Page 6 of Lady Graceless
The duke turned to the two gentlemen and shouted, “What-ho! Shipwrecked, are you?”
The dashing man shouted back. “I suppose we are, though we’ve at least managed to land on the right island.”
The duke turned round and said, “Well, it seems we encounter more excitement than I’d planned. Let us go see what has gone on with these two fellows.”
Very naturally, they were all in eager agreement with this plan and set forward to meet the two shipwrecked gentlemen.
Grace’s shoes filled with sand and small stones. While she did not know what footwear would be suitable for walking on a beach, these rather flimsy slippers could not be it. Charlie gave her his arm while Thomas assisted Mrs. Right. The duke picked up and carried Valor, else she would have fallen behind. Reynolds would no doubt have assisted either Patience, Serenity, Winsome, or Verity, but they had run on ahead.
By the time Grace reached the party, Winsome was interrogating the gentlemen regarding how they were shipwrecked and Verity was interrupting her with the idea that shipwrecks were a very common thing. Patience had gone down to examine the boat, while Serenity wept at the shoreline over the majesty of the view.
“The Duke of Pelham,” the duke said heartily. “And you are?”
Both gentlemen bowed. The dashing gentleman said, “Viscount Dashlend, son of the Earl of Gravesend, Your Grace. This is my valet, Moreau.”
The duke laughed. “Dragged your valet out to sea, did you? What say you, Reynolds? Would you ever put up with such shenanigans?”
Reynolds shook his head gravely, as the last thing he would ever be involved in was shenanigans.
“This man understands Moreau!” the valet cried, pointing at the duke. “Merci, Your Highest and Most Holy Grace.”
This caused the duke to laugh even harder. “Well, Dashlend, you’ve got yourself a hysterical man there—maybe the sea is not the place for him. And you,” he said, pointing to Mr. Moreau, “I am just Your Grace, do not add holy to it and hint I’m the pope, thank you very much.”
Mr. Moreau seemed nonplussed with the duke, though Viscount Dashlend looked rather amused.
“Now,” the duke said, “you might as well meet all these setbacks by way of progeny—there is Patience, staring at your boat and wondering how you managed to tip it over. Serenity stands next to her, weeping as usual, probably to do with the majesty of nature. Here is Valor, the youngest, do not worry about her, she’ll be terrified of you. You already met Verity and Winsome—one names a fact and the other sets out to prove it wrong. Here is our good Mrs. Right, my housekeeper—she runs the whole circus. And finally, the eldest still left at home, Lady Grace. I am taking her to Town in the hopes of getting her off my hands at the earliest possible moment.”
Though this was quite a usual speech for her Papa, Grace could not help but hear it as a stranger might hear it. Felicity had told her of that odd feeling, as she had experienced the same herself. It was one thing to know what the duke meant, and another to take what he said on its face.
The viscount looked as if he were working hard not to laugh. His valet was looking with alarm back and forth between the duke’s daughters.
Viscount Dashlend bowed and said, “Charmed.”
Was he, though?
“I suppose we’d best get you out of your current predicament,” the duke said. “We are going to an inn not a mile off—I’ll put you up while you make whatever sort of arrangements one makes when involved in a fiasco such as this.”
“That is exceedingly kind, Your Grace,” the viscount said.
“Patience! Serenity!” the duke called to the shoreline. “Come now, we have two wet people to transport.”
Patience, never one to linger as a habit, came running back. Serenity was a bit slower, as her weeping over the majesty of the sea had no doubt clouded her vision.
“Reynolds,” the duke said, “I leave it to you to rearrange the carriages in some suitable fashion.”
Reynolds nodded gravely and set off to do the duke’s bidding. Grace did not know what arrangements the valet would make, but Reynolds was one for quiet efficiency. She did not suppose he would come up with any whimsical ideas like putting the viscount in her own carriage.
“Let’s get this caravan going,” the duke said.
“Lady Grace,” the viscount said, “may I escort you to steadier ground?”
Grace nodded and had every hope that her pink cheeks could be attributed to the brisk sea air.
Her sisters were all very wide-eyed at the idea, especially Valor. “Be careful of rogues, Grace,” she whispered as Grace went by.
Grace pretended that she had not heard that. The idea had come from Mrs. Right. Before Felicity’s season, she had told them all what they could expect in Town. The men were feckless rogues, and the women were fan-waving furies.
Their opinions on the matter had veered wildly over the course of that season—one moment they were convinced it was not true, then it was true, then it was not true again. Mr. Stratton had turned out all right for Felicity, but who really knew?
