but ended with just the slightest wobble. One would not catch it if one were not looking out for it.

He did not know if this particular knowledge was significant enough to use in an effective manner, but he had to work with what he’d got.

“I will admit something shocking, Lady Grace,” he said. “I do find dancing overrated. It is simply a pastime, and somehow the skill has been elevated into a measure of a lady’s worth. I find it odd.”

Lady Grace’s expression told him all he needed to know. Her expression was one of relief. Perhaps even gratitude.

“If we are to be rational creatures,” he continued, “I would prefer to judge a lady by means more important—her mind and discernment, kindness and graciousness. These are the things that really matter.”

Lady Grace did not answer. But she nodded.

Montclave smiled. This was the crack in the armor. Furthermore, he knew it and Dashlend would not. Surely, there was something he could do with that.

“I’ve often had the debate with my cousin on this idea,” he said as they executed a Rigadoon.

“Lord Dashlend?” Lady Grace asked, looking rather aflutter over it.

Montclave nodded. “Indeed. As you are probably aware, all society knows him as a Corinthian of the first stare. He takes pride in it, he is all physicality and respects it in others. Too much so, in my mind. I’ve said to him—you cannot judge a person’s worth with such a yardstick.” He pretended at a great sigh and said, “He can be hardheaded, though, and cemented in his opinions.”

He was gratified to see the lady’s complexion fade to a whiter shade than it had been. This was certainly the ticket—play on the lady’s insecurities and the idea that Dashlend would disdain her weakness.

It was not much of a weakness, really. But then, people always viewed their perceived weaknesses as being bigger and more obvious to others than they were.

Montclave had long been a student of the human condition. One thing he knew for certain—people did not like other people who did not like them . To be disapproved of set a person’s back up and it was very difficult to undo.

For once, perhaps human nature could work in his favor.

*

Grace could not say her first outing to a ball had been wonderful or awful, as it had been both of those things. She’d been reasonably steady on her feet, which had been her foremost worry. Nothing had been said about Lord Doanellen’s dinner, which had been her second worry.

She’d met with more than a few gentlemen. None of them were Lord Dashlend, of course, but genial all the same.

She’d conducted herself well, and it was very gratifying.

And yet, she could not forget what Lord Montclave had said about Lord Dashlend. He claimed the lord judged very severely on physicality. He was a Corinthian of the first stare and compared everything to that. The way she moved in the world was her primary fault! How could she hide it?

Grace could, perhaps, hide it for now. She’d not given anything away yet. But that could not hold forever. So many times in the past, when she’d least expected it, that swimming feeling would come over her. She’d be getting out of the carriage for church and suddenly find herself on the ground. Or even just walking into a room with nothing at all amiss. She’d got rather skilled at dropping without injuring herself.

In any case, her father had already told Lord Dashlend that she was clumsy. Perhaps seeing it was not even necessary.

He was coming to dine this evening. Would he be examining her for signs of clumsiness? Did he like her enough to overlook it?

There was a short rap on the door and Mrs. Right hurried in. “Have you decided on a dress?” she asked.

Grace of course had. There was nothing she’d given as much thought to. She’d been thinking about it ever since Lord Dashlend had accepted her papa’s invitation.

She nodded toward the bed where it was laid out.

“Ah, the violet silk with the tulle overlay. Excellent choice, it will do something well for your coloring. Now, tell me what’s on your mind,” Mrs. Right said. “You’ve got that worried look on your face that used to tell me, when you were a little girl, that you’d broken something.”

Mrs. Right could always see straight into all of their hearts. And really, it was a relief to be asked.

“Last evening, Lord Montclave, who is Lord Dashlend’s cousin and lives on a neighboring estate, so he knows Lord Dashlend ever so well, he said…”

Grace drifted off. She did not even like to speak aloud what he’d said.

“What did he say?”

“He said that Lord Dashlend, being the Corinthian that he is, holds physicality as superior to all else. Lord Montclave has argued against that opinion to no avail.”

“Has he now?” Mrs. Right said, narrowing her eyes.

“Yes, indeed, that is what he said. And Mrs. Right, you know my particular situation. My particular… flaw. It is precisely what Lord Dashlend will not like.” Grace paused to wring her hands, which she’d done quite a lot of all day. “I ought not to like him as he will be so inclined to not like me, and yet I do. I really cannot help it. I met no end of gentlemen last evening and all I could think was, they were not Lord Dashlend.”

“Lord Montclave made a point to inform you of this?” Mrs. Right said thoughtfully.

“He did, though I cannot think how the subject came up.”

“Here’s my advice—do not pay any mind to Lord Montclave. Form your opinions through your own eyes and ears. It’s my experience that a gentleman wishing to impress often takes the low road of trying to make other fellows less appealing than they are.”

“You think Lord Montclave might have invented what he told me?”

“Might have. We’ll see.”

“But that would be so underhanded, so base, so ungentlemanly.”

Mrs. Right shrugged. “All’s fair in love and war, as they say. Before I wed, I had another suitor besides my Charlie. Mr. Winchum was his name and he told me, quite confidentially of course, that my Charlie only had three toes on his right foot. Well, I wasn’t put off, mind, as who goes round staring at a person’s toes anyway? When the time came, I did have a peek and wouldn’t you know—all five were present and accounted for.”

“Mr. Winchum must have been terribly embarrassed that you eventually found out his fib.”

“Oh yes, whenever I saw him, I waved at him by wiggling all five of my fingers. He got my meaning. Now, we’d best get you dressed and downstairs, as Felicity and Mr. Stratton are to come early.”

Mr. Stratton was to look over her calendar to ensure she had not made any mistakes like she’d done with Lord Doanellen’s dinner.

Grace hurried into her dress and Mrs. Right did the buttons up the back. She fussed with the tulle until it was laying right and it really did look charming.

Grace was out the door and down the stairs in good time. She found Valor pacing the drawing room with a rather wild look on her face. She had a letter in one hand, and Mrs. Wendover swinging from the other. Nelson seemed to take the whole thing as a game and made little leaps at Mrs. Wendover, between losing his balance and rolling on the carpet.

“Grace, I am stunned,” Valor said. “Lady Margaret and I are friends and we correspond, as you may know. I maintain a correspondence now like any grown lady does. She told me to write about anything I liked and so I did and she has just wrote me back. I am shocked to my shoes.”

Grace stood frozen where she stood. Was it something about Lord Dashlend? What could it be? What would Lady Margaret write about? What could be shocking and stunning? Was it news of an engagement?

“I have been looking at things all wrong,” Valor said, throwing up her hands. The letter flew one way and Mrs. Wendover flew the other way. Mrs. Wendover was not long on the carpet as Nelson grabbed her by the neck and returned her to Valor, wagging his tail and hoping for another throw.

“What?” Grace asked. “What has so affected you?”

“I wrote to her about how I have nightmares about monsters or I wake in the night and think there is a monster in my room or under my bed. Guess what she says?”

Grace allowed herself to breathe again. It was not an engagement. She could not give a toss for what Lady Margaret had to say about monsters. It was nothing to do with Lord Dashlend. “I have no idea. What does Lady Margaret say about it?”

“She says they are like village boys who like to bully but if you laugh at them and tell them to be off, they run away ashamed of themselves. Then, while they are running away, you tell them you are going to talk to the vicar about their behavior and they will not dare to come back. They are terrified of the church—it is their great weakness.”

“Yes, indeed, that does make sense,” Grace said, biting her lip to stop her laughter.

“Why didn’t anybody tell me! How many hours of sleep have I lost? Mrs. Right doesn’t know, else she would have said. Wait until I tell her, she will be just as shocked as Mrs. Wendover was.”

Fortunately, Grace was not pressed to explain why nobody had told Valor of the unique weaknesses of monsters until this late date. Mr. Button announced Felicity and Mr. Stratton.

“Felicity!” Valor cried, throwing herself at her eldest sister. “You’ve been gone from us for so long!”

“I know, poppet,” Felicity said. “Grace, how do you get on?”

Grace kissed her sister’s cheek. “Perhaps I save that description for a confidential conversation,” she said. “Mr. Stratton, how do you do?”

Mr. Stratton bowed and said, “Married life suits me, so I do very well. Now, as we are relations, you ought to just call me Stratton.”

Grace nodded, though she could not quite imagine doing so. “You are very kind to agree to look through my calendar.”

“Not at all.” Mr. Stratton paused and peered at Nelson.

“Gracious,” Felicity said, “you’ve got a three-legged dog.”

“And blind in one eye,” Valor said proudly.

“Of course you do,” Mr. Stratton said, laughing. “I suppose we ought to get to your calendar before Dashlend arrives.”

“Oh yes, it is just here, along with some invitations I’ve yet to do anything with.”

Grace and Stratton sat across from each other and laid the calendar out on a table. While they reviewed the invitations she had accepted and opened the pile just arrived, Valor gave Felicity a full accounting of her new understanding of monsters. Nelson sat at Felicity’s feet, seeming very taken with this new arrival to the house.

It was not long before the rest of the sisters arrived. Valor informed them of the information she had received regarding the nature of monsters. Naturally, Verity nodded sagely and said it was commonly understood. She was less successful in answering why she’d never bothered to mention it if she’d known it all along.

Verity dodged that question by turning the subject to Felicity. Their eldest sister was surrounded and peppered with questions regarding married life. Some of the questions made Mr. Stratton downright blush, though he pretended not to hear.

Was it genial to wake up and find a gentleman had been in the room all night? Did he stare at you while you were sleeping? Had Felicity seen Mr. Stratton’s scars from the tiger, as they were under his clothes? Would she have a baby soon? Had Mr. Stratton seen Felicity’s hair unpinned and what did he think about it?

Felicity answered with all good humor. It was very genial to wake to somebody in the room, she did not know if he stared as she was asleep, she had seen the scars and they were terribly attractive, she did not know when she would have a baby but not in the next months, and Mr. Stratton had seen her hair unpinned and thought it smashing.

Mr. Stratton, while not always enthusiastic to see the duke, did seem to welcome the interruption of this sisterly discussion on the finer points of marriage.

“Ho there, Stratton,” the duke said, “I hope you keep my girl happy?”

“I do my best, Your Grace,” Mr. Stratton said.

Felicity kissed her father’s cheek and said, “He does very well, Papa.”

“He’s seen Felicity’s hair unpinned and thinks it’s smashing,” Valor put in for good measure. “Though we don’t know if he stares at her in her sleep.”

The duke merely raised his brows, rather than answer, as a father cannot be expected to inquire into such matters.

“How goes it with the calendar, Stratton?” the duke asked. “Have we committed ourselves to any more shocking evenings?”

“No, there is nothing to worry over. Some I may have passed on, only because they may be dull, but everything is very respectable. I did wonder though, why you sent your regrets to all the evenings that showcase the musical talents of the ladies new to the season?”

The duke looked over Mr. Stratton’s head. The sisters all looked at each other wide-eyed.

Felicity said, “That sort of evening is not really the right showcase for us.”

“Oh I see,” Mr. Stratton said. “We do not have a pianoforte in the cottage, so I hadn’t known.”

“We should never get one,” Felicity said.

Mr. Stratton took in the idea that none of them could play a note, which had heretofore escaped his notice. Mr. Button announced Lord Dashlend and Lady Margaret.

While it might be usual for the duke to step forward in greeting first, Valor pushed past him. “My friend Lady Margaret,” she said, grasping the lady’s hands, “you have done me a real service—all this information about monsters is very good to know.”

“Ah yes, it is always an advantage to know who or what you deal with,” Lady Margaret said.

Grace’s eyes traveled between Lord Dashlend and Lady Margaret. Lord Dashlend was looking very well put together. His coat was well-cut and his neckcloth was neatly done. The lord went in for a clean and unfussy style—he did not pretend at being a dandy, and yet his clothes were impeccable.

Lady Margaret, on the other hand, was looking rather surprising. She wore a purple brocade dress with crinolines underneath, and her hair was piled high atop her head and held in place by a bright green silk turban that sported a heavy diamond broach.

“All right now, Valor,” the duke said jovially, moving his youngest daughter out of the way. He greeted Lord Dashlend with a joke about the shipwreck and bowed to Lady Margaret.

“Ah, Duke,” Lady Margaret said, dispensing with the need to address him as Your Grace, “I’ve been very interested to make your acquaintance.”

“Have you now? I can’t think why.”

“I’ve heard you’re a bit of a corker,” Lady Margaret said.

This set the duke into roars of laughter. “Very good, very good,” he said, catching his breath.

Lord Dashlend and Mr. Stratton greeted one another, as they were previously known to each other. Then Lord Dashlend very kindly mentioned all of her sisters’ names before bowing and saying, “Lady Grace, you are looking very well.”

Grace bobbed a curtsy. She was looking very well, he said.

“Well, Mr. Button,” the duke said to the butler, “are we ready to go through, no sense in dilly-dallying about it.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Button said.

The duke put his arm out for Lady Margaret and led her through. As he did so, he said, “He’s the butler at the moment. No idea how long he’ll be here.”

Mr. Button’s eyes widened. Then they widened a bit more as Lady Margaret said, “At least he’s alive. Mine has been dead for months.”