Page 21 of Lady Graceless (A Series of Senseless Complications #2)

G race and her sisters had spent the entire day before in the drawing room, glancing up at the ceiling. Unlike that day, which had been filled with the silence of a sickroom, today they heard things. Lord Dashlend’s valet had come and apparently he was either a heavy walker, or in the habit of moving furniture.

Her father had informed them that a special chair was to be brought in by the physician today to allow Lord Dashlend some amount of time downstairs. She supposed the valet was preparing Lord Dashlend to be presentable.

What would he say when he arrived in his chair? He must be so aggravated with her.

She had hoped she might mitigate his ire. She had forced herself to write to Lady Lavender, informing the lady that Lord Dashlend was currently recovering in the duke’s house and, most importantly, he was not paralyzed. She explained that the lord was to be brought to the drawing room this very afternoon and they would all be pleased to see Lady Lavender at that time.

Grace had presumed the lady would be delighted, but she had received a note back that did not indicate delight at all.

She unfolded it and read it again.

Dear Lady Grace—

It was very kind to alert me to Lord Dashlend’s current location and condition. Though, I find I must inquire as to why? I am certain Lord Dashlend requires being surrounded by his closest friends and relations during this difficult time, and so will respectfully decline your offer of a visit. I do look forward to seeing you at future society events.

Lavender Westcott

It was really very outrageous. Was the lady so lacking in fortitude that she would not countenance a gentleman who suffered from broken ribs and a sprained ankle? Grace, herself, would be prepared to face it if the lord was paralyzed—what were broken ribs to that?

Worse, what was she to say to Lord Dashlend about it? He was already injured physically, must she injure his heart too? Might it not cause a setback of some sort?

“I’m glad she’s not coming,” Winsome said, noting Grace had read the letter once more. “I do not see how we would have managed to be civil.”

“Nelson would not have liked her,” Valor said. “That’s what Mrs. Wendover says.”

“Do not worry too much, Grace,” Serenity said. “I went and spoke to Cook about the tea tray and he is to make his special miniature apple cakes. You see? Lord Dashlend will be distracted by them and not notice that Lady Lavender has thrown him over.”

Grace was not at all sure that apple cakes would distract a gentleman from the loss of the lady he preferred. She was not at all sure about anything anymore, including her own sense. She’d taken great care in selecting what she would wear and had fussed with her hair for a half hour—what did she mean by it?

Just then, the duke came into the drawing room. “Here they all are, awaiting the descent of our patient. Well, I suppose we must be gracious, what with saving Grace from the fire.”

“Of course we will be gracious, Papa,” Grace said. “We will bring all of our dignity to bear.”

The duke laughed. “We’re to be dignified now, are we? I hadn’t known.”

“I hadn’t known either, Papa,” Valor said. “Is it a lot of work?”

“It is, rather,” the duke said, laughing.

They heard the distant knock on the front doors. The room fell to silence. It would be the physician arriving with the chair. Lord Dashlend would be before them in a matter of minutes.

Thomas opened the drawing room doors. “Lady Marchfield, Your Grace. I’m sorry! I assumed it was the doctor… and then it was too late.”

“Do not feel bad, Thomas,” Valor said. “Charlie hasn’t managed to keep out our aunt either and he has more experience.”

The lady in question pushed past Thomas. “I heard most of that. I would bother to remind you, Roland, that you are raising these girls with little manners, but it would accomplish little.”

“And yet, you managed to say it all the same,” the duke said.

“I have come to inquire what you are doing regarding the care of Lord Dashlend. If it is your usual slapdash sort of operation, I have come to manage things. You certainly cannot leave it to that housekeeper of yours.”

“As usual, madam, you poke your nose where it is not wanted,” the duke said.

Valor laughed hysterically and said, “Papa says you are a polecat going into the wrong henhouse. Or something like that. It was very funny.”

Lady Marchfield ignored these various insults. “I will not leave this house until I am assured of his care.”

“Aunt,” Grace said, “Papa’s physician has been here and cared for Lord Dashlend. He is even returning with a special chair so the lord might come to the drawing room for a limited amount of time.”

“A chair… but I was led to believe… so he has regained consciousness?”

“He was never unconscious,” Grace said. “We do not know where that gossip came from.”

Thomas opened the door again. Grace had hoped it was a tea tray, as that might distract Lady Marchfield. However, it was not.

“Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby,” Thomas said, rather white-faced. “She let herself in,” he whispered.

“She is my particular friend, Thomas,” Valor said. “I would give her a key if I had one.”

Lady Margaret waddled into the room in her oversized skirts with Lord Harraby trailing behind her.

“We’ve come to see the patient,” Lady Margaret said. “He told me yesterday that he would be coming down.”

“Where Lady Margaret leads, I dutifully follow,” Lord Harraby said.

Lady Margaret playfully tapped Lord Harraby’s arm with her fan. Then she took that moment to train her eyes on Lady Marchfield. “Lady Marchfield, is it? We encountered one another briefly at the duke’s dinner. Before you made off with the butler. This is Lord Harraby.”

Lady Marchfield gave Lady Margaret a cold stare. “Lord Harraby and I are acquainted.”

“Oh yes, indeed, long time now,” Lord Harraby said, not looking particularly enthused over knowing Lady Marchfield for a long time.

Grace would be happy to see any of these people, but she really did not see why they all needed to be here just at this minute. She was hoping for some moment in private with Lord Dashlend, so she might apologize.

Then, yet another person appeared at the door. It was Mr. Moreau, Lord Dashlend’s valet.

“Your Grace,” Mr. Moreau said, “Lord Dashlend requests your presence above stairs, if you will.”

“He hasn’t gone south, has he?” the duke asked.

Mr. Moreau appeared mystified by the question. “No, Your Grace, he is still upstairs.”

“Right,” the duke said. “I’d better go and see for myself.”

“Yes, Your Grace,” Mr. Moreau said. “That is what he asked.”

“Are you French?” Valor asked.

Mr. Moreau bowed. “Oui, Mademoiselle.”

“That’s why he doesn’t understand you, Papa. Speak loudly and slowly,” Valor advised.

The duke chucked her chin and headed out of the room. Mr. Moreau hurried after him, no doubt relieved he’d accomplished the task he’d been given and not entirely certain how he’d done so.

What was happening up there? Why did Lord Dashlend require the duke? Had something gone wrong? Or perhaps he had regained his strength and wished to express his feelings over being pulled off the side of a house by the duke’s clumsy daughter? Perhaps he wished to send for Lady Lavender, and then have to be told she would not come.

There was something rather fraught in not knowing which way the wind was blowing. She had wondered sometimes, during Felicity’s season, why her sister so often appeared nervous. Now she understood. It felt as if her blood contained bubbles that were pinging round her body. She grasped the arm of her chair to steady herself.

*

Miles watched the door crash open and Moreau run through it. “I have brought him, my lord.”

The duke was on his heels and they were both out of breath. Did they run up the stairs?

“Yes, he has brought me,” the duke said, “or rather, raced me up the stairs. I could not get ahead of him.”

Moreau nodded, as if beating the duke up the stairs had been part of Miles’ directions to him.

“Your Grace,” Miles said, “thank you for attending me, and for your hospitality and the services of your physician as well. Moreau, step out and close the door behind you.”

Moreau appeared shocked to his shoes to be sent out. He sniffed, he huffed, he rolled his eyes, he swatted at invisible dust on his coat. Finally, he went.

After the door closed, the duke said, “He’s a rather hysterical fellow.”

This prompted a very loud stomp from the corridor. Miles only nodded so as not to cause another outburst from his irascible valet.

“Your Grace, considering my current condition, it is probably not the ideal time to broach the subject of nuptials—”

The duke held up a hand. “Listen here, Dashlend, you’re free to do what you want with your life, but I will not have my Grace faced with congratulating you and Lady Lavender in her own house. No, I will not have that.”

“Lady Lavender? What does she have to do with it?”

The duke snorted. “Don’t tell me, you have a third lady on the hook? How many bouquets do you send out a week, anyway?”

Miles was well aware that the duke was eccentric, but now he began to fear the man was downright mad. What was this gibberish about Lady Lavender and bouquets of flowers?

“Your Grace, my intentions have not strayed away from Lady Grace since the moment I met her on the beach. My feelings have grown day by day since that fateful encounter. Now, as to flowers, I admit I have been remiss in not sending any. It was really very stupid of me, but I am not in the habit of courting. However, I have not sent any flowers to Lady Lavender or any other lady either. I do not understand how you came to labor under that misapprehension.”

“Misapprehension? I see, so the florist was not forthcoming in admitting their mistake and you don’t know the whole of it. Well, let me tell you, Dashlend, your secret is out—two bouquets of flowers arrived here, daisies for Grace and roses for Lady Lavender. We promptly sent back the roses so they could be delivered to their correct destination.”

“I sent no daisies or roses to anybody,” Miles said.

“Who else would have sent them and signed your name to them? Come now, as a gentleman, have the good grace to acknowledge being caught out.”

As soon as the question as to who might have signed was posed, the answer presented itself. “The only person I can think of who would have reason to stir trouble between Lady Grace and myself is Lord Montclave. If I die early, he becomes the heir to the earldom, and if I do not produce an issue, his son will eventually inherit. He’s done some other things recently that make me think he is actively attempting to prevent me from continuing the line through a wedding and the ensuing children.”

The duke narrowed his eyes and stared at him, seeming to consider this idea.

“Hmm. Montclave. I never liked that fellow. I am usually a good judge of character. I was all for you until the flowers arrived. Then I was forced to send you some flowers of my own.”

“That was you?” Miles asked.

“Yes,” the duke said laughing. “A whole cartful. Things like that soothe me when I find me and mine have been put out.”

That mystery was now solved. He supposed he should have guessed that only the duke would go in for such a wild gambit, even if Miles had not known the cause. He presumed the duke had not just constrained himself to flowers either.

“And the note?”

“What note?” the duke asked.

“The one that said I was a terrible person and the author hoped terrible things happened to me.”

The duke laughed heartily, though Miles could not see the humor in it. “Valor,” he said. “She’s seemed to have got very free with her missives.”

“What about the advertisement in the newspaper for a new valet?” he asked.

They heard a thump on the door, as clearly the current valet was pressed against it and listening hard.

“Me? No? That’ll be the sort of thing Mrs. Right gets up to. She’s very devoted to my girls, you understand.”

“Exceedingly so, it seems,” Miles said softly. This flower business had caused what he’d sensed at the ball. Lady Grace and the duke had seemed a bit put off by him. They thought he was in love with Lady Lavender. They thought he must have been stringing Lady Grace along for his own amusement.

As if he would harm a hair on her head!

“Your Grace, I assure you that I did not send those flowers. I asked that you attend me so that I might ask for your permission to propose to your daughter.”

Just then, there was the sound of a struggle outside the door. It crashed open and the physician stumbled into the room.

“Lord Dashlend! Call off your ridiculous valet!”

The ridiculous valet himself staggered in, his clothes very much askew. “I was only trying to hold him back to give you time, Lord Dashlend.”

“By assaulting the doctor?” Miles asked.

Moreau shrugged.

“I think we’re done here,” the duke said to Miles.

“Your Grace, I beg you to reconsider,” Miles said. He would kill Montclave if that rogue had ruined his chances by sending bouquets of flowers.

“Reconsider?” the duke asked, laughing. “I’d rather thought you’d want to get on with the thing.”

“Get on with it? Yes, I would like to get on with it,” Miles said, very much relieved that he’d misunderstood.

“I do not know what I missed,” the doctor said, “and I will not inquire. Lord Dashlend, I’ll give you a going over to ensure you are fit and, assuming that is the case, you may be carried down the stairs in the chair I’ve brought with me. It is in the corridor, and it would be in here already if I did not have to fight your valet to get in myself.”

Moreau shrugged as if he did not know how it happened.

“I’ll send Charlie and Thomas up—they’re both strapping lads and should get you down without dropping you,” the duke said.

Miles nodded his thanks, though he had not considered the idea of anybody dropping him down the stairs.

After the duke departed, Miles said, “Perhaps it would be more practical to just hop down the stairs on my good foot?”

The physician frowned. “No,” he said flatly. He then proceeded to examine the ankle on his bad foot and seemed satisfied that it was still sprained.

There did not seem to be any room for a debate on it, so Miles decided not to argue.

The footmen came bounding into the room, seeming filled with enthusiasm to carry a gentleman in a chair down the stairs. The most senior, Charlie, bowed and said, “My lord, we have been directed by the duke to get you into that chair in the corridor and carry you down the stairs in all haste.”

“But without dropping you,” the junior footman said. Miles recalled his name was Thomas, as Lady Valor was often in the habit of congratulating him when he accomplished one of his duties successfully.

“As Thomas said, without dropping you,” Charlie confirmed.

“It has wheels,” Thomas said, “so when we get you down without dropping you, it’s a walk in the park to wheel you into the drawing room.”

Miles decided to ignore the many assurances about not dropping him and just hope for the best. Moreau hurried over to him and made last minute adjustments to his neckcloth.

The physician had him stand, which he did on one foot, and then felt around his bandaged ribs, poking here and there to assure himself that they still hurt. Which they did.

He was helped to the chair and there began his alarming trip down the stairs.

Despite assurances that he would not be dropped, the two footmen had not seemed to have devised any particular strategy to avoid it. They argued back and forth as the chair tipped to one side then the other on its perilous journey. It seemed the wheels kept catching on the rises and throwing them off balance.

Miles held on to the armrests as the two young men blamed one another for the tipping. Somehow, they managed to get him down to the great hall.

They set him down as Charlie said, “There we go, my lord. Right as rain.”

Miles glanced up to the top of the stairs as the physician frowned from the landing and Moreau’s knuckles were white as he clutched the balustrade. Neither of them seemed to think the operation went right as rain. However, it was accomplished.

Just then there was a sharp rap on the door. Charlie and Thomas looked at each other. “You answer it, Thomas,” Charlie said. “As the senior footman, it must be myself that wheels the lord forward.”

Thomas, as junior footmen were wont to do, communicated his sullenness over it by way of facial expressions. Then he jogged round the corner to the foyer. Charlie got behind him to push him to the drawing room. As those doors were currently closed, the footman paused, seeming to realize he’d need Thomas to open them.

From the foyer, Miles heard a distinct and unwelcome voice. Montclave.

“I repeat, I am Lord Dashlend’s most senior relation in Town. I insist on seeing him and taking over his care.”

In a moment, Montclave was in the hall, having pushed poor Thomas to the side.

The baron stopped in his tracks. “You. You were said to be comatose.”

“Well, I am not,” Miles asked. He really wondered what Montclave’s plan had been. He arrived thinking he would find Miles unconscious and demanded to take over his care? What then? A pillow over his face when nobody was looking?

“I see, yes, there you are, awake, very good news. Further good news—I have arrived. As family. Now, I insist you be moved to your own house, where you will be more comfortable. I will take care of everything. No detail will be too small!”

“You will do no such thing,” Miles said. “My staff has been informed that you are not to set foot in the house, nor is Lady Margaret to be thrown out of it. Furthermore, I am certain you sent certain arrangements of flowers to this address.”

“What? Flowers?” Montclave said, pointing at himself and then looking over his shoulder as if Miles was accusing somebody else. “Never. What flowers? I do not know what you say.”

The drawing room doors opened and Miles saw a crowd of people in there. What was Lady Marchfield doing there? And Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby, too.

Ah, but there was Lady Grace, looking positively lovely. It enraged him that Montclave would have caused her any distress. He had sent his signals of interest clearly enough and she had reciprocated. For her to think it was all just a game… he wanted to strangle his cousin.

The duke strode out and stared at Montclave. “What do you do here?” he asked.

“Your Grace, I was concerned for my relation. I can see, just from speaking to him for a few moments, that he is not steady in his mind. His thoughts are confused. These things are all too common after a fall. I must take him home and hire specialized care.”

The duke laughed. “Oh I see, take him home and have this specialized care take him right into a grave I imagine. Do not look so shocked, we know all, Montclave. Thought you might become the next earl, did you?”

Though Miles and his father had long known it to be the case, it had never been said aloud. Not to Montclave anyway. The fellow went positively white. At a shrill and ear-piercing pitch, he screamed, “It was not me! You cannot prove it was me!”

Montclave turned and ran from the house. Lady Grace came into the hall. “Papa, what do you accuse Lord Montclave of?”

“The flowers, my dear. Dashlend did not send those two sets of posies, Montclave did. Trying to stir up some trouble.”

“The flowers? Really?” Lady Grace whispered.

“Yes, now you see how it is, Gracie. Charlie, wheel Dashlend to the drawing room. The rest of you but for Grace, out you go. Take yourselves to the dining room and we’ll send in a tea tray and set up a sideboard. Out, out, out—you too, Lady Margaret, out with you.”

Lady Margaret did look affronted at being ordered out, but Lord Harraby said some soothing words in her ear that seemed to mollify her. Lady Marchfield sniffed as she passed by her brother. Lady Grace’s sisters filed out, all looking at Miles suspiciously. Lady Valor whispered to their three-legged dog and he growled at Miles, while wagging his tail at the same time.

Charlie got behind him and wheeled him into the drawing room. Lady Grace had sunk into a sofa and Miles motioned to be taken closer to her.

Then he craned his neck and said to the footman, “Close the doors on your way out.”