Not even just ripped away—ripped away and then scalding water and piles of salt poured over it. She’d worked very hard to maintain an appearance of equanimity all through her dance with Lord Montclave.
She supposed this was how it would be from now on. Everybody would express their admiration for the dashing couple—Lord Dashlend and Lady Lavender.
If there was anything at all bright about the evening, it was that Lady Lavender did not attend. She would at least not be forced to view the couple. Not yet, in any case.
She must hope that when shewasforced to see them together, she had gained more peace than she was in receipt of at just this moment.
Grace had moved through the sets in almost a dreamlike state. It was very hard to make herself amusing and she was afraid she was not a very genial partner.
How could she be? Every minute that passed brought closer the real test of the evening. She would dance the last set with Lord Dashlend and then he would lead her into supper. She was counting on her father to note her discomfort in the dining room, and certainly she would be so, and take her home abruptly.
It was one of the lovely things about her Papa—he would not give a toss for what anybody, including Lord Dashlend, would think about it. He would happily leave Lord Dashlend to sit alone, entertaining himself, if he sensed the slightest whiff of unhappiness in his daughter.
Just now, Lord Kendrick, a baron from Hertfordshire, was working hard to make conversation.
“It is my first season,” the lord said. “My father does not really approve of outlaying so much money for a London season, but my mother pointed out that if he didn’t loosen the purse strings for it, I’d end up wedding Miss Granger. She is from our neighborhood, you see.”
“Indeed,” Grace said mechanically. “Are you partial to Miss Granger?”
The baron laughed. “Nobody is partial to Miss Granger, particularly not myself or my father. She is very purse-lipped and does not approve of…well, anything fun, really. It was only my mother’s gambit to frighten my father that he might end with a daughter-in-law frowning from every corner. I reckon Miss Granger weds the vicar and they should go on purse-lipped and happy forevermore.”
Grace was rather startled that the lord should insult the lady so thoroughly.
“No, I have my sights set higher than Miss Granger,” the baron said. “Do you know Lady Lavender Westcott?”
Grace suppressed a disgusted sigh and nodded. “I have made her acquaintance,” she said.
“Now there is a fine lady. She’s the sort who would show Miss Granger what is what.” In a wistful tone, he said, “I thought she would be here this evening. I wonder where she is.”
Grace hardly knew how to answer. In the first moment, she was entirely aggravated to hear of Lady Lavender’s charms again. It seemed everyone was bowled over by her. In the second moment, though, she understood that poor Lord Kendrick was on the verge of being as heartbroken as she was herself.
It must be so. The baron from Hertfordshire would not prevail against Lord Dashlend for the hand of Lady Lavender. He was too youthful, too unseasoned, too…not Lord Dashlend.
Grace felt a wave of dizziness wash over her and she leaned just a little bit on Lord Kendrick’s arm. He did not seem to notice, as he was engaged in listing out all of Lady Lavender’s charms.
She hardly listened. For one, she was already quite conversant regarding the lady’s charms. For another, she was thinking about how unsteady she felt just now.
Grace was determined that she did not show it. She would dance with Lord Dashlend soon enough and would not embarrass herself with a stumble. That would be entirely too much to bear.
Between the sets she must steal away somewhere and jump up and down in private. It was the only thing that helped steady her.
That was what she would do. Then, she would get through the set with Lord Dashlend and her father would take her home and she would bandage up her wounds again. They would heal eventually; she must just give it time. She would regain her spirits.
In time.
*
MONTCLAVE FELT THEminutes moving too fast. He’d escorted one lady after the next through the sets, none of them very interesting and one of them he vowed to never dance with again.
Thatone he was still dancing with.
Lady Agatha, an earl’s daughter, apparently thought the world of herself and was determined to hear that any gentleman coming into her sphere thought the very same. She fished for compliments like she stood on the banks of the River Tay looking to land a fat trout.
“My mother said, Agatha, that color does something well for your eyes,” Lady Agatha said. “But I said, Mama, I am certain it does not.”
And there it was, the long pause awaiting the compliment. He was not at all inclined to take the bait.
“Well, sometimes eyes are not a lady’s best feature,” he said. “No shame in that, I always think.”
