Page 14 of Lady Graceless (A Series of Senseless Complications #2)

M iles had not expected to see Lady Margaret in the breakfast room. So far, she had taken her morning meal while still abed, which was quite right for a lady of her age and station. Especially after last evening he did not expect her to be up and about so early. After she and Lord Harraby had staggered to their chairs, they sent the duke off to find them refreshments of the fortifying kind.

Aside from the preposterousness of sending the duke on errands as if he were their footman, the patronesses did not supply the sort of refreshments the couple was looking for. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on who was viewing it, the duke had come with his flask of brandy in his pocket. He’d retrieved two cups of punch and liberally dosed them.

It certainly raised their spirits, but Lord Harraby’s burly hired man had been forced to enter the ballroom and carry Lady Margaret out, as there was not the least chance she would get out to the carriage under her own propulsion.

Miles had then carried her up the stairs and deposited her with her lady’s maid.

Despite that adventure, Lady Margaret hurried in and perched on a chair. Wainwright poured her a cup of tea. She said, “As promised, I received a letter from Lady Valor first thing this morning.”

Miles nodded, though he was at a loss as to why such a thing would be of interest to him.

“She spends the first part of the letter explaining how she’s getting on with driving the monsters out of her room. It did not go as well as she’d hoped on her first run at it, it was not a complete triumph. The monsters did flee when ordered, but they gained a habit of creeping back in later. However, she realized it was because she was not being forceful enough.”

“That all sounds very promising,” Miles said, for lack of anything better to say.

“Yes, yes, but then we get to the second part of the letter. That part is all about you .”

Miles set down his coffee. “She’s written about me? Why? She does not still think I might be a murderer?”

Lady Margaret shook her head. “I will read it to you.”

You are my wisest friend, so I wonder if you have any advice. Lord D seems nice enough for an older gentleman and I am convinced that I was wrong when I thought he might be a murderer. (Mrs. Wendover agrees with me. She says if he is a murderer, then why are we all still alive? I could not argue with that.)

“Older gentleman?” Miles asked.

“Yes, well, she is eight, so anybody over the age of fifteen is Methuselah to her. The good news is, you are no longer suspected of murder—Mrs. Wendover has pleaded your case. Now, let me continue.”

Our Grace likes Lord D ever so well. She even likes his nose! Why? Nobody nose/knows. (That was a joke—I’m still laughing about it.)

I’ve seen this kind of liking before. Guess what happened last time? Felicity left us and now she lives forever with Mr. Stratton. (When she got married, nobody said it was permanent) So that’s the problem—I want Grace to be happy, but I don’t want her to leave like Felicity did.

What if all my sisters do that? I would be all alone! I would still have Mrs. Right, Mrs. Wendover, and my papa, and Thomas is my friend too. I’m not sure about Nelson, I think Serenity would take him away with her.

“Thomas is one of the footmen,” Lady Margaret added for clarity.

It is so hard to have Felicity gone. We have so much fun all together. Verity tells tales and Winsome says they’re not true, and Grace falls over something, and Papa says we all have to get out of the house and we laugh at him, and Serenity cries over the weather and Patience tells her it’s only a sunset, and Felicity always led us all as she is the oldest—am I expected to give up all my sisters because of gentlemen? I am glad I don’t have brothers!

I really feel you will have a good answer about what we should do. Your truest faithful friend, Valor Nicolet.

Lady Margaret laid down the letter. “She also drew a picture of Mrs. Wendover at the bottom. Goodness, there is quite a lot to take in.”

Yes, indeed there was. Foremost, Lady Grace liked him ever so well. He supposed he’d known it, as he liked her ever so well too. He’d been instantly struck by her and still had a clear vision of seeing her for the first time on that beach. Ever since, whenever they were in the vicinity of one another, they were iron and lodestone—inexorably drawn to one another.

Still, it was one thing to sense something and another thing to hear that it was clearly known to others and it was written about. And then, he’d hardly expected his nose to be singled out. He’d always thought it not a particularly attractive feature as it did have the slightest curve to it.

“What do you suppose she means by Lady Grace falling over something?” Lady Margaret asked. “Was there some sort of amusing accident? Though, at my age, no accident is amusing. By the by, I do appreciate you getting me up to my room last evening—that could have gone very wrong, we all know what happened to one of my footmen that last time he went headlong down the stairs. He’s dead.”

Miles tapped his chin, ignoring any reference to last night. Or the tragic fate of her footman. “The duke said something about Lady Grace having two left feet. When we dined at the inn. I did not think much of it at the time.”

“Oh dear,” Lady Margaret said, “there are those people who come into the world clumsy and never get past it. My sister in Bath, who I do not get on with and who is dead now, was a master at dropping things. If there was a decent china cup in reach, that girl would drop it. She’s dead these days, so I suppose the cups are safe.”

Miles had not the first idea of how to respond to another of Lady Margaret’s macabre reflections. Further, he’d not seen any evidence from Lady Grace of any sort of inordinate clumsiness. Even if he did, would it put him off? He did not think it would. After all, if one were to have a fault, it was about as minor a fault as he could think of.

“Well, I suppose there are worse things,” Lady Margaret said. “But I must not get ahead of myself. Lord Harraby is to collect me at two o’clock and we are to make calls. I will keep you apprised of my opinions regarding the young ladies we encounter. Do not worry, Lord Dashlend—she is out there. Is it Lady Grace? Is it another lady? It’s too soon to tell.”

“There really is no need for that, Lady Margaret,” Miles said, alarmed that she and Lord Harraby were to take their ideas to the streets.

“It is no trouble at all,” Lady Margaret said, as if she were proposing to do him a favor. She rose. “I’d best go upstairs. Meg says she has a new idea for my hair. What’s left of it, anyway. Wainwright, might you send me a tray? And a tray for Gwen too—her feet are swelling up something terrible these days. And a bit of brandy for both of us. Well! At least we are not dead.”

With that, Lady Margaret toddled from the room.

He did not have a good feeling about Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby out on the town looking into his business and trying to arrange his future.

Miles decided there was no point in brewing over it as there did not seem to be a way to stop Lady Margaret from nosing into his business. In any case, he had things to do.

Lady Grace had mentioned that the family would be taking a turn round the park that afternoon and he had some business to attend to before he would set off to coincidentally encounter them.

Miles wondered if Lady Grace knew what Lady Valor had written. Perhaps she even encouraged it? He felt exceedingly buoyed by recent events. During Fact or Fib she had mentioned his gentlemanly bearing. Now his nose was singled out as exceptional too.

He jogged up the stairs and entered his bedchamber, which was comprised of a suite of rooms. There was the main room that overlooked the back garden, then another good-sized chamber acting as a dressing room on one side, and a sitting room of sorts with a desk on the other.

Moreau marched out of the dressing room as soon as he heard Miles come in. “She knows nothing! Nothing at all! Who pays the price for this ignorance? Moreau, who else?”

Miles did not have the first idea who had got into Moreau’s bad books. It could be anybody at all. As far as Moreau was concerned, all the world was ranged against him.

As he did not speculate on who might be his valet’s latest enemy, Moreau continued on. “How is it that a lady’s maid can barely sew a stitch, I wonder? Oh, never mind, it is because she is a kitchen maid, that is how.”

“I presume you refer to Meg,” Miles said. “Lady Margaret seems happy with her.”

This, apparently, was not the looked-for response.

“Lady Margaret is happy with her? Why not? Every time I set foot into the servants’ hall, this Meg individual is right behind me. Moreau, how do I fix this hem? Moreau, how do I remove this spot? Moreau, how do I use the irons? I do not see why Moreau is not the lady’s maid.”

“I suspect Lady Margaret would not prefer it. In any case, Meg is new to the position,” Miles said. “She is bound to have questions.”

“Oh yes, she has questions all day long. She does not harass you with these questions. Only Moreau.”

Miles did not bother to point out that even a very inexperienced lady’s maid would not be so harebrained as to ask the lord of the house how to use the irons.

“As Meg does harass you with questions,” Miles said, “perhaps you might drop some hints she might pass on to her mistress. I’ve been hoping Lady Margaret might…update her style of dress.”

Moreau sniffed. “Oh really? You do not find favor with towering turbans and molting feathers and skirts so voluminous they might serve for a curtsy to the queen?”

“Yes, all of that.”

“Well, guess what? This Meg person does a lot of talking. When she is not pestering me with questions, she talks about other things. And guess what? Lord Harraby thinks Lady Margaret’s style is marvelous. Good luck prying those limp ostrich feathers from her tiny, wrinkled hands!”

Moreau strode off to go and stew in the dressing room. Miles was certain his valet would collapse in apoplexy one day. If that came to pass and he was forced to find a new valet, his primary requirement would be for a fellow a deal more unflappable.

*

Grace was jumping up and down in her bedchamber, as it really did seem to help when she felt a bit dizzy. Valor burst into the room without so much as a knock.

Then she jumped up and down too and said, “What are we doing?”

“Just getting some exercise,” Grace said.

“Oh. I don’t like it.” Valor climbed onto her bed and said, “I am only waiting to hear back from my friend, Lady Margaret.”

“Hear back about what?” Grace said, ceasing her jumping.

“About how you can be happy but not leave the house,” Valor said, as if this were a much-discussed point between them.

Grace thought she might need more information about the idea. “Valor, do expand on this notion, if you will.”

Valor examined the trim on the pelisse that had been laid out on the bed. “Well, you know how it is. You like Lord Dashlend, just like Felicity liked Mr. Stratton and look what happened there.”

“First, I have not said I like Lord Dashlend that much. It is far too soon for that. Second, Felicity married, which was quite right.”

“Felicity does not live here anymore, Grace,” Valor said, as if she were explaining a simple matter to a young child. “That’s the problem. It started out exactly the same with Felicity pretending she didn’t like Mr. Stratton that much, and then she did not like him at all, and then she did and she’s gone.”

“We will all get married eventually,” Grace said. “At least, I hope so.”

“Why?”

“It is what ladies do,” Grace said. “They grow up and marry and leave their houses.”

“I though Papa was joking about that.”

“Well, he is. At least, the way he poses it.”

“I do not like this at all and I’ve told Lady Margaret my views. I think she will agree with me.”

Grace paused. “Valor, what exactly have you told Lady Margaret?”

Valor jumped off the bed. “Sometimes I feel like you are not really listening, Grace. I told her that you liked Lord Dashlend ever so well and how could it be that you stayed in the house anyway. You see? How can you be happy without going anywhere.”

“You said all that?” Grace said, rather horrified that Lady Margaret might repeat any of it to Lord Dashlend.

Valor patted Grace’s hand. “I wrote all that. I’m glad you were really listening this time, well done. I hope that means I won’t have to repeat myself. Now, I have to track down Nelson—I think he’s taken Mrs. Wendover somewhere.”

Valor skipped out of the room. Grace sank down into a chair. They really had better start monitoring Valor’s missives—last season she’d scolded Mr. Stratton terribly, including the wish that he was wrapped in chains and drowned in a lake. Now she was informing Lady Margaret about other people’s feelings!

Grace had planned that they would get to the park at four o’clock, and very sensibly had the idea that they had to start getting ready at two-thirty. A half hour should have been sufficient, though Grace knew it was not realistic, and she had casually mentioned the time they expected to be there to Lord Dashlend. She would not like to miss him on account of her sisters’ failure to leave the house on time.

As it happened, her practicality served her well. Verity could not find her pelisse, Winsome wondered if she was lying about it and then later hid it from her, Grace had her hair done twice by Mrs. Right before she was satisfied with the results, Serenity went back and forth on the idea of whether Nelson should come with them, finally deciding that he should, Patience spent her time going in and out of the house waiting for the carriages to arrive, and, not unexpectedly, Valor lost track of Mrs. Wendover. It took quite some time to locate the stuffed rabbit, as Nelson had become very attached to it and had taken to hiding it in various locations in the house.

As all that activity swirled around him, the duke merely read a book in the drawing room, occasionally laughing over the confusion. He often noted that as the father of seven daughters, he did not ever expect to leave the house in a timely manner. A more foolish person might be crying with frustration by the second time Verity lost track of her pelisse, but the duke would have been surprised if she didn’t.

They finally did set off though, and so many were they, as of course Mrs. Right would come too, they went in two carriages.

Grace was in a carriage with the duke, Patience, and Verity. Mrs. Right supervised the other carriage with Valor, Serenity, Winsome, and Nelson.

“So what’s it to be, Gracie, are we to coincidentally bump into Dashlend?” the duke asked.

“How should I know, Papa?” Grace said, though she knew her father understood the truth of it.

“Running into a gentleman in the park is a very common thing, Papa,” Verity said.

“Is it?” the duke asked, with one brow raised.

Verity shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“If we are to see him,” Patience said, “I do hope it does not take hours to find him. Riding in the carriage is not as interesting as riding round the dales on our ponies, shooting at things.”

“Yes, well, probably best we leave off that for a while,” the duke said. “That rascally neighbor of ours claims his sheep get upset about all the shooting. I don’t know why—none of the creatures have ever been hit.” The duke paused. “They haven’t been, have they?”

“Certainly not,” Patience said. “We would never hurt a sheep. We only shoot in the farmer’s direction, and we always go wide. He and his sheep are in no danger whatsoever.”

“Regardless, he’s got the vicar’s ear about it. He keeps telling the fellow that our Mrs. Right went so far as to tack a cotton wolf’s head near his gate to frighten his flock. I do not know if she did or she didn’t—I only hope she did!”

“She did,” Verity said.

Patience snorted. “It took him ages to find it, but the sheep saw it at once.”

All through the family chatter, Grace kept her eyes open and looking out the window for Lord Dashlend.

“Montclave,” the duke said. “What do you do here?”

“Good afternoon, Your Grace, Lady Grace,” Lord Montclave said. “I am just out exercising my horse. How propitious to encounter you.”

Grace turned her head to find the baron walking alongside her father’s window while Patience and Verity gave him the once over.

“If you say so,” the duke said.

Grace pressed her lips together. Baron Montclave would not be accustomed to her father’s unique way of being in the world. He would not understand that he was teased.

“Baron Montclave,” Grace said, “these are my sisters, Lady Patience and Lady Verity.”

The baron bowed from his saddle. “Lady Patience, Lady Verity, charmed.”

“You’re just a baron, though?” Patience asked. “Do you have any higher prospects?”

The duke roared with laughter. “You see what I put up with, Montclave. That’s our Patience, saying what everybody was thinking. Don’t ask Verity anything, you’ll never get at the truth.”

“Papa!” Verity said, as if somehow surprised by this assessment.

“Ah, oh, I see,” Lord Montclave said, sounding nonplussed by the duke’s comments about his daughters.

Just then, Grace heard the voice she’d been waiting for on her other side. She whipped round and found Lord Dashlend at her window.

“Lady Grace,” he said.

He was looking very fine on his large stallion, his bottle green riding coat with polished silver buttons fitting to perfection.

“Lord Dashlend,” she said.

The lord then seemed to notice his cousin on the other side of the carriage. “Montclave,” he said through the window, “what do you do here?”

“Exercising my horse,” Lord Montclave said with a note of irritation. “What do you do here?”

“Lady Grace informed me she would be in the park at this hour,” Lord Dashlend said, “so I made my way here forthwith.”

“He’s got you there, eh, Montclave?” the duke said, laughing. “You claim a happenstance and he says there was no luck or coincidence involved for himself!”

“I believe encountering another person in the park is a very common thing,” Verity said.

Lord Montclave looked about him at the endless array of carriages and people on horseback. Grace was certain he was thinking that it would indeed be a very common thing, as half of London was there.

“Lord Dashlend,” Grace said, “How does Lady Margaret do after her exertions of last evening?”

“Uh, she does very well. Surprisingly.”

“Exertions?” the duke said, laughing. “Is that what we’re calling that ludicrous display? Well, Montclave, you would have missed it—patronesses are a persnickety bunch. Very careful of who they let in.”

Grace could see Lord Montclave redden to have it pointed to that he would not be in receipt of a voucher.

“In fact, Lady Grace,” Lord Dashlend said, “Lady Margaret was just asking about you this morning.”

Grace could see very well that Lord Dashlend was somehow embarrassed that Lady Margaret was mentioned. She wondered if the lady had communicated anything that Valor had written in her letter. Grace certainly hoped not, as she would be entirely embarrassed herself.

“I wonder, Lady Grace, if you plan on attending Lady Montague’s ball on the morrow?”

“Indeed, we have engaged ourselves,” Grace said.

“Perhaps I might linger in the foyer,” Lord Dashlend said. “When you arrive, I could escort you to get your dance card.”

“That would be very acceptable, Lord Dashlend,” Grace said, feeling a little bit idiotic in her answer. Nevertheless, perhaps there was something non-committal and sophisticated about it? Probably not though. She probably just sounded like an idiot.

On the other hand, she could not very well say what she really thought. It would be even more idiotic if she claimed she was wildly approving of the idea, which she was.

From across the carriage, Lord Montclave called. “I will linger in the foyer as well.”

The duke roared with laughter. “Well, Gracie, Lady Montague’s foyer will be like shark infested waters. How many gentlemen will be circling, waiting for your arrival?”

Grace was pleased to see that Lord Dashlend did not look very approving of the idea of Lord Montclave haunting the foyer too. If she were to be honest, she did not have strong feelings one way or the other. She did not like Lord Montclave, but she did not hold anything positively against him either. In any case, she would dance with more gentlemen than only Lord Dashlend, and so she supposed that Lord Montclave on her card was of no significance either way.

“Wonderful,” Patience said. “Everyone will be wandering around the foyer. When does anything actually happen though?”

“We will proceed to the ballroom,” Lord Montclave said. “And then in not too long a time the dancing will begin.”

“I know that part,” Patience said. “What I mean is, when will something exciting happen? Last year, Mr. Stratton was almost killed by a tiger. Felicity says his scars are wonderful, though we haven’t seen them.”

“They’re under his clothes,” Verity clarified.

“The point is, it was very exciting. When can we expect something like that?” Patience asked.

Lord Montclave clearly did not know how to answer that question.

“Lady Patience,” Lord Dashlend said, “I am sorry to tell you that I have no expectation of any of us running into a tiger or anything like it at Lady Montague’s ball. The best we could hope for is the lady’s bad-tempered Pomeranian will make a run at an unsuspecting guest’s ankles.”

Patience looked a bit let down to hear it.

“We’ve brought Nelson along today,” Verity said. “He’s in our other carriage. He does not make a run at anybody’s ankles, he is a very charming dog and we all love him excessively.”

The duke laughed. “Good luck to Nelson trying to make a run at anyone, what with just the three legs and one blind eye.”

“That is the very basis of his charm, Papa.” Patience said.

“Yes, I suppose so, my girl. Well, I think you two gentlemen have spent long enough following our carriage. I would not like any sort of talk to go around until there is something definite to talk about.”

The duke stared determinedly at Lord Dashlend as he said it. Grace wanted to sink through her seat at the bold hint. Lord Dashlend, for his part, only smiled, while Lord Montclave looked very disgruntled.

Nevertheless, the two gentlemen had been dismissed. They both bowed from their saddles and set off in different directions, seeming to have no inclination for a family reunion.