Page 4 of Lady Graceless (A Series of Senseless Complications #2)

G race felt she did very well in the innyard. She wished to take a few surreptitious glances at the viscount they’d found shipwrecked on the beach while not being observed.

She’d also very much wished for the duke to invite the viscount to dine, which she’d been looking for an opportunity to suggest before Valor beat her to it.

“Papa,” Valor said, “are we to have a stranger at our dinner? I’m worried about it.”

“Hah, nothing to worry about. Good thought, though.” The duke had turned to the viscount and his valet, who were just emerging from the luggage carriage. “Dashlend, do dine with us—I’ll send over some clothes, at least they’ll be dry. My valet will set you up. And your hysterical man there, too. Two hours to get settled.”

The viscount had expressed his appreciation for the courtesy, though his valet seemed somehow affronted.

It was well that the duke had allotted two hours to get settled, as it had really taken that long. It seemed the duke had written explicitly on how he wished the rooms to be arranged. However, it could not be done exactly as he’d ordered without tearing down some of the inn’s walls and the innkeeper was firm in his opposition to such a move.

Finally, it was sorted out to everyone’s satisfaction, including what to do with the two extra people they’d brought along. At least, Grace thought most of the party was satisfied with the arrangements. She could not say how satisfied Reynolds was to be sharing a room with the viscount’s valet, the footmen having wriggled out of it by noting that they were both very loud snorers and could only be tolerated by one another.

Grace was in a large room with four single beds shared with Serenity, Verity, and Patience. Mrs. Right was housed with Valor and Winsome. There was very conveniently a connecting door between the rooms and that was what had really held things up for the innkeeper until he’d had the idea of moving extra beds in. Though the room was large, the four beds only allowed for the narrowest of spaces to move around them. It was found to be satisfactory, though, as all the sisters were well used to being nearly on top of each other as a matter of course.

Serenity was working on Grace’s hair, catching one ringlet and pinning it down just as another set itself free.

“I really wish to look well this evening,” Grace said. “It is my first evening out in company with a strange gentleman.”

“Do you think him strange?” Patience asked. “I did wonder.”

“I mean strange in that he is unknown to us,” Grace said. “We have only been introduced and we do not know a thing about him. For instance, is he married? He does not wear a ring, but then he might choose not to as a matter of preference or he might have been leery of wearing it while at sea.”

“He cannot be married,” Verity said. “It is a well-known fact that if a gentleman were married, and then he almost dies at sea, certainly the first thing he will say is that his wife must be sick with worry. He must get word to his wife right away. Lord Dashlend said no such thing.”

Grace pondered that. It could be true. Of course, Verity made up quite a lot of what she said, but this one made a deal of sense. If a gentleman were married, he would wish to get word to his wife that he had survived his ordeal at sea at the earliest possible moment.

Mrs. Right came through the connecting door and said, “How do we get on in here? I’ve just managed to convince Valor that Mrs. Wendover does not in fact know that there are murderers in the area, as Mrs. Wendover has never been here and does not read the newspapers.”

“I suppose Mrs. Wendover will not be left behind when we go down for dinner, then,” Patience said.

“She will not. That was the compromise, in the end. Goodness, Serenity—how many pins have you put in Grace’s hair?”

Serenity shrugged. “I lost count. You pin down one curl and another makes its escape. Also, I was thinking of the sea.”

Mrs. Right, ever efficient, took over for Serenity and pulled out a dozen pins and started over.

“Will you dine with us, Mrs. Right?” Verity asked. “It is one thing at home, where you like to have your cozy dinner with Cook and Thomas and Charlie, but here you are always with us.”

“Why should this night be any different than the past nights?” Mrs. Right asked.

“Patience says a viscount won’t like it, but I say our papa will not care,” Verity said.

“Since when is the duke meant to care what’s got a viscount’s back up?” Mrs. Right said. “I will dine with you and I have every hope that word of it gets back to Lady Marchfield. It will drive her mad.”

“We ought to tell Mr. Button about it as soon as we arrive,” Patience said. “I bet our aunt has told him to report on the doings of the house. We could shock her before we’ve even unpacked.”

“Very good thought. Now, as to this Mr. Button,” Mrs. Right said, “do not be at all alarmed if I pretend at being frightened of him. I am not, and I will not be, but I have a plan in mind for that hapless fellow.”

All the sisters nodded, as they placed a great amount of faith in Mrs. Right’s plans.

“Mrs. Right,” Verity said, “I’ve told Grace I am sure the viscount is not married.”

Mrs. Right nodded sagely. “He is as unattached as the day is long. There was naught said about a worried wife upon his rescue. She would either be a terrible harpy he cannot stand the sight of and would not mind faking his own death to escape her, or she does not exist. Lord Dashlend seems too sensible to wed a terrible harpy, therefore there is no wife.”

Grace was vastly relieved. It seemed the question had been satisfactorily settled.

“There we go,” Mrs. Right said. “I have undone Serenity’s fanciful stylings and your hair is looking very well. As are your cheeks, you are blooming, my dear.”

Grace supposed she might have bloomed a bit more with that compliment. But she really did wish to look well this evening.

*

Miles had borrowed stationery from the innkeeper and fired off a letter to his butler in Town. Wainwright was ordered to bring a carriage, clothes, and money. Once he had money, he could arrange for someone to tow his boat to a port and have it repaired. He’d already arranged with the innkeeper to employ a watch at the beach so that some enterprising young sailor did not put a sail on The Marquessa and make off with her.

As for the evening, Miles had been the slightest bit concerned that the duke was planning on sending over some of his own clothes for him to wear. It was a kind gesture, and not one he could refuse without insult, but the duke’s middle section had seen a few more bottles of port than Miles’ ever had. Or even if Miles had consumed just as much port as the duke, his younger years and habit of pursuing sports had seemed to keep its more rounding effects at bay.

Fortunately, a combination of clothes had been delivered by the duke’s valet. It would be the duke’s valet’s best coat and pants, paired with one of the duke’s shirts that had been hastily pinned to take it in, along with one of the duke’s neckcloths.

All in all, it was far better than expected.

As for Moreau, he’d also been left with some of the valet’s things. Mr. Reynolds had made clear he handed over what was “his oldest set.” Though it was “his oldest set,” Reynolds cautioned that he expected it to be returned to him in good order.

The effrontery of it had left Moreau surprisingly speechless.

Moreau had gone from swimming in the sea to swimming in the duke’s valet’s oldest set of clothes. He looked faintly ridiculous as he hung Miles’ clothes across the window to dry out. “Now you go down and have beef with the mad duke and his battalion of strange daughters while Moreau struggles on alone.”

“That sounds right,” Miles said, and left his valet to complain to himself. He jogged down the steps and made his way into the private dining room reserved for the duke.

The duke and his family, and surprisingly his housekeeper too, were already gathered. If Miles had harbored any doubts about the eccentricity of the duke, having his housekeeper at the table washed those doubts away.

“Ho there,” the duke said jovially, “here is our hapless sailor. You look a deal better now that you are dry—do not you think so, Gracie?”

Lady Grace had the sense to blush at this rather forward comment. Miles said, “I will not ask anyone to comment on my appearance, either earlier today or this moment. I pray Lady Grace has the generosity to forestall judgment until I am back in Town and appear more usually.”

“I am not certain I would judge at any time,” Lady Grace said.

Miles smiled at her. “Perhaps not aloud.”

“Sit here, Dashlend,” the duke said, motioning to an empty seat beside him. “I’ll need you on this end of the table, far away from my youngest. I’ve promised her I’d keep you away, you see—you are a stranger, so you may well be a murderer.”

“Mrs. Wendover said he might be a murderer, Papa,” Lady Valor said. In a voice so quiet she could almost not be heard, she whispered, “I was only thinking it.”

Miles sat down. He presumed Mrs. Wendover was the housekeeper just now at table, though he thought he remembered another name for that lady when she was introduced. But whatever her name was, why should she suspect him of being a murderer?

“I do not suppose many murderers arrive by capsized boat, washed up on the beach,” he said.

“Hah! That’s right, Valor!” the duke said, motioning the waiter to fill their wine glasses. “Not much of an entrance for a murderer!”

Lady Valor seemed to consider this point and took to whispering to a stuffed rabbit on her lap.

The duke said, “Well now, I suppose this could-be-a-murderer at our table cannot be expected to remember all the names of this ghastly horde. That’s Patience, Verity, Winsome, and Serenity. Valor would have already made herself memorable. There is my esteemed housekeeper, Mrs. Right—she runs the place. And then, my second eldest—Grace.”

Miles nodded to all of them and tried to keep their names straight. Who was this Mrs. Wendover who thought he might be a murderer though? A governess? Perhaps she’d declined to walk down to the beach and had stayed inside a carriage?

He did think it was rather hopeful of the duke to name his daughters as temperaments that they might or might not possess. He had always thought, whenever he met with a Lady Charity, or Faith, or Constance, that it was a rather risky proposition.

“Rest assured, Lord Dashlend,” Lady Winsome said, “I explained to Valor that you cannot be a murderer because a murderer is more sly. They like to sneak up on a person. Why? Because the murderer knows that people do not just stand around waiting to be murdered.”

This very predictably sent a shiver through Lady Valor and she clutched the raggedy stuffed rabbit in her arms. It rather sent a shiver through Miles too. It sounded as if Lady Winsome had given some careful and extensive consideration to the habits and strategies of murderers.

He thought to turn the conversation to more usual subjects, as this was the first time murderers had been the topic at any dinner he’d ever attended and he was hoping it was the last. “Lady Grace,” he said, “may I ask what are you looking forward to in Town? I suppose attending balls must be high on the list?”

For some reason, the mention of dancing gave the lady a rather stricken look. Miles began to wonder if the duke had failed to hire a dancing master for his daughters.

But no, it would be too absurd. In truth, it would be barbaric. One could not send a lady to Town without the necessary skills to attend a ball. Certainly not a duke’s daughter.

“Oh yes, dancing, certainly,” Lady Grace said.

It was not said very convincingly.

“What she means to say, Dashlend, is our Gracie has two left feet,” the duke said. “Best to know it now—surprises like that never do anybody any good.”

Lady Grace blushed furiously. Lady Verity said, “Grace is really a very good dancer. Except sometimes she’s not. A very common condition.”

Was it a common condition? What did it even mean, except when she’s not? What condition?

“I suppose you attend Almack’s?” Lady Grace asked.

Miles nodded. “I will miss the season’s opening ball due to my current circumstances, but will likely attend the second Wednesday. I will admit, it is not my favorite place. However, one does not like to offend the matrons of society, so I do my duty.”

“It’s the supper, isn’t it?” the duke asked. “I would like to know what those blasted women are thinking about. Do not give me lemonade at midnight, thank you!”

Miles attempted to suppress his laughter over the duke’s outrage but was only partially successful. “It is rather dreadful.”

“Our sister, Felicity,” Lady Patience said, “found Almack’s supper very terrible.”

“Very, very terrible,” Lady Serenity confirmed.

“Our aunt thinks it’s marvelous,” Lady Winsome said.

“Lady Misery thinks everything dull is marvelous,” the duke said.

“Her real name is Lady Marchfield,” Lady Valor said, clutching her rabbit. “In case you’re wondering.”

“She’s very…proper,” Lady Grace said.

“Ah yes,” Miles said. “Lady Marchfield. A very formidable matron.”

“Formidable? Well, that’s one word for her,” the duke said. “Not one I would use, but most of the words I would use are not for young ears.”

“Papa is very put out, on account of our aunt installing a butler in his house on Grosvenor Square,” Lady Grace said.

“His name is Mr. Button,” Lady Patience said with a certain hint of disgust.

“We do not require Mr. Button,” the housekeeper said in a dark tone that sent another chill down Miles’ spine.

“Maybe I’ll leave Lady Misery at another cyprian’s party,” the duke said, laughing and taking a rather large gulp of wine.

Lady Valor collapsed in giggles. “That was so funny. Even though we don’t know what a cyprian is.”

“Not all of us know, in any case,” Lady Grace said.

Three waiters streamed in with a variety of dishes. Miles supposed Moreau would feel very vindicated to hear there was a beef platter. However, since they were so close to the sea, there were two different fish dishes too. No dolphin or dove, though.

“Where are we on the brocabbage pie?” the duke asked the waiters.

Both of those fellows looked abashed. Miles could not imagine what brocabbage pie was, but it did not sound very appealing.

The innkeeper himself hurried in and the waiters looked at him with some relief. One of the waiters said, “His Grace inquires into the brocabbage pie.”

“Ah yes, as to that, Your Grace, our cook does not have that recipe.”

The duke wrinkled his brow. “A cook does not know how to make brocabbage pie? A cook cannot make what is an esteemed and beloved Yorkshire staple?”

The innkeeper shook his head sadly.

“Tell him, Papa!” Lady Valor said, before burying her head in her stuffed rabbit and giggling hysterically.

The duke nodded at his youngest daughter. “You may tell your cook I would consider him mad as a spring hare if he made a run at making that particular pie. You see? It does not exist! I made it up!”

Miles stared at the duke. The duke’s daughters all laughed heartily at the ruse. Lady Patience said, “Well done, Papa.”

“Oh yes, I see,” the poor innkeeper said. “A very fine joke, Your Grace.” The fellow bowed and hurried from the room. Miles would not be surprised if he were hurrying toward a glass of brandy to calm himself after that particular joke.

The dinner commenced and Miles learned quite a lot about the Nicolet family. He had, of course, heard of Lady Albright’s tiger getting loose and Stratton stepping forward as the hero of the hour to rescue Lady Felicity.

There were other things he’d not heard though.

He was given more detail about the cyprian party that had been mentioned. Apparently, the housekeeper had accepted the invitation on behalf of the duke and Lady Marchfield. When the duke realized what sort of party it was, he left his sister there to fend for herself.

This story struck all of the family as particularly hilarious, especially the part where Lady Marchfield arrived to the duke’s house to yell about it.

Miles was at a loss as to how a housekeeper could send a duke and a countess to a party put on by low women and still keep her position.

The dessert course was passed uniquely, as he heard about the various tortures thrust upon Stratton when it was felt he might have tricked Lady Felicity regarding his feelings. There was a pile of chains left on his doorstep, his grocery order was changed to only cabbages, his wine order was canceled, and his clothes were donated to charity.

All of this was said to have worked out well, as Lady Felicity and Stratton had wed. Since then, Lady Felicity had taken Sir Pineapple in hand, whoever that person was, and Blueberry was turning out to be not much of a mouser.

After dinner, he was pressed to take some port, though the ladies remained at table. He initially thought this odd arrangement was on account of being at an inn. That was cleared up when it was explained that the duke got too drunk when he was left alone with the bottle.

Well past midnight, he staggered up the stairs to his room. He found Moreau sitting morosely by the window, fanning Miles’ clothes in the night air.

“Moreau was forced to dine with the duke’s staff,” Moreau said. “That valet is grim-faced and kept staring at his ‘oldest set’ of clothes, even though they were on my person. He leaned forward anytime food or drink came near Moreau’s lips as if Moreau is in the habit of missing his mouth.”

Miles settled himself in a chair. He knew perfectly well from experience that Moreau was on the verge of recounting his entire evening.

“The duke’s footmen were very drunk and kept winking at a kitchen maid until she winked back,” his Valet said, looking mournfully at the clothes hanging by the window. Then, naturally, they were terrified of the girl. Three of the coachmen came in and demanded bottles of wine on the duke’s charge. The valet attempted to refuse them, but they said they would rip him limb from limb and he acquiesced. Then those brutes went off with the kitchen maid and the footmen nearly wept over it. For all I know, maybe they did weep. They had to go out to the yard to vomit out all the wine they drank so who knows what else they did out there. As you might suspect, they came back in and drank more wine. Then they sang terrible English songs.”

“You think all English songs are terrible, no matter who sings them.”

Moreau ignored that comment. “The valet attempted to send them to bed, but of course they had prior viewed the coachmen’s success, so they told him they’d rip him limb from limb. He took them both out by their ears. At that moment, Moreau thought to himself, this has been a delight indeed, and now I retire. One might have thought Moreau might find peace in his bed and he had closed his eyes, but no—that valet comes into the room and claims he must always have the bed by the window for his nose problems. Moreau was forced to relocate himself here to sleep on the floor, lest he cover the valet’s face with a pillow in the middle of the night. But never mind Moreau’s charming evening. I suppose you had a very pleasant dinner with your new friends?”

Miles smiled. “They are completely mad, and so are you.”