Page 83 of Lady Graceless
Grace was not at all sure that apple cakes would distract a gentleman from the loss of the lady he preferred. She was not at all sure about anything anymore, including her own sense. She’d taken great care in selecting what she would wear and had fussed with her hair for a half hour—what did she mean by it?
Just then, the duke came into the drawing room. “Here they all are, awaiting the descent of our patient. Well, I suppose we must be gracious, what with saving Grace from the fire.”
“Of course we will be gracious, Papa,” Grace said. “We will bring all of our dignity to bear.”
The duke laughed. “We’re to be dignified now, are we? I hadn’t known.”
“I hadn’t known either, Papa,” Valor said. “Is it a lot of work?”
“It is, rather,” the duke said, laughing.
They heard the distant knock on the front doors. The room fell to silence. It would be the physician arriving with the chair. Lord Dashlend would be before them in a matter of minutes.
Thomas opened the drawing room doors. “Lady Marchfield, Your Grace. I’m sorry! I assumed it was the doctor… and then it was too late.”
“Do not feel bad, Thomas,” Valor said. “Charlie hasn’t managed to keep out our aunt either and he has more experience.”
The lady in question pushed past Thomas. “I heard most of that. I would bother to remind you, Roland, that you are raising these girls with little manners, but it would accomplish little.”
“And yet, you managed to say it all the same,” the duke said.
“I have come to inquire what you are doing regarding the care of Lord Dashlend. If it is your usual slapdash sort of operation, I have come to manage things. You certainly cannot leave it to that housekeeper of yours.”
“As usual, madam, you poke your nose where it is not wanted,” the duke said.
Valor laughed hysterically and said, “Papa says you are a polecat going into the wrong henhouse. Or something like that. It was very funny.”
Lady Marchfield ignored these various insults. “I will not leave this house until I am assured of his care.”
“Aunt,” Grace said, “Papa’s physician has been here and cared for Lord Dashlend. He is even returning with a special chair so the lord might come to the drawing room for a limited amount of time.”
“A chair… but I was led to believe… so he has regained consciousness?”
“He was never unconscious,” Grace said. “We do not know where that gossip came from.”
Thomas opened the door again. Grace had hoped it was a tea tray, as that might distract Lady Marchfield. However, it was not.
“Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby,” Thomas said, rather white-faced. “She let herself in,” he whispered.
“She is my particular friend, Thomas,” Valor said. “I would give her a key if I had one.”
Lady Margaret waddled into the room in her oversized skirts with Lord Harraby trailing behind her.
“We’ve come to see the patient,” Lady Margaret said. “He told me yesterday that he would be coming down.”
“Where Lady Margaret leads, I dutifully follow,” Lord Harraby said.
Lady Margaret playfully tapped Lord Harraby’s arm with her fan. Then she took that moment to train her eyes on Lady Marchfield. “Lady Marchfield, is it? We encountered one another briefly at the duke’s dinner. Before you made off with the butler. This is Lord Harraby.”
Lady Marchfield gave Lady Margaret a cold stare. “Lord Harraby and I are acquainted.”
“Oh yes, indeed, long time now,” Lord Harraby said, not looking particularly enthused over knowing Lady Marchfield for a long time.
Grace would be happy to see any of these people, but she really did not see why they all needed to be here just at this minute. She was hoping for some moment in private with Lord Dashlend, so she might apologize.
Then, yet another person appeared at the door. It was Mr. Moreau, Lord Dashlend’s valet.
“Your Grace,” Mr. Moreau said, “Lord Dashlend requests your presence above stairs, if you will.”
