Page 48 of Lady Graceless
“I’ll go, I’ll go,” Patience said. “Grace, what was the first thing you noticed about Lord Dashlend?”
Grace had been fully expecting the question and had, therefore, composed an answer.
“Well, I would say his bearing. I was certain he was a gentleman, even though he was washed up on the beach with no coat.”
The sisters stared at each other, as if attempting to decide whether the answer would be a fact or fib. Serenity said softly, “I thought it would be his hair, he has very good hair.”
The other sisters nodded.
“It must be true, though,” Verity said. “Grace is very bad at fibbing.”
“Fact!” Valor said, handing Grace a yellow ticket.
“Duke,” Lady Margaret said, downing her brandy. “I have one—what is it you wish for your daughters?”
“That is all too easy, Lady Margaret,” the duke said. “I hope to get every last one of them out of my house with all speed.”
The shouts of fibber echoed throughout the room and the duke was promptly in possession of a blue ticket.
“This is how it starts, Dashlend,” the duke said. “They get you in the hole and you can never get out.”
This earned the duke a second blue ticket, though it was perfectly true.
The game went merrily on until Valor fell to a sulk over not being asked anything. Then the duke asked her if she was overtired. She said she’d never felt more awake in her life and was instantly named a fibber.
Mrs. Right came to collect her and take her to bed. Valor delivered a pretty curtsy to Lord Dashlend and she held Lady Margaret’s hand and said, “Goodnight, my friend. I am almost done writing you a letter and I’ll send it to you first thing in the morning. Also, Mrs. Wendover sends her deepest regards.”
“What a charming young person,” Lady Margaret said after she’d gone. “Well now, after that brandy I find I am quite in my cups. Dashlend, be so good as to call the carriage, and then pour me into it.”
*
MONTCLAVE HAD WATCHEDas the gentlemen entered the duke’s drawing room. In that first moment, he’d thought they did not stay very long over their port. But then, he noticed they all held glasses and the duke had a bottle in his other hand.
He supposed that was one of the advantages of being a duke. One might look over the various rules and procedures of society and discard them at will. He would not mind having that sort of power himself.
What followed was a game of some sort. It involved bits of blue and yellow colored paper and Montclave had no idea what game it was. All he could tell from it was that men got the majority of the blue tickets, while the ladies received mostly yellow tickets. Whatever it was, they seemed to find it very jolly.
It was rather too comfortable a scene. It was only the duke’s extended family attending this dinner, but for Dashlend and Lady Margaret. Even Lady Marchfield had attended, which gave some sort of societal stamp of approval. Though, he might never be able to work out why she’d left early with the butler in tow.
When Dashlend and Lady Margaret departed, he’d wondered if his cousin was somehow keeping the lady inebriated to gain her cooperation in some matter. Dashlend had supported her and then picked her up and put her in the carriage, as she did not seem as if she could do it herself. Perhaps the devil had designs on her house or hoped to be the sole benefactor of her will?
Worse, Lady Grace and a slew of sisters had followed them out to the pavement. Dashlend paid his compliments to them and then said, “Until tomorrow at Almack’s.”
As far as he could gather, they’d had some conversation about meeting there for the Wednesday ball. It was aggravating in the extreme, as none of those idiot patronesses had ever seen fit to sendhima voucher, and certainly would not countenance it while he resided in Doanellen’s house. He’d already heard both Doanellen and Mrs. Featherby complain about it. Doanellen got one every year, but for this one. Mrs. Featherby claimed the patronesses were jealous.
The patronesses were many things, but jealous of Mrs. Featherby was not on that list.
Montclave watched the carriage set off and then jogged behind it, staying a good distance from it and keeping to the shadows so that he would not be spotted. He was determined to discover where Lady Margaret would be taken.
Then he did discover it. Lady Margaret was just now living in Dashlend’s house. Why, though? Was he after Lady Margaret’s money himself? Or had Dashlend somehow discovered that he, himself, had pressed Lady Margaret for money? It would be just like Dashlend to spitefully cut off that avenue of funds. That fellow would like it all too well if he were forced to return home for lack of it.
Montclave had slowly walked back to Bolton Street, considering his options. Dashlend was getting too cozy with Lady Grace. Dashlend had somehow moved their elderly cousin, Lady Margaret, into his house and out of reach.
He must get control of the situation. But how to do it?
Montclave was certain he would find no success in wooing Lady Grace unless she had firmly turned from Dashlend. That had to be accomplished first.
The most effective thing would be to convince Lady Grace that Dashlend preferred some other lady. There was nothing a woman despised more than to understand someone else was preferred. It put a woman’s back up like nothing else could.
