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As Lord Brown spoke, Grace kept her eyes on him, but her mind followed the dowager and the gentleman at her side. If she wasn’t wrong, the gentleman continued to look over at her often. Had she something on her face? A lock of curl jutting out from her coiffure?
Hoping not to draw much attention to herself, Grace carefully patted down her hair. Nothing seemed out of place. She brushed a hand over her cheek. It had been at least three hours since she’d last eaten. Suppose she’d had some bit of food left on her face all this time? She would be mortified. But her fingers came away clean.
“Miss Stewart.”
Grace turned and found the dowager and the gentleman already upon her.
“May I make you known to the Earl of Weston?”
He was an earl? Good heavens. No doubt a man of his standing would find much fault in someone such as herself. Still, she tipped her head in agreement.
“Lord Weston,” the dowager continued, “this is Miss Stewart. She and her parents will be with us the entire party, though Mr. and Mrs. Stewart are currently upstairs. I do believe you will find them quite pleasant when you make their acquaintance. And of course you know my son, Lord Brown.”
The man in question stood, extending his arm to Lord Weston. “Do forgive my lapse in etiquette. I’m afraid I was rather busy speaking with the lovely Miss Stewart and did not even realize you’d arrived.”
Lovely? Did he truly believe she was lovely?
Save her father, never had a man paid her so much attention or spoken so well of her. Despite her hesitance to accept them, her heart had been keeping careful count of every compliment to come from Lord Brown. He was up to three now—three clearly flattering compliments—and Grace suddenly wondered if her hopes would be realized after all.
“Miss Stewart,” Lord Weston said, his voice low and smooth. “It is an honor to meet you at last.”
“At last, my lord?” She couldn’t fathom what he meant. Was he known to her father? Or an uncle, perhaps?
“I believe you and my sister met in London during the summer. Lady Frances Stanhope.”
“Oh, of course.” Grace knew the words were too loud the moment she’d said them. She tried to tone down her voice, but it was rather hard when speaking of someone as kind and good as Lady Frances. “Your sister has become my dearest friend.” Grace turned toward Lord Brown and the dowager. “Lady Frances and I write one another at least once a week. Nothing brightens my day like receiving a letter from her.”
Grace glanced over at Lord Weston. His smile had turned tight. If she wasn’t mistaken, he was rather grinding his teeth, the tension showing along his jaw and down his neck. Despite all that, he was quite handsome. Sandy hair fell about his face. His jaw was well defined, though that could just be the tension. He had a straight nose and light blue eyes. A beautiful shade of blue, at that. Exactly the color she would use to embroider a spring sky or a robin’s egg.
Still, there was a tightness to his expression. It seemed as though he held something back—as though he’d already judged her unequal to his trust and confidence. Unequal tohim. He was an earl after all, and very probably considered her a country bumkin.
He probably didn’t approve of his sister writing her. Well, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to give up her friend for anyone.
Grace turned back to Lord Brown. “I know of no one as kind-hearted and gracious as Lady Frances.” She purposely did not look at Lady Frances’s brother as she spoke the words. Let him look down on her if he must; she would stand by his sister’s side regardless.
“I met Lady Frances a few times in London,” Lord Brown said, his brow creasing. “I must confess, I rather find it surprising to hear you consider her such a good friend.”
“Why is that?” Grace asked.
“Only, the two of you are so different.”
“At first, I felt the same. But on closer acquaintance, I found she and I had many things in common.” She’d not considered Lady Frances overly much, until one afternoon, in a fit of complete loneliness, Grace had written nearly everyone she’d met in London, praying desperately thatsomeonewould care to continue an acquaintance with her enough to write back. Lady Frances had. More still, it had been a most warm and encouraging letter. So Grace had written her yet again, and Lady Frances had replied, and on and on until now they wrote each other about everything.
“Some people,” Grace said, “are perhaps not so much themselves among society as they are when they can write down their thoughts and reflections.” Grace often felt that way herself. Though she enjoyed company—not crushes, but pleasant conversations—she still often felt she opened up more easily when writing than when talking.
“I suppose that may be true,” Lord Brown said, tipping his head to the side as though carefully mulling over what she’d said.
“Come, Lord Weston,” the dowager said, breaking into the conversation once more. “I shall introduce you to Lord and Lady Thompson next.”
Lord Weston seemed to hesitate, casting Grace yet another look—another that felt as though it meant...more. He seemed to be trying to communicate something to her, yet she couldn’t figure out what it was.
The dowager looped her arm around his and all but pulled him away. Grace watched him leave.
“Do you know Lord Weston well?” she found herself asking after he and the dowager were out of ear shot.
Lord Brown shrugged. “Not overly. But he personally requested to be included on the guest list, and I knew better than to turn down an earl.”
“How very strange.”
