Page 53 of Lady Graceless
Moreau marched out of the dressing room as soon as he heard Miles come in. “She knows nothing! Nothing at all! Who pays the price for this ignorance? Moreau, who else?”
Miles did not have the first idea who had got into Moreau’s bad books. It could be anybody at all. As far as Moreau was concerned, all the world was ranged against him.
As he did not speculate on who might be his valet’s latest enemy, Moreau continued on. “How is it that a lady’s maid can barely sew a stitch, I wonder? Oh, never mind, it is because she is akitchenmaid, that is how.”
“I presume you refer to Meg,” Miles said. “Lady Margaret seems happy with her.”
This, apparently, was not the looked-for response.
“Lady Margaret is happy with her? Why not? Every time I set foot into the servants’ hall, this Meg individual is right behind me. Moreau, how do I fix this hem? Moreau, how do I remove this spot? Moreau, how do I use the irons? I do not see why Moreau is not the lady’s maid.”
“I suspect Lady Margaret would not prefer it. In any case, Meg is new to the position,” Miles said. “She is bound to have questions.”
“Oh yes, she has questions all day long. She does not harassyouwith these questions. Only Moreau.”
Miles did not bother to point out that even a very inexperienced lady’s maid would not be so harebrained as to ask the lord of the house how to use the irons.
“As Meg does harass you with questions,” Miles said, “perhaps you might drop some hints she might pass on to her mistress. I’ve been hoping Lady Margaret might…update her style of dress.”
Moreau sniffed. “Oh really? You do not find favor with towering turbans and molting feathers and skirts so voluminous they might serve for a curtsy to the queen?”
“Yes, all of that.”
“Well, guess what? This Meg person does a lot of talking. When she is not pestering me with questions, she talks about other things. And guess what? Lord Harraby thinks Lady Margaret’s style is marvelous. Good luck prying those limp ostrich feathers from her tiny, wrinkled hands!”
Moreau strode off to go and stew in the dressing room. Miles was certain his valet would collapse in apoplexy one day. If that came to pass and he was forced to find a new valet, his primary requirement would be for a fellow a deal more unflappable.
*
GRACE WAS JUMPINGup and down in her bedchamber, as it really did seem to help when she felt a bit dizzy. Valor burst into the room without so much as a knock.
Then she jumped up and down too and said, “What are we doing?”
“Just getting some exercise,” Grace said.
“Oh. I don’t like it.” Valor climbed onto her bed and said, “I am only waiting to hear back from my friend, Lady Margaret.”
“Hear back about what?” Grace said, ceasing her jumping.
“About how you can be happy but not leave the house,” Valor said, as if this were a much-discussed point between them.
Grace thought she might need more information about the idea. “Valor, do expand on this notion, if you will.”
Valor examined the trim on the pelisse that had been laid out on the bed. “Well, you know how it is. You like Lord Dashlend, just like Felicity liked Mr. Stratton and look what happened there.”
“First, I have not said I like Lord Dashlendthatmuch. It is far too soon for that. Second, Felicity married, which was quite right.”
“Felicity does not live here anymore, Grace,” Valor said, as if she were explaining a simple matter to a young child. “That’s the problem. It started out exactly the same with Felicity pretending she didn’t like Mr. Strattonthatmuch, and then she did not like him at all, and then she did and she’s gone.”
“We will all get married eventually,” Grace said. “At least, I hope so.”
“Why?”
“It is what ladies do,” Grace said. “They grow up and marry and leave their houses.”
“I though Papa was joking about that.”
“Well, he is. At least, the way he poses it.”
