Page 12 of The Sprinter
“Now, I think you are teasing me, Betsy,” Grace said.
“I wish I was,” Betsy said, arranging the last curl. “We’re to be specially on our guard tonight, as robbers like to pounce on a house when the family’s gone out. I might very well sleepundermy bed as on it.”
“I cannot imagine Lady Heathway knows any of this,” Grace said, a bit alarmed to discover that Betsy had not been teasing. “It seems a very odd way of going on and I’m not sure I like you being frightened so.”
“Never you mind me, miss,” Betsy said, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “I’d rather be havin’ nightmares here than trapped in my aunt’s stuffy little sitting room with no prospects on the horizon. Anyway, you go out and take the place by storm, just like how Mr. Ranston would prefer it.”
As they madetheir way to Lady Easton’s house in the carriage, Lady Heathway told Grace more about her friends that had formed the Society of Sponsoring Ladies. Prior to this, Grace had been told their names, but had thought of them rather vaguely.
Now she was to know that Lady Mendleton was an agreeable creature, but would no doubt boast of her new daughter-in-law, née Miss Wilcox, for an unconscionable length of time. Grace presumed this was the same Miss Wilcox who had mysteriously broken a pianoforte.
The duchess was nearest to being Lady Heathway’s equal, though the lady often made the mistake of thinking she was somehow superior because of her title. The duchess was also in the habit of naming things noble far too often and Lady Heathway was convinced it was a ploy to align herself more closely with royalty though there was not a royal bone in her body.
Lady Redfield was exceedingly soft, so much so that she did not seem to hold any authority over her servants. She could not bear to see anybody unhappy and so the easiest way to win an argument with her was to look decidedly unhappy.
Lady Featherstone was a pleasant woman, though the lady had a rather macabre interest in Lord Ryland’s criminal society. It was faintly ridiculous, as the society had not a need of her to go about solving crimes and she did not seem to have much of a head for it.
Lady Easton was a sensible woman, and almost as rigorous in her standards as Lady Heathway herself. She did, however, sometimes cling to rather old-fashioned ideas about how society was to comport itself. There would no doubt be a white soup at her ball, because it was tradition, though Lady Heathway had pointed out many times that almonds had never meant to be sipped.
Grace was rather astonished and thought the ladies sounded entirely eccentric. But then, it might just be Lady Heathway’s own eccentricity. After all, it was beginning to look as if Lady Heathway ran an extremely eccentric household by way of her at once warlike and weeping butler.
Either way, she would face these friends of her sponsor in not too long a time.
As their carriage doors were opened, Lady Heathway concluded with, “Well, you do look stunning, if I may congratulate myself. I have certainly topped anything Louisa was able to do for Miss Wilcox.”
Grace smiled, though she was getting the distinct feeling that this group of ladies were rather competitive.
Grace had beenquite surprised by Portland Place, the width of the street was striking and seemed at least over one hundred feet. She had never seen such an avenue. She had mentioned her admiration of it to Lady Heathway as they made their way into the house but was counseled not to comment on it to Lady Easton. Apparently, their hostess took a great amount of pride in the width of her street, as if she’d built it with her own two hands.
“Clara,” Lady Heathway said as they approached Lady Easton.
“Penelope,” Lady Easton said. She was a formidable-looking matron with an air about her that said she knew what was right and dearly hoped you knew it too.
“May I present to you Miss Yardley,” Lady Heathway said.
Grace curtsied. When she rose, Lady Easton said, “Charmed, Miss Yardley. Here is my nephew, Lord Bertridge. He lives on the other side of the street. We favor Portland Place for the street’s generous proportions.”
As Grace curtsied, she forced herself not to laugh. She could practically feel Lady Heathway sigh at the mention of the width of the road.
“Miss Yardley,” Lord Bertridge said, looking every bit as if he entirely agreed with his aunt’s assessment of Portland Place.
As they moved off, Lady Heathway muttered, “Generous proportions indeed.”
Their cloaks were taken and Grace was given her card. She felt a sense of nerves come over her, which was a surprise. She had not thought she would be nervous; it was just a ball after all. She’d had a dancing master for years and her father had regularly hosted mock balls for a few nearby families with girls of their own.
This was different, though. There were so many people, and so many of them looked…how did they look? At once sophisticated and world-weary. As if the ball almost bored them. Certainly, it was a mask put on for show. Was it the thing in Town to look a bit bored? If it were, she doubted she would be much good at the attitude. She’d end up laughing if she attempted to put on such a play.
A gentleman approached Grace, looking fairly determined. Grace could not say she minded, he was rather handsome—his hair a dark blond that she guessed would lighten in summer, and a rather strapping physique.
“Lady Heathway,” he said, bowing, and giving a quick smile to Grace.
“Mr. Vance,” Lady Heathway said, sounding just the slightest bit disapproving. “I imagine you have flown to my side for an introduction.”
“Precisely,” Mr. Vance said.
“This is Miss Grace Yardley,” Lady Heathway said. “I will allow it, but not the first or supper. Supper is in fact already taken and as to the first…”
Mr. Vance was already writing his name down for the second. “Oh, I know, Lady Heathway. Gunmaker grandfather.”
