Lady Heathway had just left the drawing room, but not before she had told Grace all about Lord Ryland’s mystery ball and listed which dresses she might consider wearing to it. It was definite—they would attend.
Understanding better what was involved, Grace realized it was less a mystery ball and more a mystery supper. The ball itself would be quite usual, but when they went in for supper, they would find a written-out mystery tucked under their plates. Whoever solved the thing first would be given some sort of prize.
Lady Heathway had sighed and said that whoever won, it would not be Lady Featherstone. That lady would be convinced she would come away the victor, as she always was. And then, she would be embarrassingly dejected when she was not the victor, as she never was. It was Lady Heathway’s opinion that Lady Featherstone believed she had the mind of a crack investigator, but really had a mind that was like a bird flitting from tree to tree. Lady Heathway and the duchess were quite agreed on that point.
Out of curiosity, Grace had asked who had solved the mystery the year before. This produced a surprisingly irritated sniff and the information that it had been Lady Langley when she had only been Miss Wilcox. It had seemed further irritating that the prize had been tea with the queen.
Lady Heathway had then mollified herself by reasoning that a person might well be skilled at solving a mystery when that person had so much time on their hands from never playing the pianoforte.
Grace did not know whether Lady Langley could play the pianoforte or not and did not much care. She liked the lady and was rather impressed that she’d prevailed and then had tea with Queen Charlotte.
The most important thing, though, is that she and Lady Heathway would be there for this latest mystery of Lord Ryland’s. Grace would use the opportunity to see what she really thought about the lord. And any other gentleman she encountered. She would not allow Lord Gresham to dictate the terms of the rest of her life through his petty vindictiveness.
*
Ranston laid downon his bed and stared up at the spot on the ceiling that always made him feel calm. He felt he was holding up rather well these days, considering the trying circumstances. There was pressure from every side!
First, there was the confounded Miss Yardley. How could one young lady be so vexatious? If she was not found clinging to the side of the house, she was positively missing! Then, as if she were some sort of sorceress, she turns up in the back garden. How did she get there? A housemaid had been out there cutting flowers for Lady Heathway’s bedchamber and claimed Miss Yardley had appeared on the path as suddenly as an apparition on All Hallows Eve. Then, having mysteriously appeared, Miss Yardley had run to a patch of daffodils and set upon them as if she held a personal grudge against them. All the while, Lord Heathway’s valet had been polishing the lord’s boots on the bench next to the door leading to the garden since six-thirty in the morning andhe’dnot seen her go out. Had she flown out of her bedchamber window?
He supposed he should not be surprised if she had, as it would not be the first time she’d left the house via that particular aperture.
Then there was Miss Yardley’s lady’s maid, Betsy, who almost made him feel as if he was irrational for thinking there was anything strange about her mistress. According to Betsy, everything Miss Yardley did made perfect sense and was perfectly right. Miss Yardley was the daughter of a viscount and was absolutely incapable of doing or thinking anything at all wrong. If Miss Yardley deemed it necessary to climb down a drainpipe, then it had been necessary.
Ranston did not know if the blood of a viscount conveyed any particular wisdom, but if it did it seemed to have skipped a generation!
As if Miss Yardley and her infernal maid were not enough to contend with, there was Jenny. Why were kitchen maids always such a thorn in his side? It seemed as if all the diabolical females in the world had secretly met at midnight in some lonely location and said, “Let’s be kitchen maids.”
He’d just got rid of the last one for her cheeky responses to any and all questions.Thatone had the footmen in a constant state of near-rage and cook had once thrown a pot at the girl. Now he’d got one who he was certain was making off with household provisions and selling them somewhere. She had also had the audacity to help herself to Lord Heathway’s brandy.
Did the girl not see that it was one thing for a butler who was responsible for defending the house to gird himself with a judicious amount of brandy and quite another for a lowly kitchen maid to do it?
A lesser man could not have held up against this sort of turmoil.
Fortunately, he was not a lesser man. After his lie-down, he would have tea and a fortifying biscuit. Then he would bravely soldier on.
*
Grace had dressedwith particular care for Lord Ryland’s ball. One of Lady Heathway’s designs had been a light rose silk gown with subtle rosettes of the same color decorating the hem. As was Lady Heathway’s preference and had become Grace’s too, the waist, though high, was eased and not pinched in. Nor was the bodice gathered. This resulted in an elegant drape, rather than the straight drop from the bodice that caused a lady to look like a column ready to hold up a portico. The sleeves were capped, as Lady Heathway could not abide puffed—she thought they made a lady appear as if she were sprouting wings and planning to fly off somewhere.
Lady Heathway had approved her choice of dress, as it had been one of her suggestions to begin with, and she had lent Grace a delicate necklace to go with it. It was an intricate and graceful pattern of thin and winding silverwork made to look as stems and leaves, with gems of rose quartz set as the flowers. It was not too large, and it was not overdone. It was very much Lady Heathway’s taste and Grace found she had become a great admirer of the lady’s discernment.
She must look her best. She did not know how many chances she would have to secure her future and so she must take advantage of every one of them.
Lady Heathway had talked all the way to Lord Ryland’s house, discussing the various mysteries presented by the lord in past years. All of them had to do with murder and so Grace supposed this one would too. It was an idea that did give her pause. It was all well and good to attend the ball and do one’s best with the mystery presented, but could she really be contented being married to a gentleman who seemed to dedicate his life to examining the dark and dangerous? And what of Lady Barlow? Grace was fairly confident that one tale of murder would scare the wits out of her. More than one would be her undoing.
Still, Lord Ryland might turn out to be her only chance to rescue her mother from the dower house. She must remain open to the idea that she might one day be the mistress of bookshelves filled with criminal histories and gruesome ends.
Since she had determined to attempt to divine Lord Ryland’s interest, and divine her own interest as well, she felt herself fluttery as they entered the house. It seemed somehow embarrassing, as if all those around her could read her thoughts.
Lord Ryland was at the door to greet them, and he was as he had been on prior occasions. He was a forceful sort of personality, though proper in every way. Grace did not get the slightest hint that she might be singled out in his affections. If there was anything different about him she could not say, though she was beginning to think him a bit odd. After he had greeted her, he said he was delighted to see her walking so well.
Had he ever seen her not walk well? What a strange thing to say.
Just as they’d moved on and were headed toward the ballroom, Grace heard something disturbing behind her.
“Jacobs, old fellow, what do you do here?”
Grace froze, as did Lady Heathway.
