Page 17 of Lady Graceless (A Series of Senseless Complications #2)

G race had spent the rest of the prior day working very hard to keep her head up. She had attempted to sleep for an hour or so, but it had not happened, and so she had risen and rejoined the family.

She thought that was surely what she must do. She must not moon around and worry everyone just because all her hopes and dreams were crushed. She was a duke’s daughter; she could not allow any feelings of despair to inconvenience anybody.

She was also determined to keep any lightheadedness or dizziness under wraps. It was always the case that a circumstance that was upsetting put her off her feet a bit.

As might be expected, her sisters went to great lengths to cheer her. Valor explained that she’d had a long consultation with Mrs. Wendover, occasionally joined by Nelson, and concluded Lord Dashlend was a terrible person and something bad should happen to him. She declared he would be ashamed to discover her opinion.

Grace had scolded her and ordered that she was not to write any letters about it. Valor had refused to meet her eye and then pretended she heard Mrs. Right calling for her. She ran from the room and so Grace was afraid she already had written down her sentiments.

Patience and Serenity, who so rarely joined together as the twins they were, brought her some of the last miniature apple cakes, which Patience had been hiding in her room.

Winsome attempted to convince Grace that she’d been suspicious of Lord Dashlend from the first, which might have been true, as Winsome was suspicious of everybody.

Verity explained that florists making mistakes was a very usual circumstance. At least, she had heard it said.

Mrs. Right sat by Grace, patted her hand, and hoped that Lord Dashlend would pay dearly for his perfidy.

Even Felicity arrived, and Grace had no doubt she’d been sent for. Felicity needed no explanation of what had happened and came fully prepared to support her sister. She was mightily perplexed, as she had been certain a match was in the offing.

Grace’s father, of all of them, seemed more grim than was his usual mien. All he would say was that he’d sent Dashlend a message. A clear message of his contempt.

Of all that she was told, that might be the most worrying. However, the duke could not be pressed into revealing what he’d done. All he would say was that a gentleman so foolish as to not assure himself that the flowers he sent were going to the right address ought to be called to task over it.

There had been some question over whether she would attend Lady Montague’s ball. Valor suggested they could stay cozy together and play Fact or Fib. Serenity wept over the idea of Grace dancing as if all was well when it was not—how could she bear it? Patience was of two minds—she presumed Grace did not wish to go and so should stay at home. On the other hand, if she did go she might stumble upon an opportunity to hit Lord Dashlend over the head, which would be gratifying to everybody. When Winsome was apprised of the hitting over the head idea, she began leaning toward Grace going after all. Verity, ever willing to provide a counterpoint, mentioned that Lord Dashlend might hit Grace back, as it was established that he was a terrible person, and then where would they be?

Her father’s opinion weighed the heaviest with Grace. He said she ought to go and hold her head high. There were times, he said, when one must just face a thing down.

Grace decided she’d rather not go, but she must go. It was awful enough that she had been informed of the real case of things with Lord Dashlend. He’d no doubt been told by the florist of the mistake that had been made. It would be a thousand times worse if she were to let on that she had been at all affected by it.

Was she to stay at home and allow Lord Dashlend to imagine she was in a puddle of tears over it?

No, she would not do that . She had lost enough, she would not throw her pride into the fire too.

As she was to go, she selected the dress she admired the most to give her courage. It had never been worn, as Felicity had not thought it suited her—it was a frothy confection of pale blue silk with a netting overlay in the same shade. The netting was embellished with hundreds of the tiniest crystals that would shimmer in the candlelight.

She would do her best to go to the ball and be cheerful. She would look about her more than she had done so far. She’d shot her arrow too high and now she must lower her bow and aim for the more realistic prospects of the single gentlemen in Town.

Perhaps her own marriage would not be the sort of love match that Felicity had found, but then not all were. Certainly, she could be happy, or at least content, with a genial gentleman who was not as high a flyer as Lord Dashlend.

Grace sighed as she wiled away the afternoon pretending to read a book. She would be realistic and practical, though it would not be as thrilling as her recent experience of being unrealistic and impractical.

*

Miles entered his house with trepidation after being apprised of the note, the awful flowers, and the valets turning up for interviews.

The front hall was a jungle of unwanted vegetation. His first order of business was to direct it to be removed.

Then he’d gone to the drawing room and informed the hopeful fellow being looked over by Lady Margaret that there had been an unfortunate mix-up. He directed the footmen to bar the entrance to anybody else turning up.

Lady Margaret had been surprised that her services were not needed, but happily jumped to the next thing of interest. She would attend Lady Montague’s ball, escorted by Lord Harraby. Amidst broad hints that she was expecting to be apprised of welcome news this night, Miles left her with a tea tray.

He jogged up the stairs to his bedchamber and found the door locked.

Miles banged on it. “Open up the door, Moreau.”

From the other side, Moreau answered back. “Ah, he still gives Moreau orders though Moreau is to be replaced. Moreau is to be thrown to the road like a stray dog. Moreau—the greatest valet living! The infamy! Perhaps Lord Dashlend might employ the duke’s ridiculous valet and have always access to his oldest set of clothes.”

Miles was not so certain Moreau was the greatest valet living, but he was competent enough. As for why he would suppose Miles to be interested in the duke’s valet’s oldest set of clothes, that must remain a mystery. “There has been some sort of mistake. I did not advertise for a valet.”

“Moreau saw it with his own eyes!”

“And yet, I did not. I do not know who did, but certainly it was meant to cause me an inconvenience.”

This prompted rather hysterical laughter from Moreau. “Now Moreau sees it all! His fate, whatever it is meant to be, is only an inconvenience to the great Lord Dashlend. Moreau is a fly, a speck of dust, a nothing!”

Miles sighed. “Moreau, open this door at once or I will break it down and then I really will dismiss you. I do not have time for your histrionics—I have an important ball to attend this evening.”

Moreau did not answer, but Miles heard his pacing back and forth. What was he doing in there?

Finally, the door cracked open and Moreau peered his head out. “Moreau wonders, if this really is all a mistake, what a lord might think of…certain actions that were taken.”

“What have you done?”

The door opened wider and Moreau shrugged. Moreau’s shrugs never indicated good news. Miles pushed his way in.

What assaulted his eyes when he did so was astonishing. Every item of clothing he owned was strewn about the room. Coats were inside out, shirts were crumpled, boots smeared with shaving powder, hats smashed in, gloves in the soot of the hearth, there was even a pair of breeches hanging from the gilded frame of a portrait on the wall. The room looked as if it had been attacked by a wild animal.

“Moreau has been made upset by recent events,” his valet said, looking round as if he were seeing it for the first time.

“ I have been made upset by these recent events,” Miles said, his eyes scanning the room.

“Oh this?” Moreau said, following his gaze. “This is nothing. A bit of disorder. Due to upset. Moreau feels more calm now.”

“How wonderful for Moreau,” Miles said drily. “Get this room back in order and I had better have a perfect set of clothes for this evening. I do not care what lengths you have to go to accomplish it.”

Miles turned on his heel. He would go to the quiet of his library and contemplate this bizarre homecoming. Somebody, aside from his valet, was enraged with him. The only person he was certain wished him ill was Montclave, but none of this was the sort of thing Montclave would get up to.

What was he missing? Who had he offended?

As he reached the door, he heard Moreau mutter, “What is one expected to do when one hears one is being replaced? Moreau acted quite reasonable.”

Miles bit his tongue, lest he point out that Moreau and reasonable were not very well acquainted.

*

“Chin up, Gracie,” the duke said as the carriage rattled along the darkened streets.

Grace smiled at her father in his seat across the carriage. “Papa, I am quite chin up. I have thought deeply regarding this situation and I have begun to understand that I was only being unrealistic. I was shooting too high. Now, I will proceed with good sense tucked in my reticule and I am certain I shall make a match with some acceptable gentleman.”

“What on earth are you going on about? You are a Nicolet—there is no ‘too high’ for us to shoot for. No, that is not where we are. Dashlend has proved himself too low and you must turn your aim higher.”

Her father really was a darling, though she was not quite convinced of his view on things. Who could be higher than Lord Dashlend?

“Now, what is our plan?” the duke asked. “Dashlend swore he’d be haunting the front hall for our arrival. If he sticks to it, how do we treat him? I’m inclined to throw a vase of flowers at his head and let Lady Montague say what she likes about it. I know your sisters would be all for it and Mrs. Right would happily do it herself, but I’ll allow you to set the tone.”

Grace fussed with the netting on her skirt. “The tone, Papa, is neutral. I am entirely unaffected. Did I see that roses were misdelivered when they should have gone to Lady Lavender? Oh yes, now that you mention it, Lord Dashlend, I believe one of the footmen handled it. Goodness, I hadn’t thought of it until you asked.”

The duke nodded approvingly. “Yes, yes, that will do very well. I might have thought of the attitude myself if I weren’t so busy imagining cracking a vase over his head. If he thinks he has affected you, indifference will sting that puffed up rogue all the more. Here we are. Let us go in and show these nobodies how it’s done.”

And so they did proceed in. Lady Montague was an imposing woman, the sort who’d been long in society, knew everybody, and was so established that she did not worry over anybody’s opinion. She’d seemed well acquainted with the duke and jokingly told him he’d find no tigers inside.

Of course, they all knew what she meant. Lady Albright had not hosted her annual rout this year, on account of her tiger getting loose last year and putting the duke, Mr. Stratton, and Felicity in grave danger.

“Deuced odd, that woman,” the duke said, in a summation of Lady Albright.

Lady Montague had nodded in sympathy.

They proceeded into the great hall. Though only a day ago Grace would have dearly wished that Lord Dashlend would be found waiting for her, now she just as dearly hoped he would be nowhere to be seen.

Aside from masking her grave disappointment, it was all so awkward. He would know his flowers had been misdelivered. What would he say about it?

She had told her father she planned a neutral attitude and she was determined to stick to it. However, it would be very hard.

But there he was and approaching fast.

As he always seemed to be, he was positively dashing. Dashing Dashlend—how that was not his nickname she did not know. His clothes were perfection, his features divine, and his very perfect Roman nose. None of that was for her though. It was all for Lady Lavender.

She felt the familiar rush of lightheadedness, though she had jumped around her bedchamber for nearly an hour before getting dressed. She took in a breath and held her head very still to steady herself.

“Your Grace. Lady Grace,” he said, with an elegant bow.

“Dashlend,” the duke said flatly.

“If I might have the honor of showing you to the cloakroom?”

The duke shrugged. “Any footman could do it, I suppose.”

Not surprisingly, Lord Dashlend seemed a bit thrown on the back foot from that comment. He recovered himself and said, “Excellent, just this way.”

The duke squeezed Grace’s hand as Lord Dashlend led them forward. Her father took her cloak and Lord Dashlend secured her card. Before handing it over, he said, “Might I put my name down?”

Grace had been expecting it. After all, as the daisies had spelled out, she was a new friend.

She nodded. “Of course, Lord Dashlend.”

Though she pretended at disinterest, she did steal a glance at where he put himself down.

She assumed he’d go for somewhere in the middle, but he did not. He put himself down for the last. He would take her into supper.

Why? Did Lady Lavender not attend this evening? Surely that must be the case. As he could not spend extended time with the lady who’d been sent roses, he contented himself with a new friend.

Or even more likely, he wished some time to apologize for the flowers being misdelivered.

It was not very fair that he do it, though. It would put a burden on Grace to carry on with her appearance of neutrality and disinterest. As well, she was meant to be looking further afield, and it would have been sensible for her to dine with a gentleman as yet unknown to her.

He handed her card to her, and just then another familiar voice was heard.

She turned to find Lord Montclave.

“Your Grace, Lady Grace,” Lord Montclave said, “I see my cousin has beat me to the punch.” He glanced at her card. “May I, Lady Grace?”

Grace nodded. Lord Montclave wrote himself down for the first. For some reason, he spent just a bit too long a time staring at her card. There was not much to see, as he was only the second gentleman on it. Then, he seemed to collect himself. He smiled and handed it back.

They stood there awkwardly for a moment as her father stared off into the distance. He gave off the impression that he found the company of these two gentlemen just the smallest bit tedious.

Fortunately, Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby appeared to break the uncomfortable silence.

Amidst the greetings, Grace looked with wonder at Lady Margaret’s attire. Each time Grace saw the lady, her skirts seemed just the littlest bit wider. This evening, she wore a silver satin gown embellished with strings of seed pearls draped in rows. There was so much fabric to the skirt that it fell into wide folds. The ostrich feathers in her hair were as they had been from the first—a bit thinning but very tall.

“Lady Margaret,” the duke said, “you take me back to a simpler time.”

Lord Harraby said, “That is just what I think, Your Grace. Remember how it was, when we were all young and full of bounce?”

“Now,” Lady Margaret said to Lord Harraby and the duke, “do not attempt to convince me, either of you, that you have lost your bounce.”

“If I have not,” Lord Harraby said gallantly, “the charge of it must be laid at Lady Margaret’s door. Our current interests have been invigorating.”

Lady Margaret laughed. “Oh yes, our current interests. There is nothing so good as to see two worthy young people happily settled.”

Grace was not at all certain what they referred to. Was Lady Margaret a staunch supporter of a match between Lord Dashlend and Lady Lavender? Why did Lord Montclave appear so stricken over it?

Lord Dashlend appeared rather stricken himself, but then she could well guess the cause. The gentleman had not yet had time to apologize for the misdirected flowers. He would not like anything close to the subject mentioned.

“Well now,” the duke said, “I will escort my daughter into the ballroom.”

It was said very abruptly, and Grace understood her father had reason to pull her away. She curtsied and took his arm.

Once they were away, the duke said, “I do not like what I just heard. Lady Margaret seems to hint that Montclave means to declare himself.”

Grace wrinkled her brow. That had not been her guess at all.

“If she were talking about Dashlend and Lady Lavender,” the duke went on, “I do not believe she would have said it in our hearing. We’ve no connection to that business.”

That might well be true. She had not thought of it that way.

“Grace, under no circumstance accept that fellow.”

“I have no intention of it, Papa,” Grace said, finding the idea faintly repugnant.

The duke nodded. “Excellent. I only warn you off as you would not be the first lady to rashly accept someone after receiving a disappointment, and then lived to regret it. The moment can be satisfying, but the years are long.”

“You are always full of good sense, Papa.”

“Am I? Well, let us see if you can convince my sister of that fact. She sails toward us like a sloop on the downwind.”

Indeed, Lady Marchfield was headed right for them. Grace had not seen her since Mr. Button had been removed from the house. They had exchanged several letters and Grace remained on good terms with the lady. Her father, however, remained on the same terms with his sister as always, which were never good.

“It is the talk everywhere, Roland. I heard it from my lady’s maid, who heard it from several servants of different houses. I hope you are satisfied with yourself.”

Grace had not the first idea what she referred to. The duke said, “I am generally satisfied with myself, as I do not factor your opinion into the equation. What this latest bee in your bonnet is, I do not know or care.”

“You most certainly do know. It is said that cartfuls of hateful flowers and plants were delivered to Lord Dashlend—Columbine, Marigolds, Thistle, Rhododendron, and I do not know what else. All hateful. Do you deny it?”

“I deny there were cartfuls,” the duke said. “There was one cart, but then people do exaggerate. Very eccentric of them, I always think.”

Grace’s eyes widened just a bit. From her father’s prior hints, she knew he’d done something. She’d presumed it had come to nothing since he’d not said anything further about it.

“And then, going so far as to meddle with the staff! Why should you make the poor valet believe he was being dismissed?”

The duke laughed. “ That , I know nothing about. It sounds like the sort of thing Mrs. Right might manage, though.”

“That ridiculous housekeeper!” Lady Marchfield said. “I suppose she sent the threatening note too? She accuses Lord Dashlend of being a terrible person and wishes he comes to a bad end? How dare that woman send such a note to a person above her station?”

“Oh, Aunt, that might have been Valor,” Grace said, entirely convinced that it had been. She’d told Valor not to write a letter and her sister had an instant look of guilt and run from the room. As well, Valor had wished Mr. Stratton to come to a bad end too. It seemed to be becoming a habit.

“Valor?” Lady Marchfield said, looking aghast. “Roland, you go so far as to allow your youngest daughter to fire off letters wherever and to whomever she pleases?”

“How should I know what she gets up to?” the duke said.

“That is the point. You ought to know. So far, nobody seems to know you are at the bottom of all this, though I guessed it quick enough. I do not understand what you have been about. Lord Dashlend is a respectable man and has seemed to express an interest in Grace. Why on earth would you ruin it for her?”

Of course, her aunt could not know there was nothing to ruin.

The duke’s visage darkened. “Look here, Lady Misery, I have told you time and again to stop your attempts to meddle with me and mine. Be off now and take that sour face with you.”

Lady Marchfield, seeming to understand she would get nowhere with her brother, let out a disgusted sigh. “Have a care, Grace, that your lunatic father does not steer you to disaster.”

She turned on her heel and marched off.

The duke quietly laughed. “Valor sent him one of her condemning notes. Unsigned, it sounds like. I should have known Mrs. Right would get up to something original—that valet of Dashlend’s has the constitution of a newborn chick.”

“I do hope, though,” Grace said, “none of this is connected to us, Papa. It does not particularly support my attitude of neutrality and indifference.”

“No,” the duke said thoughtfully, “I suppose it does not. Not to worry, Lady Misery won’t put it about. She won’t like it to reflect on the family, as that reflects on her.”

“I believe you are right about that.”

“Pay no mind to her, Gracie. She does not know what has gone on.”

Grace nodded. There was the real truth of it—Lady Marchfield did not know where things stood. If she did, she would not wonder that her family had rallied round and exacted revenge. She would still disapprove, but she would not wonder.

Though Grace did not wish Lord Dashlend to know where the troubles that had beset him had originated, she could not help but to be touched that her father, Mrs. Right, and Valor had each taken steps to avenge her feelings.

No matter what happened, they would all support one another.