Page 22 of Lady Graceless
“As it happens, Aunt,” Grace said, “my father put me in charge of the invitations this season.”
The room was in silence as everyone in it looked to Lady Marchfield to see how that development would settle.
Mr. Button arrived back with a cup for Lady Marchfield. He seemed terrified of the silence, set it down and hurried out, closing the doors behind him.
“You are to choose the entertainments? That is absurd,” Lady Marchfield said.
“It’s true, though,” Winsome pointed out.
“But you have not… you have not gone forward with such an idea?” Lady Marchfield asked.
“I have been very careful, Aunt,” Grace said. “I have only accepted invitations from titled persons who live at a good address. This evening, we go to the Earl of Doanellen’s house on Bolton Street for dinner.”
“Doanellen?” Lady Marchfield asked.
Such was her tone that Grace wondered if she’d somehow made a mistake. But certainly she could not have. He was an earl at a good address.
“Is he a rogue?” Valor asked.
Ever since last season’s warning about rogues, Valor had been obsessed with the idea. Though, she still was not clear what a rogue was.
Lady Marchfield sniffed. “It is my understanding that the Earl of Doanellen has very cruelly left his countess to live alone in the countryside.”
Patience guffawed. “Oh, I wish Papa was here,” she said. “You know what he would say? He’d say, isn’t Marchfield always trying to leaveyouin the countryside? It’s not true, that’s why it’s so funny.”
Lady Marchfield glared at Patience. Then she turned to Grace and said, “I do not know who you will encounter at that dinner, but you ought to be very careful of it.”
“Of course I will be careful anywhere that I go,” Grace said. “And Papa will take me, nothing could be safer.”
“What about Lord Dashlend?” Serenity asked. “Is he going too, Grace?”
“What about Lord Dashlend?” Lady Marchfield asked.
“We met him on the road,” Valor said. “He was shipwrecked, and Papa took him to our inn. After a lot of conversations with Mrs. Wendover, I am convinced he is not a murderer.”
“Why on earth would you imagine that he was?” Lady Marchfield asked.
“Because he was a stranger we met on the road,” Valor said with a shrug.
“Where else does one meet murderers?” Verity asked. “It is a very common thing to meet them on the road.”
“It certainly is not and please outgrow your habit of storytelling, Verity,” Lady Marchfield said. “Lord Dashlend is well respected and a Corinthian of the first order. He is the only son of the Earl of Gravesend. That particular earl hasnotleft a wife in the countryside and is everything genial when he is not suffering from the gout.”
This buoyed Grace quite a bit. Though she had reminded herself that Lord Dashlend was the first gentleman she’d encountered and that she did not know enough about him, it had not stopped her from thinking of him. She was sensible enough to be cognizant of the idea that she might think of him so oftenbecausehe was the first and only gentleman she had met so far. For all that, she was gratified that he seemed to be everything she had imagined.
“Though, I must inform you that it has been widely understood that Lord Dashlend is always so taken up with his sporting that he’s not looked for a wife. In fact, he accepts very few social engagements during the season.”
As fast as she had been buoyed up, Grace was cast back down. The possibility had not occurred to her.
“He’s coming to dinner,” Winsome said. “He acceptedthatinvitation.”
“Really? When is this dinner? I presume my brother will have the good sense, and the good grace for that matter, to extend me an invitation.”
The sisters all looked at one another. Verity said, “It is next Wednesday, Aunt.”
Nobody corrected Verity. The dinner was on Tuesday next, but Grace thought Verity’s habit of fibbing had finally been put to good use. She did respect Lady Marchfield, but the lady was so prone to throwing cold water on any sort of merriment.
Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw the drawing room doors open just a crack. Charlie peered through, and then sent Nelson inside, shutting the door behind the dog.
