Page 39 of Lady Graceless
This afternoon, he’d returned to Lady Margaret’s house, hoping to find her in more generous spirits. Most perplexingly, he’d found her departed from the house and a couple of burly watchmen employed to keep an eye on things. Those two fellows either did not know where she went or had been ordered not to say. All they would say was that her lady’s maid, who used to be the cook, had come and taken some of her things away.
What lady’s maid was this? As far as he knew, the cook was dead and Lady Margaret’s maid had been with her for twenty years. Where could Lady Margaret have gone? Why did she relocate herself? It made no sense.
He’d briefly thought of helping himself to some of her things some late night, as the house was empty, but the watchmen posed too much of a risk. He’d checked the newspapers for a notice of funeral, but no, she was still alive somewhere.
He was short of money, a duke’s daughter came with money, this particular duke’s daughter needed to be lured away from Dashlend. It seemed the answer to a multitude of problems was to court Lady Grace.
And then, if he were successful in eventually becoming the earl’s heir, who best to become the next countess than a duke’s daughter? It would confer an instant legitimacy.
Of course, there was the current problem of convincing the lady. At the moment, he could only promise a future as a baroness of a middling estate. He could say nothing of his hopes for anything higher. As well, as much as he despised Dashlend, he was not clouded in his judgments. The fellow was suave and seemed to be well-liked by the ladies, including Lady Grace.
His own allurements were not quite as interesting. But he had cleverness and the ability to conceive of and execute an intricate game. That was what he must do—find the right hook for this lady fish and carefully reel her to his banks. He must find a weakness, a flaw, and exploit it to his advantage.
Montclave collected Lady Grace for the dance before supper and led her to the floor. “I presume you have enjoyed the ball so far?” he asked as an opening gambit.
“Indeed, yes,” Lady Grace said. “Everyone has been so genial.”
The orchestra struck up for the cotillion, as Lady Luthering was in the habit of placing that dance before supper.
They began Le Grand Rond. Montclave said, “And the dancing? Do you enjoy it?”
A flash of worry crossed Lady Grace’s expression and Montclave knew he was on to something. He had hit on an insecurity.
He did not know precisely why it was a sore spot. Certainly, the duke would have seen to his daughters having a dancing master and she seemed to know all the steps. And yet, he’d noticed that she sometimes fell behind the tempo. Perhaps she knew it as a fault?
“Oh yes, the dancing,” Lady Grace said. “Very enjoyable.”
He did not quite believe that. He led Lady Grace through the figure and then an allemande. There it was again. She completed the step but ended with just the slightest wobble. One would not catch it if one were not looking out for it.
He did not know if this particular knowledge was significant enough to use in an effective manner, but he had to work with what he’d got.
“I will admit something shocking, Lady Grace,” he said. “I do find dancing overrated. It is simply a pastime, and somehow the skill has been elevated into a measure of a lady’s worth. I find it odd.”
Lady Grace’s expression told him all he needed to know. Her expression was one of relief. Perhaps even gratitude.
“If we are to be rational creatures,” he continued, “I would prefer to judge a lady by means more important—her mind and discernment, kindness and graciousness. These are the things that really matter.”
Lady Grace did not answer. But she nodded.
Montclave smiled. This was the crack in the armor. Furthermore, he knew it and Dashlend would not. Surely, there was something he could do with that.
“I’ve often had the debate with my cousin on this idea,” he said as they executed a Rigadoon.
“Lord Dashlend?” Lady Grace asked, looking rather aflutter over it.
Montclave nodded. “Indeed. As you are probably aware, all society knows him as a Corinthian of the first stare. He takes pride in it, he is all physicality and respects it in others. Too much so, in my mind. I’ve said to him—you cannot judge a person’s worth with such a yardstick.” He pretended at a great sigh and said, “He can be hardheaded, though, and cemented in his opinions.”
He was gratified to see the lady’s complexion fade to a whiter shade than it had been. This was certainly the ticket—play on the lady’s insecurities and the idea that Dashlend would disdain her weakness.
It was not much of a weakness, really. But then, people always viewed their perceived weaknesses as being bigger and more obvious to others than they were.
Montclave had long been a student of the human condition. One thing he knew for certain—people did not like other people who did not likethem. To be disapproved of set a person’s back up and it was very difficult to undo.
For once, perhaps human nature could work in his favor.
*
GRACE COULD NOTsay her first outing to a ball had been wonderful or awful, as it had been both of those things. She’d been reasonably steady on her feet, which had been her foremost worry. Nothing had been said about Lord Doanellen’s dinner, which had been her second worry.
