“Oh yes, I see,” the poor innkeeper said. “A very fine joke, Your Grace.” The fellow bowed and hurried from the room. Miles would not be surprised if he were hurrying toward a glass of brandy to calm himself after that particular joke.
The dinner commenced and Miles learned quite a lot about the Nicolet family. He had, of course, heard of Lady Albright’s tiger getting loose and Stratton stepping forward as the hero of the hour to rescue Lady Felicity.
There were other things he’d not heard though.
He was given more detail about the cyprian party that had been mentioned. Apparently, the housekeeper had accepted the invitation on behalf of the duke and Lady Marchfield. When the duke realized what sort of party it was, he left his sister there to fend for herself.
This story struck all of the family as particularly hilarious, especially the part where Lady Marchfield arrived to the duke’s house to yell about it.
Miles was at a loss as to how a housekeeper could send a duke and a countess to a party put on by low women and still keep her position.
The dessert course was passed uniquely, as he heard about the various tortures thrust upon Stratton when it was felt he might have tricked Lady Felicity regarding his feelings. There was a pile of chains left on his doorstep, his grocery order was changed to only cabbages, his wine order was canceled, and his clothes were donated to charity.
All of this was said to have worked out well, as Lady Felicity and Stratton had wed. Since then, Lady Felicity had taken Sir Pineapple in hand, whoever that person was, and Blueberry was turning out to be not much of a mouser.
After dinner, he was pressed to take some port, though the ladies remained at table. He initially thought this odd arrangement was on account of being at an inn. That was cleared up when it was explained that the duke got too drunk when he was left alone with the bottle.
Well past midnight, he staggered up the stairs to his room. He found Moreau sitting morosely by the window, fanning Miles’ clothes in the night air.
“Moreau was forced to dine with the duke’s staff,” Moreau said. “That valet is grim-faced and kept staring at his ‘oldest set’ of clothes, even though they were on my person. He leaned forward anytime food or drink came near Moreau’s lips as if Moreau is in the habit of missing his mouth.”
Miles settled himself in a chair. He knew perfectly well from experience that Moreau was on the verge of recounting his entire evening.
“The duke’s footmen were very drunk and kept winking at a kitchen maid until she winked back,” his Valet said, looking mournfully at the clothes hanging by the window. Then, naturally, they were terrified of the girl. Three of the coachmen came in and demanded bottles of wine on the duke’s charge. The valet attempted to refuse them, but they said they would rip him limb from limb and he acquiesced. Then those brutes went off with the kitchen maid and the footmen nearly wept over it. For all I know, maybe they did weep. They had to go out to the yard to vomit out all the wine they drank so who knows what else they did out there. As you might suspect, they came back in and drank more wine. Then they sang terrible English songs.”
“You think all English songs are terrible, no matter who sings them.”
Moreau ignored that comment. “The valet attempted to send them to bed, but of course they had prior viewed the coachmen’s success, so they told him they’d rip him limb from limb. He took them both out by their ears. At that moment, Moreau thought to himself, this has been a delight indeed, and now I retire. One might have thought Moreau might find peace in his bed and he had closed his eyes, but no—that valet comes into the room and claims he must always have the bed by the window for his nose problems. Moreau was forced to relocate himself here to sleep on the floor, lest he cover the valet’s face with a pillow in the middle of the night. But never mind Moreau’s charming evening. I suppose you had a very pleasant dinner with your new friends?”
Miles smiled. “They are completely mad, and so are you.”
Chapter Four
GRACE HAD BEENup very late, as the moment they retired to their beds at The Dolphin and the Dove a minute examination of Viscount Dashlend had commenced.
Verity approved of him, as he’d admitted to disliking Almack’s, which she thought was a very brave stance.
Serenity approved of him, as she sensed in him a sensitive soul. She pointed out how stricken he looked upon hearing of all that had been done to Mr. Percy Stratton before that gentleman wed Felicity.
Patience said she could not decide, which was very aggravating. She did not, as a habit, like to dilly-dally on deciding. It seemed the sticking point was that he did not put up a vigorous defense against the charge that he might be a murderer. She did not think he was, but she would have expected a more robust explanation than murderers did not arrive by shipwreck.
All through these discussions, Grace made herself out to be merely curious over her sister’s opinions while holding no firm opinion of her own.
She did have an opinion, though. She thought Lord Dashlend was rather marvelous. He was such a strapping specimen of a man. He had very dark hair and eyes, and a nose with just a touch of the Roman in it, and a squarish chin. She’d never seen such a man.
He was so genial too. Grace understood from Felicity that a person encountering all of the Nicolets at once might feel a bit overwhelmed. Aside from his flinching when Winsome explained why he could not be a murderer, he’d not seemed overwhelmed at all.
What was a question, though, was that she really could not gauge if he thought anything particular of her. She could not measure what sort of effect it had on the gentleman that she possessed two left feet. She did, everybody knew it, but perhaps so early in the acquaintance was not the moment for her father to mention it.
There would be no end of ladies in Town who did not have two left feet. Why should Lord Dashlend be interested in a lady not so blessed?
Grace knew very well that her father would have mentioned it thinking it would be helpful. After all, he’d been ever so helpful to Felicity with Mr. Percy Stratton.
But then, she could look on the side of hope—there was every chance she could become more graceful than she currently was. Perhaps she was already improving. It was true that she had missed that last step down to the beach, but it had been covered in sand. Anybody could have missed it. Other than that, she’d acquitted herself very well.
In truth, it seemed to her that these long carriage rides somehow did her good. She’d noticed it last year when they’d gone to Town. It was a very odd thing, but the jostling of it caused her to feel steadier on her feet for days. She’d even tried it out at home by hopping up and down and it did seem to help.
She’d fallen asleep keeping hope in her heart. Grace did not know what other gentlemen she would meet in London, but she had met Lord Dashlend.
