Chapter Fifteen
Lady Tredwell’s ballroomwas a swirl of color and unusual sights. There was a Persian potentate, a dairy maid, a Robin Hood, a country vicar, a pirate, a soldier, and more ominous-looking dominoes than Grace could count. The duchess was, Grace knew, Minerva. Though, she would not have guessed it if she had not known. The lady was dressed in her usual brocade, with perhaps the only hints being the gold color of the dress and the gold crown she wore on her head. Grace suppressed a smile as she imagined what Lady Heathway would have to say about the crown. Fortunately, she had not yet noticed it as she was too caught up in talking to Lady Mendleton, who had come as the Egyptian goddess Nut. As that particular goddess was responsible for swallowing the sun in the evening and birthing it again at dawn, Grace presumed this was a tipped hat to her new role as mother-in-law.
Lord Bertridge was a jester, which Grace found enormously amusing, as there was little of the jesting about Lord Bertridge. He was kind enough to take her first though, and she reminded herself that from now on she only looked at the world through practical eyes. The lord might not be wildly entertaining, but he was both practical and eligible and not at all unpleasant to look at.
Lord Blackwood had dressed himself as…she was not altogether certain. Was it a wolf? Or a long-ago warrior? He wore an enormous grey fur-like cape around his shoulders which might very well be a rug he’d taken from his house. He took one of her dances, but her supper was still open. As he’d not taken the opportunity, perhaps he was not interested in her in any particular manner. Her consideration of whether or not his puppy might be a pleasant companion might have been for naught.
This was the first ball Grace had attended that had a master of ceremonies available to make introductions. In fact, there appeared to be several. This was a very sensible idea as it was already a bit confusing when one could not see faces clearly. One of those helpful gentlemen had just arrived with an unknown person in tow.
At least, she presumed he was unknown. He wore a full mask of a goblin of some sort, his hair was covered in a hood, and he was caped from head to toe.
“Miss Grace Yardley, daughter of the late Viscount Barlow, may I present the Earl of Glendower.”
Grace curtsied and waited for the gentleman to speak, but he did not. He seemed very mysterious and merely reached for her card. He quickly wrote in his name, bowed and moved off. How odd. He’d taken her supper without a word. Well, she supposed he’d have to speakthen.
Lady Heathway turned back to Grace as Lady Mendleton moved off. “She has styled herself as the mother god of Egypt,” Lady Heathway said. “She has convinced herself that she’s somehow become the greatest mother in England, but I don’t see it.”
Grace could not help that a small giggle escaped her.
Lady Heathway scanned the crowd. “And the duchess wears a crown, do I dare express surprise? How is your card coming along, my dear?”
“It is nearly filled,” Grace said. “Some of the gentlemen I already know, but some are new to me.”
She handed the card to Lady Heathway for examination.
“Ah, Lord Glendower,” Lady Heathway said, “He has finally come back from Scotland! It’s been a few years, I believe. How fortunate, he’s an earl and very unmarried.” Lady Heathway ran her finger down the rest of the list of names. “Good, good,” she murmured.
She handed Grace back her card. “Excellent. One may hope that Mr. Vance does not suddenly appear to take the last spot. Though if he does, I am certain we will see him coming dressed as a tradesman just to vex me.”
Grace would not at all mind if Mr. Vance, dressed as his gunmaker grandfather, were to make a sudden appearance. However, she had not seen him so far. What she did see at this moment, which nearly sent her into fits of laughter, was Lady Featherstone bearing down upon them.
The lady appeared to be dressed as Catherine, Empress of Russia. She wore an elaborate dress identical to the one in the empress’s coronation portrait, including the sash and the medals and even the scepter. The emerald broach had not been a part of the copy of the portrait Grace had viewed in some periodical or other and did not really complement the blue and silver of the gown, but it took pride of place on her heaving bosom.
“Good Lord,” Lady Heathway muttered.
Grace would have been delighted to hear what would be said between them, but another of the masters of ceremonies had arrived with a gentleman.
The gentleman was tall but a little paunchy and had dressed himself as a bishop.
“Miss Grace Yardley, daughter of the late Viscount Barlow, may I present the Earl of Lymington, eldest son of the Duke of Hastings.”
Grace curtsied. Lord Lymington said, “Miss Yardley, charmed. Just got to Town, and all that. Horses, you know.”
Grace of course did not know and could not imagine how his horses had kept him from getting to Town, as horses were generally known to assist in that operation. She smiled by way of vague response.
He took her card and studied it for a moment. She was not certain what he was looking for as there was only one spot left open.
“Aha!” he said, and penciled his name in.
Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw Lord Gresham approach. She had thought he’d be one of those gentlemen who couldn’t be bothered to think of a costume and would just rent a domino, or in the case of Lord Blackwood look around for a handy rug to fling over one’s shoulders. However, it seemed Lord Greshamhadmade an effort, though she was not entirely clear what the effort was. Some sort of Greek soldier perhaps? A white tunic and red cape, topped with a rather large and ornate metal helmet.
As seemed to be always the case, she wished he did not come. Even as ridiculously attired as he was at this moment, her heart skipped a beat upon noting him.
This was not a very good time for that! Everything was going quite according to plan. Her card was filled, and there were even gentlemen she had previously not met put down on it. Any one of them might prove to be a future husband.
She was in such good spirits, she did not wish for Lord Gresham to put her out of them.
“Miss Yardley,” he said, bowing and edging Lord Lymington out of the way.
