Page 9 of The Sprinter
As he rode forward, George ticked off the things he would do and the things he certainly would not do. He would arrange for a sidesaddle to be purchased and he would have a look at his aunt’s stable of horses. He certainly would not approach Lady Jersey. That lady would delight in denying Miss Yardley a voucher—and thenSilenceherself would advertise it everywhere. He also had no plans to escort the ladies to Lackington and Allen, which they were well able to do on their own, nor would he make inquiries into Mr. Roberts.
When they finally entered the town and he was so close to making an escape, his aunt had used every bit of her determination to wrangle his promise to attend Lady Easton’s ball on Thursday next. As a final dessert course to this harrowing day, she then suggested he take Miss Yardley into supper at the ball, as that would be the safest course until she understood who was who. The same had been done for Miss Wilcox and Lady Heathway did not wish to be outdone in any matter—especially not by Louisa Stapleton.
He could hardly refuse as Miss Yardley was within hearing of the bold request.
George could not say Miss Yardley herself was any more comfortable with his aunt’s various directives. In fact, at one point she had looked at him with an expression that seemed to say she was sorry to be so much trouble.
She was not so much trouble, though. Hisauntwas so much trouble. Miss Yardley was rather lovely and seemed a sensible person with an admirable backbone. She would be no trouble at all if his aunt was not making her so.
He had not thought that his aunt deciding to sponsor a girl would have anything to do with him. Somehow, it was turning out that itdidhave to do with him, and Lady Heathway had devised a list of tasks before Miss Yardley had even stepped into the house.
He could not outright refuse to assist, it would cause a breach. He must just be very cagey about being caught. He would duck and weave like any Gentleman Jackson.
He could only hope that he won more matches than that pugilist ever had.
Chapter Three
Grace’s journey toBerkeley Square might have been very pleasant. After all, she did not mind that Lady Heathway did so much talking and required so little talking from her in return. As she nodded, she also had the opportunity to admire the countryside. And perhaps admire a certain gentleman on horseback who was often in view.
It would all have gone very well, if the lady did not demand quite so much from her nephew. What a list of things she required from him! Grace could see well enough that he was not amused, though Lady Heathway did not pay the slightest heed to it.
The conversation about Almack’s had been outlandish. Lady Heathway had said Lord Gresham ought to smooth things over with Lady Jersey and Lord Gresham had said Lady Jersey would sooner stab her own eye with a fork than smooth things over with Lady Heathway. Grace shuddered to think what had happened between the ladies, it was something to do with a bon mot that was found regrettable, as far as she could make out. All she could really be sure of was that she wouldnotreceive a voucher to that club.
Then, the lady had pushed Lord Gresham to take her into supper at a certain Lady Easton’s ball. She would have been delighted if he had asked of his own free will. He was very attractive and she supposed no lady would mind being squired by him. However, it was embarrassing in the extreme to know that he’d been conscripted against his wishes while Lady Heathway acted as a single-handed press gang.
Of course, he had agreed, but he had not seemed particularly willing. That did prick her pride a bit, as it seemed to Grace that if he had been left to his own devices he would not have asked.
She only hoped he understood that she did not wish to be so much of a burden to him.
As for the rest of the carriage ride, that had been very informative. Grace had thought it was mere happenstance and luck that Lady Heathway had heard of her situation and been inspired to step in. That was not the case, precisely. Lady Heathway told her all about the society and named its various members. It seemed she was a project, of sorts. Though, she found herself not too proud to be one.
Lady Heathway had always planned to have a daughter of her own, and was still rather mystified that she had not, as fate rarely had the audacity to thwart her plans. Of those plans regarding a daughter, she’d had many. Her daughter was to be an unparalleled beauty, and absolutely astonishing in her accomplishments.
Grace was interrogated as to her skill on the pianoforte, her embroidery work, her seat on a horse, could she net an attractive purse and paint a fire screen, what was her understanding of literature, history, geography, horticulture, and philosophy, could she credibly manage a lady’s maid, could she compose a menu, had she many people in the neighborhood who regularly called and was she accustomed to acting as hostess, and many more questions Grace had lost track of.
Interestingly, she was asked all those questions but was rarely required to answer. Most of the conversation went along in the following manner: “You are skilled on the pianoforte, I presume? Of course you must be. I never did hear Miss Wilcox play and have my suspicions about Louisa’s pianoforte. I presume Miss Wilcox attacked it in some manner andthat’swhy it has been broken all these months. Louisa is so evasive when I ask about it, as if she does not even want the instrument repaired.”
Grace did not know Miss Wilcox nor what she’d done to a pianoforte and did not dare ask for the details. She was also certain she was not the unparalleled beauty Lady Heathway looked for and she did not deem her accomplishments quite as astonishing as Lady Heathway would wish.
For all that, she was fairly confident that she could meet at least most of Lady Heathway’s requirements. She thought her looks quite passable and running in the middle of the pack. There were bound to be ladies who outshone her, but then there might also be ladies less fortunate.
As for Grace’s accomplishments, her mother may have been indolent, but her father had not been. Especially not on her behalf. He’d had rather particular notions when it came to how Grace was to spend her time. A lady ought to be skilled at all the feminine arts, and then once the lady was married, if she chose to sink into a velvet chair and do nothing that was certainly her purview. One could put aside accomplishments only if one had acquired them in the first place.
Barlow Hall had been a parade of tutors all her life—she could play, draw, paint, and sew with what she believed was competence. She was fairly well-read, as she enjoyed it and had always been pleased to engage in lively debates with her father. She was not the paragon of Lady Heathway’s imagination, but she supposed she was serviceable enough.
Finally, they had reached the outskirts of London. With every clip-clop of the horses’ hooves, the activity around them increased. The town was so lively! Gone were the birdsong and crickets of the country. Here, people hurried everywhere as if they were exceedingly late to an important appointment. Lady Heathway’s coachman made his way through the crowded streets slowly and with what seemed to be grim determination.
When they had finally arrived to Berkeley Square, it was apparent that Lady Heathway expected Grace to be overawed by the place. She supposed that was natural, as the lady had only ever seen her in the room of all things in the cramped dower house. However, she was not particularly overawed. It was a fine house, to be sure, but it did not equal Barlow Hall. That place, more like a castle than a house, had sat on that land for hundreds of years. It had been added to over the centuries and had taken on both an eccentric and imposing air.
It had begun as a large two-story house with two wings running east and west, built of local grey stone. A third wing had been added to the back and ran north. Nobody used the north wing now, but it had been added to by a viscount of old who had decided he required his own army and needed somewhere to house his soldiers. This need for an army had apparently sprung up over a long-running dispute with a neighbor. Grace did not know the details of the argument, other than it had to do with the rights to a well-stocked stream. It was said that when the viscount had raised an actual army, the neighbor threw up his hands in defeat.
Aside from the north wing, which was an endless and dreary collection of small apartments that had once housed soldiers, the rooms of the house were tall-ceilinged with heavy dark wood beams and roughhewn stone walls. The fireplaces were to scale, and one would have only had to slightly duck to walk into one. Corridors often ran to nowhere and alcoves appeared in surprising places. There had been times a guest had gone missing, having taken a wrong turn somewhere, and then found again entirely befuddled. There was a romance to the place and as a young girl Grace had often gone out to her bedchamber’s balcony, pretending she bid adieu to her knights before they rode off to battle to save her kingdom. Now, the dumpy individual and his rouged wife had claimed its wonderful halls.
The house in Berkeley Square was far newer, which she thought did not have the same appeal. However, it was extremely large for a house in Town, exquisitely decorated, and without the cold drafts that blew through Barlow Hall. Further, she knew very well that she would never again live in such a place as her old home. Her current accommodations were a thousand times better than the dower house and it seemed the roof was in good order, as there was not a bucket in sight. She was determined to like it.
*
Wilbert Ranston wasall too aware that he led Lady Heathway’s household staff like any battalion going forward into battle. He was in name the butler, but heactedas general.
