Page 21 of Lady Graceless
THE DUKE ANDhis daughters had arrived in Town on a Tuesday. The following evening would have been the night to attend Almack’s, and despite the duke’s outlandish behavior at that location last season, the voucher for Grace had arrived.
They decided between them that they would not go to Almack’s. The duke arranged payment for the vouchers just in case they changed their minds, but for now they would not purchase tickets.
The duke could not get past the idea that lemonade and stale bread was foisted on him at midnight. Grace claimed she was swayed by Felicity’s opinion of it the year before and that it sounded tiresome. In any case, Lord Dashlend would not be there for the opening ball.
As well, Grace felt an enormous relief at not going because of what it was—the top of thetonthere to stare at the ladies newly arrived to Town. She was not so confident in her dancing that she wished her first foray into a ballroom to bethatballroom. She did not fall down very often, most of the time she just felt a little unbalanced, but the risk that she might fall there was too frightening to contemplate.
Grace could not help but reflect on what had happened to Felicity at Almack’s. Her sister’s greatest weakness had been on display. Felicity was sensitive to the smells of roses and vinegar and had the bad luck to dance near a lady who seemed to have bathed in rose water. A sneezing fit had overtaken her and it was so violent she’d needed a marquess’ handkerchief to mop up the explosion. If that could happen to Felicity, why would not Grace’s greatest weakness come to the fore, on display for everyone?
In any case, her Papa said that a duke’s daughter did not need to go scrambling around for approval. They would be invited everywhere anyway, so no need to curtsy to those blasted patronesses.
Grace had spent a lively evening with her sisters going through all the invitations that had arrived, and there were dozens and dozens of them. She had commandeered the duke’s calendar, accepted those invitations that seemed both interesting and respectable, and noted them in her Papa’s book. For others that they would not attend, she sent their regrets in a fine hand.
Of course, she did not know who was who in society as well as Lady Marchfield did, but she felt confident that the title and address of the person sending the invitation, along with the nature of the entertainment, told her enough.
Wednesday night had been another cozy night in, and she and her sisters had commandeered their father into a rousing game of Fact or Fib, the duke as usual drowning in blue tickets for the fibs he told.
Mr. Button was grim-faced during the proceedings. And then a little staggered when Mrs. Right was sent for so she could join in. And then positively pale when Mrs. Right helped herself to a brandy.
Nelson, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy the game immensely. Each time someone, usually the duke, was loudly named a fibber, he cast his own vote into the mix. Nelson jumped up, chased his tail for a minute, bumped into a piece of furniture, and staggered back to his bed that had been made of one of Serenity’s pillows hastily covered in cambric.
Today was Thursday and she and the duke were to make their first foray into society. A dinner would be held by the Earl of Doanellen. The duke could not remember anything specific about the gentleman, but then her father was not a great one for remembering people unless they were people he’d set out to harass. However, the earl’s title and his address on Bolton Street conferred a respectability. On top of that, Grace really felt as if a dinner, and the associated sitting down, would be the most comfortable way to begin her season.
It was the late afternoon and she had settled with her sisters in the drawing room for tea. Mrs. Right had already counseled her to eat more than she might otherwise do as she would wish to appear a dainty eater at the dinner. She said it was one of those ridiculous things that only applied in London.
Grace was not altogether clear why she ought to refrain from eating her fill at the dinner, other than to suppose that a single gentleman would not wish to see her eat an enormous amount and then have visions of being eaten out of house and home.
Mr. Button had been positively gobsmacked to see that Mrs. Right often attended the family in the drawing room and he had not seemed to get used to the idea. In truth, he seemed terrified of Mrs. Right and leapt out of the way any time that lady was heading in his direction as if it would be dangerous to get too near. He had set the tea tray down and been out of the room like a shot.
Mrs. Right had risen and said, “I will just go and see what Mr. Button is up to downstairs. Fanning himself, I hope.”
After a half hour, Mr. Button was back and he did look as if he might have been fanning himself. “Lady Marchfield to see you, Lady Grace.”
Valor snorted. “Nobody told him not to let her in,” she said.
Mr. Button looked horrified over the comment. He stepped aside as their aunt strode into the drawing room.
“Grace,” she said, “I could not account for your absence at Almack’s last evening. I presumed you must have fallen ill.”
“They decided not to go,” Patience said, “on account of it being tedious.”
“And the stupid lemonade,” Winsome said.
“And Papa says the patronesses are harpies,” Valor said, giggling into Mrs. Wendover’s raggedy shoulder.
“And, Aunt,” Serenity said, “I really do feel in my heart that we ought to trust Felicity’s opinion of it. Which was terrible from top to bottom.”
Lady Marchfield turned to Mr. Button and said, “Mr. Button, I pray you are bringing your calm rationality as an example to this household. Do bring me a cup, I will stay for tea. I can see that much needs to be straightened out here.”
Mr. Button hurried to do the lady’s bidding and Lady Marchfield settled herself on a settee.
“Grace, you have done yourself a grave disservice to thumb your nose at Almack’s. I can assure you it was noticed.”
Grace did not answer that charge, though it did make her uncomfortable. She did not wish for anyone to imagine she thumbed her nose. She only did not want to go.
“As for the rest of you, your comments are not ladylike, and they are not even true. Your father’s influence will do you no favors in the wider world and the sooner you take that in, the better. Now, I have come to begin reviewing the invitations that have arrived and set your course for the season.”
All eyes turned to Grace. Valor leaned over and whispered rapidly to Mrs. Wendover. The rabbit’s dead black eyes did not reveal what she thought of the information just communicated to her.
