“She’s very beautiful,” Lord Newcombe said in a reverent voice.
Grace raised her brows.
Suddenly he appeared to remember himself. “Such a trait seems to run in your family,” he added hastily, in a belated effort at gallantry.
“Spotted, fur-covered tongues?” Grace’s expression remained bland.
Newcombe looked confused. “No, I meant her beauty,” he said.
Grace did not respond. A wicked thought struck her. She smiled up at him in a way that told him she expected to hear more.
Lord Newcombe looked down at her uncertainly. Used to the silly, flirtatious repartee with which most of the London debutantes of his acquaintance would have reciprocated, he had no idea of the depths into which he had just inadvertently waded. This young woman with the odd orange hair did not appear to know the unwritten rules of polite conversation. After a moment her direct stare as well as the continued lack of conversation began to unnerve him. “Is your mother as lovely as . . . er . . . you and your sister?”
Grace stifled a laugh. “Oh, no, my lord, I can’t say that she is.”
Newcombe was taken aback. What a strange answer, he thought. Faith danced by at that moment, momentarily distracting him. “Your sister must resemble your father,” he said, then realized in horror that he had just implied that Grace herself must take after her mother, whom she had only just described as not attractive. He looked down to see if she had noticed his gaffe.
Grace inclined her head and raised an eyebrow, staring steadily back up at the fidgeting young man.
“Er . . . would you care to dance, Miss Ackerly?” he asked, feeling a sudden pressing need to make amends for his clumsy conversation. He would certainly never find favor with Faith if he angered her sister.
Dance? Did he think her daft? Grace glanced at Aunt Cleo, who nodded at her in a strange way, almost as if trying to convey some sort of message. Grace furrowed her brow until a brilliant notion came to mind. This self-important young pup needed a lesson in manners. She smiled conspiratorially at her aunt, then turned her most beaming expression on the young nobleman.
“Why, thank you, Lord Newcombe,” she said, batting her eyes in an exaggerated imitation of some of the simpering debutantes she had seen in action this evening. The oblivious man looked dazed by her sudden eagerness. She gave him an even more dazzling smile and placed her hand on his arm. “I thought you’d never ask.” She bobbed a quick curtsy and giggled behind her glove for good measure.
He reluctantly led her out onto the dance floor. The ever-curious eyes of the ton followed along, noting with interest how the newly arrived Ackerly sisters both danced with extremely eligible bachelors not long after their arrival.
Once they were on the dance floor, however, it became immediately apparent to Grace that, while Lord Newcombe danced with her, he still had his full attention on Faith, so much so that he stepped on Grace’s toes twice, and once almost tripped her. When that happened, she heard a titter of laughter ripple through the crowd. Grace, who did not like laughter at her expense, realized her partner’s absurd obsession with Faith had become embarrassingly transparent.
What she decided to do next was both shocking and unprecedented, and became the topic of conversation for an entire week. Seeing her chance when Faith and her partner danced close by, Grace abruptly stopped dancing in the middle of the floor, forcing Lord Newcombe to stop along with her. Thinking that she wished to leave the dance floor, Newcombe gratefully turned to escort her back to her aunt, but instead, Grace did the most extraordinary thing. She stepped out of Lord Newcombe’s arms and put a restraining hand on her surprised sister’s shoulder. Faith, afraid that something terrible had occurred, immediately stopped dancing and looked at her sister in alarm. Grace looked back at her with a determined, militant look in her eyes. “Oh, no,” Faith moaned under her breath, even as Grace mouthed the words, I’m sorry, at her.
The music continued unabated, but those couples dancing nearest the little group that had inexplicably stopped in the center of the room sensed that something interesting was about to occur. They began to leave the floor in an obvious effort to better see and hear the action taking place. What they observed left them openmouthed with shocked amazement.
Grace reached back and drew the rigid and angry-looking Lord Newcombe up beside her. “My lord, please, once again meet my sister, Miss Faith Ackerly,” she said with an overly sweet smile. “Faith, may I present Lord Newcombe? He appears quite anxious to make your acquaintance.” With that, Grace proudly raised her chin and walked serenely away, leaving her sister smiling politely, if a bit uncertainly, at both men.
A frosty smile pinned to her face to cover her searing anger, Grace joined Aunt Cleo, who smiled widely, highly entertained by the entire debacle. “Good for you, Grace! I don’t think I’ve enjoyed myself so much at one of these crushes in years.” She nodded approvingly as she watched Faith very deliberately turn her back on Newcombe and ask her partner to escort her to the punch bowl for some refreshment. “Newcombe had it coming, too. He’s become rather full of himself since his father fell ill. I think he’ll come down a notch or two when the old geezer finally gives it up and Newcombe and the rest of the ton find out how much he didn’t inherit.” She thumped her cane and let out a bark of laughter. Grace clamped her mouth shut and lifted her chin, staring down some of the bolder spectators around the room with a glacial glare.
As the whispers began to die and the ball resumed, Faith immediately received another invitation to dance, but Grace found herself scrupulously and conspicuously avoided. After thirty miserable minutes, she decided that London had proven just as disappointing as she had expected. She turned to ask her aunt if she could leave when she noticed a beautiful brunette girl dressed in a sumptuous royal blue silk gown walking her way. An entourage of still more beautifully dressed young ladies followed in her wake. She introduced herself as Amanda Lloyd, the Countess of Seth, and drew the slightly distrustful Grace into her circle of friends.
“That was really most awful of you, Miss Ackerly,” Amanda said after introducing all her companions. She laughed, a pretty little unaffected laugh that chimed like bells. “Although, I admit I was watching you both before and during your dance, and Newcombe certainly had it coming. I only wish I could have heard what you were saying. He turned quite the loveliest shade of purple I’ve ever seen!” She laughed again, and so did some of the rest of the group.
Grace looked at the friendly brunette with a curious smile, her head tipped inquisitively to the side. “How ever do you do that?” she asked in an admiring tone.
Amanda stopped laughing and looked confused. “Do what?” she asked.
“Laugh like that. It sounds so pretty and feminine. Why, when I laugh, streams of tears invariably come from my eyes, and I make such awful snorting noises people are apt to come running with a gun to put the poor sick horse out of its misery.”
The entire group laughed this time, and Grace looked slowly about at the young people around her, beginning to realize they did not condemn her for her actions on the dance floor; rather, they applauded her.
“Wasn’t your sister mortified?” one of girls asked, her fascination evident.
“No, of course not,” Grace replied with an impish smile, already becoming more comfortable with her newfound friends. “She’s become well used to the rather odd things I sometimes say and do.”
“She gave Newcombe the cut direct after you left the floor,” the blond continued in disbelief. “Why, I’ve heard that when his papa dies, he’ll have more money—”
“And fewer brains than a gifted goose,” the countess cut in with a quelling look. She need not have tried to champion her new friend, though, for Grace simply shrugged with unconcern. “Faith knew I disliked him, and that was enough for her to distrust him as well.”
The ladies moved on to other topics, automatically including Grace in their conversation. She had no idea that Amanda and her friends all hailed from the
finest aristocratic families and moved only in the highest, most influential circles of society, but once everyone else in the room noted that they treated Grace’s encounter with humor, the rest of the ton followed their lead. When the morning newspapers reported on the events of the previous evening, instead of describing Grace as a dismal social failure, the gossip columns would proclaim her an Original, her place in society secure. She never knew just how close she had come to complete social death. Now, thanks to Amanda Seth, people would regard her outlandish remarks and actions as humorous, if unusual. Less popular girls, striving to stand out in the unending throng of young ladies making their debut each Season, might repeat her words with admiration, hoping to achieve a similar effect.
So it was with the comfortable feeling of acceptance and an ever-growing circle of male admirers that Grace again watched her sister dance, this time at Almack’s. As she did not seek marriage, Grace found it easy to not be jealous of her beautiful sister’s popularity with the gentlemen. She also managed to hide her complete boredom in the exalted halls of Almack’s, rooms she immediately judged as no more than a closed market offering young girls in marriage to the highest bidder. The very thought left a bitter taste in her mouth.
Anxious to move to a more festive atmosphere, she stopped watching Faith and turned to her aunt to suggest that they thank the patronesses and leave for Lord and Lady Seth’s ball. Before she could speak, however, a strange hush fell over the room, followed by a wave of frantic whispering. All heads began to swivel toward the entranceway. The whispering grew steadily louder as excited mamas began to push their suddenly nervous daughters in the direction of the doors.
Curious, Grace tried to look over the heads of those now crowding the doorway. When she could not see anything, she glanced over at her aunt. “What’s all the fuss about?”
Aunt Cleo, a full six inches taller, obligingly raised her mother-of-pearl lorgnette and trained it across the room to determine what had caused the commotion.“By the looks of all the flustered girls and the hopeful mamas, I’d say our most eligible has probably made an entrance—although why a confirmed bachelor like him would dare enter the marriage mart is beyond . . .” She trailed off thoughtfully, then continued:“Unless someone drew him here.” With that ambiguous statement, she began scanning the crowd, looking for someone, anyone, who would not ordinarily attend.
Grace watched her and shook her head. Aunt Cleo spoke in riddles. “Who are you talking about, Aunt?” Grace asked in exasperation, noting that, although the music still played, even the dancers had stopped to see what caused all the excitement.
“The Earl of Huntwick, of course,” her aunt replied, then turned in surprise when she heard her niece suddenly suck in her breath.
Grace looked toward the entrance in obvious trepidation. Sure enough, almost as soon as her aunt spoke, Trevor’s dark head appeared above everyone else’s, his jade eyes already skipping over the crowd as though looking for someone in particular. She watched as his sweeping gaze paused imperceptibly at every red-haired girl, then dismissed each in turn, obviously not seeing the person for whom he searched.
Grace felt cornered. Almost in a panic, she began looking for a place to hide. For lack of any other option, in an effort to evade his notice she started to sidle behind Faith, whose partner had only just returned her from the floor. At just that moment his gaze collided with hers and her heart skipped a beat. Ironically, her small effort to avoid detection had drawn his attention. Pinning her in place with his eyes, he strode in her direction, the crowd parting with ease to let him through, then quickly filling in behind him as everyone jockeyed for position, trying to see who had caught his eye.
As she watched the man she had so much wanted to avoid bear inexorably down on her, Grace realized that, although she cared little for what the gathered crowd thought of her, she did care a great deal what she thought of herself. She checked the sudden impulse to turn tail and run. Instead she stood her ground, her chin raised a notch in that telltale position of defense, her blue eyes glaring into Trevor’s with ill-disguised hostility.
He drew near, taking his eyes off hers only long enough to request a formal introduction from Lady Egerton, who grinned with malicious glee. She could almost see and feel the sparks of animosity flying between her niece and the Earl of Huntwick. Wondering how they had met, as neither Grace nor Faith had even mentioned an acquaintance with the earl, Aunt Cleo immediately decided that putting these two together as often as possible would transform what had promised to be a predictably dull Season into a most diverting one. She accepted Trevor’s request, turning to her niece in delight.
“Grace!” she practically bellowed, deliberately ignoring the imploring look directed at her. “May I present Lord Trevor Caldwell, the Earl of Huntwick. My lord, my nieces, Miss Grace and Miss Faith Ackerly.”
Grace remained obstinately silent as the earl greeted Faith, then pressed her lips together as he turned to smile down at her. Aunt Cleo sighed with exasperation. A little prodding would be necessary, she saw. Leaning toward Grace, she hissed, “Do not embarrass me, miss!”
With chagrined surprise, Grace looked at her aunt, feeling immediate shame for her selfish behavior. Accustomed to doing precisely as she wished in Pelthamshire, where nobody cared if she romped about in breeches or spoke out of turn at afternoon teas, she had not realized that the way she acted here in town might reflect negatively on anybody else.
Guilt-stricken at the thought that she might cause her aunt embarrassment with her actions, and left with no other option, she reluctantly put her hand into the one Trevor still held out toward her. He raised it to his lips. Grace snatched it back from him as soon as she could do so without causing any more of a scene than they already had. “A pleasure, my lord,” she said with a quick, halfhearted curtsy. Her wrist tingled where his lips had brushed it.
“Would you do me the favor of joining me in this dance, Miss Ackerly?”
Her eyes flashed. “I wouldn’t dance with . . .” she began angrily, before she caught her aunt’s stern eye and closed her mouth with a snap. Her mind searched frantically for a way out, then seized upon an easy—and luckily legitimate—excuse. She choked back her original sharp retort, and instead smiled sweetly at Trevor. “That is to say, I would love to dance with you, my lord, but I believe this dance is a waltz, and the patronesses have not yet given me their approval to dance the waltz.” She did her level best to look contrite. She succeeded quite admirably until she saw Trevor look across the room at Lady Sally Jersey, raise his eyebrows, and incline his head toward Grace. With escalating dismay, she saw the revered patroness nod her haughty approval, neatly and unknowingly maneuvering Grace into Trevor’s trap.
She would find no way out this time, she realized as Trevor again held out his arm to her. Reluctantly she placed her gloved hand upon it and woodenly walked along beside him to the dance floor, glancing back in dismay at Aunt Cleo, who grinned in complete enjoyment of her predicament. Trevor pulled her into his arms and they began to move in time to the music.
The Earl of Huntwick danced very well, she admitted to herself after a few moments. He moved with the same easy grace and confidence she had noticed when she had danced with him at the Assembly Rooms in Pelthamshire, giving her a feeling of comfort that lulled her and allowed her to relax somewhat in his arms. She became so soothed by the easy motion that his next remark caught her utterly off guard.
“You look beautiful in women’s clothing, my dear.”
She stiffened, then frowned at his use of such a personal endearment, her momentary peace dispelled by their customary bristling animosity. She looked quickly around to see if anyone else had heard, and noticed that the fascinated crowd had focused their complete attention on Trevor and herself.
A wonderful, vengeful idea took root. She glanced furtively up at her partner and found Trevor smiling tenderly down at her in a way she could describe only as affectionate. With a surge of triumph, she averted her eyes to the gene
ral vicinity of his shoulder, afraid he might see by her changing expression that she planned to exact revenge.
From her experiences thus far in society, she knew that everyone watched everything everyone else did, and that everyone gossiped about everyone else all the time. She also knew that if Trevor continued to look at her in such a tender manner, she would have the power to make him appear a thoroughly besotted fool by looking as bored and disinterested as she possibly could. Quite suddenly the idea of dancing with society’s most eligible no longer angered her, for it would allow her, quite effectively, to put him in a place he richly deserved. It would not escape the notice of the ever-watchful ton that the Earl of Huntwick gazed in what looked very much like devoted adoration at his dancing partner; nor would they miss seeing how very bored that partner appeared. Quickly Grace schooled her features into a mask of exaggerated ennui.
Unbeknownst to Grace, Trevor had watched her expressions change with amusement. He knew that she planned to do something, although he wondered just what machinations paraded through her agile mind. Whatever she plotted, it totally occupied her thoughts, keeping her very quiet. He frowned. She also looked rather bored. Suddenly he knew precisely what she intended to do. She thought that if she bored him, he might leave her alone. He grinned, admiring her ingenuity. The little minx! He looked around at the assembled crowd, most of whom watched them dance, and suddenly comprehended that Grace did not intend to bore him, but to make it appear as though he bored her. By the expressions on the faces of those assembled, her scheme had begun to work. He watched an attractive young lady turn to her companion, say something behind her fan, and giggle, actually pointing in their direction. His amusement faded as he realized that Grace had already enjoyed a fair amount of success. He looked down at her again and saw her pretend to stifle a contrived yawn. His jaw tightened in annoyance, even as he realized that she hoped for just such a reaction from him. Reining in his anger, he decided to finish in his own way the game she had started.
Grace Page 9
