Page 86 of Lady Graceless
The footmen came bounding into the room, seeming filled with enthusiasm to carry a gentleman in a chair down the stairs. The most senior, Charlie, bowed and said, “My lord, we have been directed by the duke to get you into that chair in the corridor and carry you down the stairs in all haste.”
“But without dropping you,” the junior footman said. Miles recalled his name was Thomas, as Lady Valor was often in the habit of congratulating him when he accomplished one of his duties successfully.
“As Thomas said, without dropping you,” Charlie confirmed.
“It has wheels,” Thomas said, “so when we get you down without dropping you, it’s a walk in the park to wheel you into the drawing room.”
Miles decided to ignore the many assurances about not dropping him and just hope for the best. Moreau hurried over to him and made last minute adjustments to his neckcloth.
The physician had him stand, which he did on one foot, and then felt around his bandaged ribs, poking here and there to assure himself that they still hurt. Which they did.
He was helped to the chair and there began his alarming trip down the stairs.
Despite assurances that he would not be dropped, the two footmen had not seemed to have devised any particular strategy to avoid it. They argued back and forth as the chair tipped to one side then the other on its perilous journey. It seemed the wheels kept catching on the rises and throwing them off balance.
Miles held on to the armrests as the two young men blamed one another for the tipping. Somehow, they managed to get him down to the great hall.
They set him down as Charlie said, “There we go, my lord. Right as rain.”
Miles glanced up to the top of the stairs as the physician frowned from the landing and Moreau’s knuckles were white as he clutched the balustrade. Neither of them seemed to think the operation went right as rain. However, it was accomplished.
Just then there was a sharp rap on the door. Charlie and Thomas looked at each other. “You answer it, Thomas,” Charlie said. “As the senior footman, it must be myself that wheels the lord forward.”
Thomas, as junior footmen were wont to do, communicated his sullenness over it by way of facial expressions. Then he jogged round the corner to the foyer. Charlie got behind him to push him to the drawing room. As those doors were currently closed, the footman paused, seeming to realize he’d need Thomas to open them.
From the foyer, Miles heard a distinct and unwelcome voice. Montclave.
“I repeat, I am Lord Dashlend’s most senior relation in Town. I insist on seeing him and taking over his care.”
In a moment, Montclave was in the hall, having pushed poor Thomas to the side.
The baron stopped in his tracks. “You. You were said to be comatose.”
“Well, I am not,” Miles asked. He really wondered what Montclave’s plan had been. He arrived thinking he would find Miles unconscious and demanded to take over his care? What then? A pillow over his face when nobody was looking?
“I see, yes, there you are, awake, very good news. Further good news—I have arrived. As family. Now, I insist you be moved to your own house, where you will be more comfortable. I will take care of everything. No detail will be too small!”
“You will do no such thing,” Miles said. “My staff has been informed that you are not to set foot in the house, nor is Lady Margaret to be thrown out of it. Furthermore, I am certain you sent certain arrangements of flowers to this address.”
“What? Flowers?” Montclave said, pointing at himself and then looking over his shoulder as if Miles was accusing somebody else. “Never. What flowers? I do not know what you say.”
The drawing room doors opened and Miles saw a crowd of people in there. What was Lady Marchfield doing there? And Lady Margaret and Lord Harraby, too.
Ah, but there was Lady Grace, looking positively lovely. It enraged him that Montclave would have caused her any distress. He had sent his signals of interest clearly enough and she had reciprocated. For her to think it was all just a game… he wanted to strangle his cousin.
The duke strode out and stared at Montclave. “What do you do here?” he asked.
“Your Grace, I was concerned for my relation. I can see, just from speaking to him for a few moments, that he is not steady in his mind. His thoughts are confused. These things are all too common after a fall. I must take him home and hire specialized care.”
The duke laughed. “Oh I see, take him home and have this specialized care take him right into a grave I imagine. Do not look so shocked, we know all, Montclave. Thought you might become the next earl, did you?”
Though Miles and his father had long known it to be the case, it had never been said aloud. Not to Montclave anyway. The fellow went positively white. At a shrill and ear-piercing pitch, he screamed, “It was not me! You cannot prove it was me!”
Montclave turned and ran from the house. Lady Grace came into the hall. “Papa, what do you accuse Lord Montclave of?”
“The flowers, my dear. Dashlend did not send those two sets of posies, Montclave did. Trying to stir up some trouble.”
“The flowers? Really?” Lady Grace whispered.
