Page 49 of The Sprinter
Betsy said he’d regained his dignity below stairs by claiming he was not drunk at all, but merely experienced a fainting seizure. Which ran in his family. If he were to suddenly crash to the floor in future, they were to immediately apply a vinaigrette.
Betsy could not say if anybody believed this story, only that she certainly did not. Nor did the kitchen maid, she supposed. When Mr. Ranston wasn’t looking, Jenny had taken to falling to the floor behind the kitchen counter, which seemed to entertain her more than it did anybody else. Mrs. Redwiggin had even threatened to dismiss her, but the cheeky girl only laughed at the idea.
Grace had donned a simple but exceedingly well-cut muslin gown and gone down to the drawing room to await the duke and duchess for their game of whist.
She did not wait long, as that couple arrived promptly at eight o’clock. The duchess told her she looked charming, and the duke was kind enough to hope that they did not bore her too terribly much by staying in.
Grace assured him she would not be bored in the least. The truth was, she would be delighted to find herself bored for once. It felt as if her nerves had been in a constant high pitch these past weeks. It was of course, all her own fault. It had begun with her believing her mother did poorly, but since then Lady Barlow had written of her various triumphs over her nurse and it seemed she did well. Grace had been the author of her own trouble, but that was over. From now on, she would be the author of her own rationality and success.
She sat herself at the pianoforte as the couples began their game. Grace had been certain that the couples would play against one another, but that was not the case. It was the duchess and Lady Heathway ranged against their husbands. This might either end exceedingly pleasant or exceedingly awful. Were the two ladies to win, they would happily crow about it and congratulate one another. Grace did not think either of the gentlemen would be too devastated if they lost the game. However, if the ladies found themselves the losers, then there would betwovery unhappy ladies rather than just one.
Grace chose a pleasant little group of Haydn’s sonatas that stayed away from the lower octaves. She could play them softly and they would have a soothing quality, which might be needed, depending on how events unfolded at the card table.
Mr. Ranston came in and Grace did not at first see that he led someone in behind him.
Chapter Fourteen
Mr. Ranston hadled Lord Gresham into the drawing room.
Grace’s hands froze over the keys. Why was he here? He was not a part of their game. He should not be here.
“George,” Lady Heathway said, “what do you do here, I had not expected you.”
Lord Gresham bowed and said, “Aunt, duchess, duke.” He paused, then said, “Miss Yardley.”
Grace merely nodded. She flipped through sheet music to seem as if she were doing something, though she did not have any particular need for the sheets.
“I simply found myself at loose ends this evening and thought I would stop in. I quite forgot you had an engagement.”
“You are very welcome of course,” Lady Heathway said. “Perhaps Grace will indulge you with a game of piquet?”
“Oh no, Lady Heathway,” Grace said hurriedly, “I’d much rather play for you. I do not favor the game and am quite bad at it.”
Lady Heathway nodded, though Lord Gresham appeared perplexed.
“Remind me another day, Grace, and I will give you some pointers on the game,” Lady Heathway said. “Well, George, you might take up a book?”
Lord Gresham had nodded at the suggestion, but rather than go to the bookshelf, he came to the pianoforte. “I suppose I could turn the sheets?”
“I don’t actually need the sheets,” Grace said firmly.
“But you were just looking through them,” Lord Gresham said.
“I was only curious to see what was here. That is all.”
“I see,” Lord Gresham said.
Grace had hoped he would then go find himself a book. His standing so nearby made her…what? Nervous? No, unsettled.
The card game across the room had begun and Grace began to play. Lord Gresham did not go anywhere. Rather, he leaned himself against the instrument and regarded her.
“I suspect you are put out about my comments regarding the suitability of Mr. Vance,” Lord Gresham said. “I have nothing against the man, but he is only to be a baron. I imagine my aunt would wish you to shoot higher than that.”
Grace reminded herself to remain composed, but it really was getting difficult to do so.
“I suppose Lady Barlow, too,” Lord Gresham went on. “Would she not wish you to shoot higher? Well, she probably wishes you to take your time, a second season even, andthenshoot higher.”
Now he was supposing he understood her mother’s wishes too?
