Page 51 of Lady Graceless
“I’ve not had the honor,” Mr. Stratton said with a bow.
“A pleasure, Mr. Stratton, Lady Felicity.”
“Goodness, you are pretty,” Felicity said. “I suppose you must be this season’s diamond of the first water.” She looked mischievously at her husband and Mr. Stratton had the good grace to pink. When his unusual courtship of Felicity had begun, he’d pointed out another lady as the season’s diamond of the first water. Felicity had inquired why she was not thus named and Mr. Stratton had very ill-advisedly told her she could be a diamond of the second water—things had gone downhill from there.
Lady Lavender was looking elegant and graceful and all the things Lady Lavender was. She really was a diamond of the first water. Lord Dashlend was penciling in his name on her card, which very ridiculously gave Grace a pang. What else was he to do?
She did not know what he’d put himself down for, but she dearly hoped they would not dine together. Her papa might disdain the patronesses’ offerings at table, but it did permit for extended conversation.
Grace had never viewed herself as a lady who would fall victim to jealousy and envy, but whatever she felt just now, it was very like those two things.
The musicians gave the signal that the ball was to begin. Lady Lavender’s first partner came to collect her. Lord Harraby pulled Lady Margaret from her chair and she boldly flung away her cane. That item hit Lord Rasherby in the legs, but she did not seem to notice.
Lord Dashlend led Grace to their places.
The Duchess of Devonshire called the dance and the orchestra struck up. What followed was not a moment in time that Grace would soon forget.
Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby had no acquaintance whatsoever with the steps. This seemed to occur to them rather rapidly. Lady Margaret shrugged, Lord Harraby smiled. Then they proceeded to execute steps that had no relation whatsoever to what had been called, or the tempo being played. Grace presumed they were the steps memorized from a fold on her fan.
That, in itself, might not have posed an unsurmountable problem. That was, had those two people been in the ballroom alone. They were not, however.
Dancers dodged them, stared at them, leapt out of the way of Lady Margaret’s panniers, and some even kindly attempted to do something like the steps they were staggering through. Grace’s part of the line of dancers had devolved into some sort of unmanageable chaos, the only people seeming not to notice being the elderly couple who caused it.
Lord Dashlend had just grabbed her hand and pulled her out of the way of another surge forward by Lord Harraby. They both began to laugh uncontrollably. It was too ridiculous.
It was not many minutes, though, when it became apparent that Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby began to run out of steam.
As they attempted some sort of allemande, Lord Harraby shouted, “What do you think, my springtime? Have we acquitted ourselves?”
“Yes, indeed,” Lady Margaret said, “we have acquitted and now we may quit.”
The couple unceremoniously staggered out of the line, sending the other dancers into further disarray. Both of them appeared none too steady on their feet. Lord Dashlend hurried after them and steadied Lady Margaret as Grace’s father, who was guffawing at the whole spectacle, pushed forward a chair for Lord Harraby.
The couple sat down, heaving in breaths, as Lady Margaret’s panniers spread out like a bird taking flight.
Lord Dashlend returned to her. “My apologies, Lady Grace.”
“Whatever for, Lord Dashlend? If you can persevere through Fact or Fib, I suppose I can do the same through… what this was.”
They spent the rest of the dance laughing, though far more organized in their steps than they had been.
The rest of the ball was not half so interesting. Grace was engaged to dance with various gentlemen who were all very genial. They were not as genial as Lord Dashlend, however. She worked to make conversation and watch her steps so she did not falter, but spent more time looking at Lord Dashlend than anything else.
Sometimes he caught her looking and he smiled. Sometimes she caughthimlooking at her andshesmiled. All in all, it was lovely.
Chapter Thirteen
MILES HAD NOTexpected to see Lady Margaret in the breakfast room. So far, she had taken her morning meal while still abed, which was quite right for a lady of her age and station. Especially after last evening he did not expect her to be up and about so early. After she and Lord Harraby had staggered to their chairs, they sent the duke off to find them refreshments of the fortifying kind.
Aside from the preposterousness of sending the duke on errands as if he were their footman, the patronesses did not supply the sort of refreshments the couple was looking for. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on who was viewing it, the duke had come with his flask of brandy in his pocket. He’d retrieved two cups of punch and liberally dosed them.
It certainly raised their spirits, but Lord Harraby’s burly hired man had been forced to enter the ballroom and carry Lady Margaret out, as there was not the least chance she would get out to the carriage under her own propulsion.
Miles had then carried her up the stairs and deposited her with her lady’s maid.
Despite that adventure, Lady Margaret hurried in and perched on a chair. Wainwright poured her a cup of tea. She said, “As promised, I received a letter from Lady Valor first thing this morning.”
Miles nodded, though he was at a loss as to why such a thing would be of interest to him.
