Page 55 of The Sprinter
The very thought of Vance prevailing with the lady enraged him!
He had, perhaps, been a bittooenraged the night before, after a certain ill-advised number of glasses of brandy. Fortunately, the scathing letter he’d written to Vance, daring him to turn up at dawn with pistols by the pump house in the park had never left the house. He had ordered Pemmington to have it delivered immediately, but his butler had very sensibly put it in his pocket and returned it to him on the following day. It was well he did, as dawn had seen him in no shape to duel a newborn kitten.
He’d been rather pleased to see that Vance had failed to get on Miss Yardley’s dance card and had since heard the fellow had gone to Cornwall to attend the bedside of a dying uncle. While George did not wish anybody actually dead, except perhaps Vance himself, it was convenient that he’d been called out of Town. That was at least one problem dealt with.
But now there were others. Lymington had turned up as great a fool as he’d ever been, but what matter? Miss Yardley was prepared to accept absolutely anybody and he would be a duke, after all. And Glendower too. Why had he comenow? He hadn’t been seen in years, why did he not make himself scarce one more year?
George was supposed to be on her card for supper. That was the plan. He was going to declare himself at supper. He was determined to do it.
He would have done it too, if not for his tyrannical valet. Mason had taken receipt of the costume that had been hastily ordered and delivered. First, it was supposed to be a Roman soldier, but it appeared to be some combination of Roman senator and soldier. Second, Mason deemed it not at all ready to don. The scoundrel had insisted on a washing, bluing of the white tunic, and careful ironing.
What Mason had apparently not taken into consideration was the necessary drying. It had been a damp and overcast day with no wind whatsoever and no amount of hours would accomplish it. Mason had finally resorted to dressing the footmen in the garments and having them run around the drawing room, with the clothes flapping around them, in front of a roaring fire. Even after that, they’d only achieved damp and he was already verging on late. Then, the iron had come out.
By the time he had finally wrestled the costume away from his valet he was exceedingly late. He’d had hopes that his aunt and Miss Yardley would be late too, but they had not been. He’d known it as he passed the house and looked through the open curtains of the drawing room. He’d almost stopped and gone in, as he was certain he’d seen Ranston fall to the floor, but he would not be diverted from his purpose. If Ranston had managed to trip himself, his footmen could very well help him up.
And so, he had arrived late, but exceedingly determined. His determination had not fled him, but since Miss Yardley’s supper was not to be his, he must think of a new idea.
The only thing that still lurked in his mind, that shook his determination just the smallest bit, was that she had said she would accept absolutely anybody. That meant him too, he supposed. But what would that be like, exactly? Did she dislike him but would marry him for her mother’s sake? Or would she say she liked him, but he could never be sure? Or would she dislike him and grow to like him?
He did not know. The only thing he did know was that she could not be permitted to chain herself to one of the fools on her card. Or Glendower, who he knew well enough was not a fool.
*
Grace had wonderedabout the newly acquainted gentlemen on her card. Of course, she had also wondered about the gentlemen who were not on her card. Where was Mr. Vance? Where was Lord Ryland?
As for those whowereon her card, she did not wish to admit it, but Lord Gresham had been accurate in his assessment of Lord Lymington. It seemed horseswashis only mode of conversation, his only interest, and his only information. Even that appeared limited in scope. She had found it rather trying to hear the story of a mare who’d gone colicky. And then hear the story again when he realized he’d not told her she was a chestnut. How that had led to another full recitation of events, she could not fathom.
As much as she was determined to be sensible and consider every gentleman, she thought Lord Lymington must be taken out of consideration. She could easily envision ten years hence throwing herself out a window to get away from yet another horse story. She must be sensible, but there was no need to be perverse.
Lord Blackwood, on the other hand, had proved diverting. It seemed his puppy had taken to shredding his neckcloths. His valet had thrown down the gauntlet and declared it was either him or the dog, so he was looking for another valet.
Now, Grace thought she came to a more interesting part of the evening. The mysterious Lord Glendower was to take her into supper.
He had proved a competent dancer, though he had been still very reticent and speaking little. Grace heard well enough his Scottish accent, which was rather heavy, and wondered if it made him feel an outsider in London. For all she knew, he might be very voluble in Edinburgh. She was determined to draw him out.
She would also not mind seeing what he looked like, and she supposed she would. He’d have to remove his mask for supper.
It all felt deliciously mysterious.
Lady Heathway and her friends were all being led into the dining room by equally high-placed gentlemen, and the crowd had parted to allow them through. Grace was delighted to see Lady Featherstone nodding graciously to those she passed by, as if she were the empress of Russia herself.
“Miss Yardley!”
Grace turned to find a young footman, entirely out of breath. It was not one of Lady Heathway’s footmen. Oddly, she was near certain that the livery was Lady Marilyn’s, a close neighbor in Kent. The garb was unmistakable, it had odd yellow cuffs and a ruffed yellow collar and Grace had never seen another outside of Lady Marilyn’s household sporting such a bold uniform.
“Is Lady Marilyn here?” Grace asked in some confusion.
“No, miss,” the footman said, “but I have been sent by my lady with an urgent message.”
The boy handed her a tightly folded paper. Grace hurriedly opened it, terrified that Lady Marilyn would have written to her—and then to send it in such a manner! Certainly it spoke of something dire.
Chapter Sixteen
Lady Marilyn’s footmanhad handed her what turned out to be two separate letters folded together. Grace scanned the first.
My Dear Miss Yardley,
I am afraid I must bring you some very unwelcome news. Your mother does not do at all well and it seems there have been some underhanded doings regarding her care. I blame myself for not visiting the dower house sooner, else this would not have gone on for so long.
