Page 43 of Lady Graceless
It was a perfectly polite question and Miles intended to answer it perfectly politely, though it would not be a truthful answer. “Yes, it was very enjoyable. May I ask how you found Lady Luthering’s ball?”
“Oh very nice,” Lady Grace said. She paused and then said, “Your cousin was there. Lord Montclave. He took me into supper.”
“Did he,” Miles said. He found he did not like that idea at all. Montclave was no gentleman for a lady like Lady Grace. Montclave was no gentleman, period.
Lady Grace nodded. “He spoke of you, actually.”
“I do not know why he should,” Miles said, careful to keep utter disdain from his tone.
“I am not entirely certain why he did either,” Lady Grace said.
There was something sad in the way she said it. What had Montclave said about him?
Before he could press for an answer, the sound of the door knocker being soundly rapped was heard in the dining room. Mr. Button directed the footman to continue serving and hurried out to the front hall.
Shortly after, a matron’s raised voice was heard by everyone at table.
“Never fear, Mr. Button, I have received your communication, and I have come to sort out this shameful situation.”
The sound of the voice seemed to send chills down the spines of the ladies at table. Lady Valor disappeared under it with her rather worn-out stuffed rabbit.
The duke took a long swig of wine and said, “Lady Misery has arrived. We are in for it now!”
For some reason, the duke seemed to think the idea vastly amusing.
“It is Lady Marchfield, my aunt,” Lady Grace said softly.
“Why does everyone seem to be so stricken over her arrival?” Miles whispered.
“We told her the wrong day for the dinner,” Lady Grace said. “She was told it was to be on the morrow. She is on the verge of discovering the ruse.”
To his other side, Lady Felicity, who had obviously overheard, said, “Oh my.”
“She can be very cross,” Lady Grace said, by way of explanation. “And so, when Verity said the wrong day, none of us corrected her.”
Out in the hall, Mr. Button was speaking and Miles could tell he was speaking rapidly, but it was not so loud that he could make out the words.
He could hear Lady Marchfield’s response, though.
“Lead me in, Mr. Button!”
“Here we go,” the duke said, raising his glass as if there was cause for celebration.
Lady Marchfield stormed into the dining room. She halted, and Miles thought it took her a moment to comprehend what she was seeing. As far as he could gather, having been told the wrong day for the dinner was just now dawning on her.
“Roland,” she said in a rather deadly tone, “step out into the hall for a moment.”
“What now, Lady Misery? Say your piece, if you will—I need not get up on my feet for it.”
“You will not like what I have to say in front of your guests.”
“I never do like what you say!” the duke said, laughing at his own joke.
Lady Marchfield, who Miles was only vaguely acquainted with, looked as if her head would explode.
“Very well, you uncouth excuse for a duke,” she said.
Miles dropped his fork. That was rather direct.
