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She tore her gaze away from him. In an airy voice, “Why should that be of interest to me?”
“Because,” Charles said with a sly grin, “as soon as I said his name, your face went red as a bottle of claret.”
Damn, was she as transparent as that?
“You do lose your composure whenever Mr. Fredericks is around, dearest,” her mother said sympathetically. “And lately, you sigh when his name is mentioned.”
“And you—”
Grace cut off her brother. “Yes, right, I understand your meaning.” She tried to take the advice she’d given Sebastian, concentrating on her breathing. “I may be somewhat discomfited because he’s here, but it’s nothing worth publishing in the Hawk’s Eye.”
She kept silent about the other reason her nerves were taut and her pulse throbbed in her neck. Sebastian was due at any moment. The plan was truly about to begin.
“I imagine that Lord and Lady Creasy are themselves quite agitated,” Grace’s mother said. “After years of inviting the Duke of Rotherby, he’s finally agreed to attend. That’s a considerable coup.”
“I’ve heard that he’s bringing a friend with him,” Anne added. She added in a shocked whisper, “A commoner.”
“Not any commoner,” Grace’s mother said with the triumphant air of one who has exclusive gossip. “The oldest son of the iron magnate, John Holloway.”
“Wasn’t Holloway at Lord Stoulton’s the other week?” Charles asked.
“Yes, and he brought one of his other sons with him. No one knows much about the eldest son, but everyone knows Holloway’s richer than the Royal Mint.”
“Does that mean that your friend Mr. Holloway is John Holloway’s son?” her mother asked.
“He is,” Grace said.
“Strange, I’ve never seen your Mr. Holloway at any gatherings.”
Her brother chuckled. “Wouldn’t that be amusing if he was the commoner coming with the duke?”
Blast. She and Sebastian hadn’t discussed the fact that they had a preexisting relationship, so they would have to improvise when they encountered each other today.
But this concern was only one of many thoughts spinning through her head. Not only was Sebastian about to arrive, Mason circulated nearby.
The object of her desire moved easily from group to group of attendees, laughing, chatting. Everywhere he went he was met with smiles and enthusiastic bonhomie. The nearer he came to where Grace and her family stood, the faster her heart raced. Would he remember how awkward she’d been at the British Museum?
“Mr. Fredericks,” her mother said when Mason was only a few feet away.
“Lady Pembroke.” Mason bowed as he addressed everyone in her family. “Lord Wale, Lady Wale,” he said to Charles and Anne. He turned to Grace and her belly seemed to cartwheel across the lawn.
“Lady Grace,” he said brightly, clasping his hands behind his back. “Wonderful to see you away from the animal graveyard that is Montagu House.”
Her heart lifted, while she struggled to keep from fidgeting beneath his gaze. As lightly as she could manage, she said, “I’d liberate the animals from the Royal Menagerie at the Tower but that might be unwise.”
“They might wreak havoc amongst the populace,” he said with a grave nod.
Happiness sparkled in her chest. Striving for a wry tone, she said, “It’s not the populace I worry about so much as my fearing for the animals’ safety.”
“Quite right.” He inclined his head, conceding her point. “Who thinks of the animals’ well-being?”
Another fillip of pleasure moved through her. Their conversation wasn’t nearly as horrendous as it had been the other day. Perhaps there was hope for her and Mason, after all.
“Where is Lord Pembroke?” Mason asked, glancing around. “He usually accompanies you to this event, and I’d looked forward to talking with him.”
Yes—the very reason why she’d undertaken this enterprise in the first place. The mention of her father helped bring her careening emotions under a degree of control. “Perhaps you haven’t heard, but my father is recovering in the country from an illness.”
