Page 47 of The Sprinter
As she and Lady Heathway mounted the stairs, Grace whispered, “Will Mr. Ranston be dismissed?”
Lady Heathway looked at her in some surprise. “Goodness, no. Who would hire him?”
Grace was rather delighted with the response. It seemed that once a person was under Lady Heathway’s wing, they were there forevermore. She supposed she should have realized that after her drainpipe adventure—another lady would have sent her packing.
At her door, Lady Heathway said, “It was a long and trying evening, so do sleep in on the morrow.”
Grace thought that was very good advice. It had been a long, sometimes interesting and sometimes vexing, evening. She was exhausted.
*
George rode slowlyby his aunt’s house on the way to his own. The lights were still on and he wondered if he might stop in.
Then he cursed himself for a lunatic. Nobody stopped in at three o’clock in the morning.
Of course, he realized he had not just become a lunatic at this moment. No, indeed. He’d acted the lunatic all evening.
What had he been thinking, telling gentlemen that Miss Yardley had twisted an ankle?Violentlytwisted, he’d said. Nobody had believed a word of it, but one of them had been kind enough to inform Miss Yardley of the ruse.
Vance, probably.
Oh, that fellow had moved right in. He’d had the nerve to put himself down for supper! It was outrageous.
George was not so stupid as to believe his own internal ranting. It was not Vance who had been outrageous. It was himself.
Miss Yardley had not appreciated his little gambit, that much had been clear. She’d managed to let him know that fact, while still remaining exceedingly composed. He had not liked to find himself on the receiving end of her polite punishment, but he could not help but to admire it at the same time.
She really was such a lady. Yes, it was true that she’d climbed down a drainpipe. But that had been in service to her mother. Was that not what a real lady was? As graceful as a princess, and yet as strong-willed as a warrior queen?
But what had happened to his wits this evening? The story of the twisted ankle had been extremely ill-advised. Did he stop there? No! Then he tried to talk Lady Featherstone into changing places so that he might keep an eye on Vance. When that didn’t work, he’d went so far as to pretend he’d thought Lady Featherstone had called him over. It had been stupid, he knew. And yet he could not stop himself. Who knew if Vance would suddenly decide to declare himself?
Vance knew, he supposed. The devil had been moving in with all his entertaining talk and jolly spirits. Vance really was too jolly for anybody’s comfort. Certainly, Miss Yardley saw that. Did she really wished to be entertained her whole life? Would that not be exhausting? She was probably already finding him tiresome. Or would do soon. Hopefully.
Of course, Vance was not the only gentleman at supper who was found tiresome. Neither Lady Mary nor Miss Huntskill had been at all impressed by his performance. Miss Yardley had not been either, he could hazard a guess.
He reached his house, dismounted, and handed his horse over to a footman.
He had to get hold of himself. Miss Yardley was driving him insane.
*
Jacobs may havebeen barred from Ryland’s ball, but he had not immediately left the neighborhood. He’d lurked outside for some hours, seething that Ryland had not admitted him.
As he imagined what went on inside, his anger grew like a ball of fire in his belly. Who was this little chit from the countryside? How was it that she could be so outrageous as to climb down the side of a house, and somehow it was he who was at fault? It was he who must be punished?
He must get back into society. He must have invitations flowing once more. He could not bear to sit home alone as the world drank champagne without him. And what would his father say? He knew well enough his father would hear of it eventually. If there was one thing that could be counted on from theton, it was that they never stopped talking. This one would tell that one who would tell another one. He’d used that precise knowledge to send his bon mots and jokes flying round the town.
Oh, he’d always known it was a dangerous sport. However, it had given him some welcome status and the fact was, he could not help it. It had always been so. There was something about poking at a person’s weak point or making a joke about an embarrassing interlude that delighted him. His father called it a character flaw, but then the old man had not the sharp wit that he had.
Now, letters would be written to that dour fellow. Hints would be dropped.My dear baron, your eldest son has managed to become persona non grata.
By what mechanism had it occurred though? It must have been through Lady Heathway and her cabal of matrons. It certainly wasn’t done by Miss Yardley. She did not have that kind of power.
How to undo it? There were only two directions to go. One, he could throw himself on the mercy of Lady Heathway and her friends and ask for forgiveness. Even if he could bear to do it, which he had his doubts, he did not believe it would work. Or, he chose not to believe it could work because he’d rather spit in their faces than say anything conciliatory. The other direction was to prove Miss Yardley had climbed out a window and that she was likely to do the same again. He must prove his moniker was all too apt. Miss Yardley was indeedThe Sprinter.He just needed to figure out how to accomplish it. If he could do it, though, she’d be through and he’d be back into prominent houses.
As he watched guests eventually leave Lord Ryland’s house, including Lady Featherstone who appeared to be celebrated from all sides, an idea began to form. An ideabeforean idea, actually.
He did not have enough information to form any kind of effective plan or strategy and so that was what he would seek—information.
