Page 13 of The Sprinter
He bowed and strolled away, not seeming the least put off by Lady Heathway’s…well, it was bordering on rudeness.
Grace looked at her inquiringly. “Gunmaker grandfather? What does it mean?”
“Mr. Vance’s grandfather was in trade you see,” Lady Heathway said. “He will be a baron someday but of course he carries that strike against him. Most gentleman would distance themselves from the fact, but Mr. Vance appears to delight in owning it.”
Grace did her best to match Lady Heathway’s serious expression, though she was rather delighted with Mr. Vance.
Any feeling of a smile coming on was soon chased away by what Grace saw heading toward her next. Four matrons bore down on them like ships under a strong wind. Their leader was an austere-looking woman clad in yards of heavy brocade.
Grace glanced at Lady Heathway. Lady Heathway said softly, “There they are.”
“Penelope,” the lead lady said, her brocade skirt swishing round her as she came to a stop.
“Theodosia,” Lady Heathway said, “You will wish to know Miss Yardley. Grace, this is the Duchess of Stanbury.”
Grace curtsied low, low enough for the queen. After all, she had been told that the duchess liked to think of herself as noble. She would not care to challenge that notion.
“Your Grace,” she said.
The duchess nodded and smiled with lofty condescension.
Before she knew it, Grace was introduced to the rest of the ladies. Lady Featherstone of the ill-advised criminal society. Lady Redfield of the mismanaged servants. Lady Mendleton of the oft-mentioned Miss Wilcox. She was surrounded by them and, as eccentric as Lady Heathway had painted them, they were very kind.
She was congratulated on her care of her mother, though it was also hinted that she must have been misguided. Her hair was found to be lovely, her eyes striking, and her curtsy very pretty. Lady Mendleton did not wonder a moment but that she would become fast friends with her daughter-in-law Georgiana. Grace had not the first idea which of these attributes would be found interesting to Lady Mendleton’s daughter-in-law.
Lady Featherstone examined Grace’s gown and said, “Penelope, this dress is a triumph.”
The other ladies nodded their agreement, though the duchess nodded as if she were giving up a point. Reluctantly acknowledged or not, Lady Heathway beamed. “The design of it is from my own sketches; Madame LeGrange took on my every idea.”
“Lady Heathway has been most kind in her attentions to me,” Grace said.
“Sketches, goodness,” Lady Redfield said. “Very industrious, Penelope.”
Lady Heathway nodded. “Ah, here comes George. Now, Louisa, I remember how you very sensibly had Lord Langley take Miss Wilcox into supper at her first outing and I was determined to do just the same.”
“Excellent notion,” Lady Redfield said.
“Well considered, in my opinion,” the duchess said as if she were handing down a pronouncement from a judge’s bench.
Grace had felt a general case of nerves since entering the house. The approach of the ladies had heightened the feeling somewhat. But, on viewing Lord Gresham she found them rise three-fold. He could not possibly appear more dashing. Nobody could.
He wore a close-cut coat of a blue so dark it seemed almost black, with wonderful gold buttons. His shirt was a blazing white and his cravat was such that she suspected his valet considered it a victory—it was intricate, and yet not finicky.
She did so wish he came to her of his own accord, and not because he had been directed to by his aunt.
It appeared Lord Gresham knew all of the ladies very well—their greetings spoke of long acquaintance and they were very obviously fond of him. As they fussed over him, which Lady Heathway seemed to very much approve of, he put his name down on her card. As he handed it back to her, his gloved hand grazed hers.
The touch felt both familiar and foreign. It was as if she had felt such before, though she could only liken it to a still summer evening when the night sky almost hummed and lightning was soon to strike. Grace hoped she was not blushing; she was not prone to it and would not appreciate such a thing making an appearance just now.
She must not look stupid. The poor man had beenforcedto put his name down for her supper and she could not bear to seem as if she did not know it. To blush would signal that she was flattered, and she must not be flattered. No particular attention had been paid.
Grace was at once gratified and unhappy that Lord Gresham moved off with alacrity. She did not want him to stay lest he perceive her feelings, but then she did not wish him to go so quickly as that certainly showed his own.
She was not given much time to dwell on it, though, as various gentlemen approached. Lord Bertridge was to take her first. As he was nephew to the hostess, the ladies flanking her like birds on the verge of flying south were well-pleased that their society had been honored in some way.
The duchess even mentioned that it might be considered anoble gesture. Grace did not know if that were true or not, but she was well-prepared to compliment the size of Portland Place’s avenue when it came to it.
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