A part of him felt guilty. If there was something bad going on out there—and he had no doubt that there was—then shouldn’t he go home to Aunt Jess? Protect his own?
But the truth was, Aunt Jess was the most capable woman he’d ever known. Why, she’d been the one to first teach him how to shoot a gun, not his uncle. And when push had come to shove, Aunt Jess had even killed her own husband, however impossibly hard that must have been for her, because it needed to be done. If anyone could protect herself, Aunt Jess could.
And besides, Lizzy had asked.
And most of these people were so hopeless.
He didn’t think that Lady Kate was hopeless, though. She might be stubborn, proud, and vain, but she was also intelligent and strong, with a spine made of steel. He’d known she was different, special, from that one day he’d met her when they were both three—it was why she’d remained stuck in his mind from that day until the one some four years later when he’d returned to the stables to begin his apprenticeship at the age of seven. It occurred to him to wonder, now that he was in the house: Which, among its many rooms, was hers? Where did she go to sleep at night? Where did she lay that beautiful head?
“You’ll just sneak around?” Fanny pressed. “You’ll, I don’t know, go out to the stables when you need to and then sneak back here?”
Will shrugged. “Pretty much.”
“I’d best be off before they start to miss me.” Fanny looked around. “Where did Henry Clay go?” Then she shrugged, too. “That cat.” Fanny outlined her mouth with those cracked hands as she called softly, “Henry Clay! Don’t get caught by Mr. Wright!”
Then she laughed, and Will found himself laughing along with her, an extraordinary thing on such a day.
But he sobered up quickly enough when Fanny said, “Mr. Wright’s the one you have to worry most about. Don’t you get caught, either.”
Chapter
Thirty-Two
Grace sat before the mirror in her bedroom, watching her reflection as Becky arranged her hair from behind.
Just two nights ago, she’d been in the same spot, only Lizzy had been with her then and the atmosphere had been playful; happy, even.
How much had changed in such a short time.
Then, if there had been the prospect of a dance ahead, rather than just another chance for a couple of new rivals to take up positions against each other in the hopes of winning Kate’s hand, no doubt she and Lizzy would’ve been even happier.
But now?
How could anyone think it a good time to have a dance?
How could she?
And yet here she was.
Grace had first learned of the dance from Kate, who’d taken the time to come to the sickroom to tell her, although Kate had seemed reluctant to step over the threshold, as though whatever was wrong with Merry might be catching, which of course it wasn’t. He was merely wounded. A person couldn’t get sick from simply being around someone else’s wounds.
“How’s our patient doing?” Kate had asked brightly from the doorway. “Much better, I hope?”
“It’s hard to tell,” Grace said. “I think he is. Mostly he sleeps, drifting in and out. When he’s awake, he tells me stories.”
“Really? How fascinating!” Grace was sure that despite Kate’s bright smile, she found it anything but fascinating. Kate had never had much patience or sympathy for other people’s illnesses, nor even her own come to that.
Oh well, Grace had thought. At least Kate’s trying.
“What kind of stories?” Kate asked.
“Oh, nothing earth-shattering, I suppose. Just tales of growing up in London, ambitions he once had, dreams he’d hoped to see fulfilled.”
“And he still will!” Kate had said with surprising vehemence. “Now, let me tell you about the dance Father is planning for this evening…”
That’s when Kate had explained that it was to be no ordinary dance. Apparently, Father was upset there were so few in the party. He did want there to be something festive, to take people’s minds off the unpleasantness of the day, but he also wanted to make up the numbers so it wouldn’t look too depressing in terms of the sparseness of attendants.
“He said,” Kate had told her, “that he wants it to be like the Servants’ Ball.”
“How do you mean?”
“You know what the Servants’ Ball is! During the week between Christmas and New Year’s, we let them have their own party so that there’s a festive occasion for them, too, and the family pops in but only stays for half an hour, just to put a jolly face on things.”
“Yes, I do know all that. But how is this supposed to be like that?”
“Well, not exactly. More like the reverse.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to speak clearer, Kate, because you’ve really lost me now.”
“I swear, you’re getting dimmer than Lizzy, Grace!”
“Actually, it’s seemed to me that Lizzy’s been getting a bit brighter lately. Who knows? Maybe Lizzy has been bright all along, only none of us ever gave her a chance.”
From Kate’s expression, Grace thought she didn’t like this.
“Somehow I doubt that,” Kate said, confirming Grace’s suspicion. “And it’s not really that much of a leap, is it? To go from not bright at all to only very dim?”
Sometimes, when Kate spoke like that, Grace could swear she sounded just like Grandmama.
“Anyway,” Kate continued, “there is to be a dance—in the music room, naturally, because there at least we have the gramophone, but if we did it in the ballroom, we couldn’t ignore how few in number we are for a party or the fact that we have no live entertainment—and the servants will join us. You know, the footmen. And all the rest, I suppose. With the footmen, there’ll be more choices in terms of dance partners. This will all be after dinner, of course.”
The footmen. Daniel would be there, then. Still.
“I don’t think I’ll come down for dinner tonight. I think I’d rather stay here.”
“Fine. But afterward? You’ll come down for the dance, won’t you?”
A part of her would’ve liked to say yes. A part of her would’ve liked to join the others in having a regular jolly time and pretending that none of this was happening. And an even bigger part of her would have liked the opportunity to thank Daniel, properly, for all he had done earlier in the day. But…
“I don’t think so. What if Merry wakes and needs something?”
“One of the servants—”
“Yes, but I—”
As though underscoring Grace’s point, Merry stirred then, but just as quickly, he settled back down into sleep.
“You see?” Grace said.
“What I see is that once again, you’ve elevated your own importance. Oh, you can be such a martyr, Grace!” Kate had cried in frustration and then she’d flounced off.
“Am I?” Grace asked. “Being a martyr?”
Grace posed the question to the only other conscious person in the room, whom Kate had not even bothered to acknowledge as being present.
But perhaps she hadn’t seen him there?
Or maybe she had, and she’d chosen to ignore him anyway, which would be just like Kate.
“I don’t think so,” the duke said, stepping forward from the shadows. “But I do think you should go to the dance. It sounds like it could be good fun for you.”
“But who will stay here with Merry if I do that?”
“I can stay,” the duke had offered. “It may surprise you to learn this about me, but when it comes time for filling out dance cards, no one is ever quite eager to have theirs filled up with my name. Somehow, I doubt I’ll even be missed. And I’ve seen those handsome footmen of yours here at the abbey. If given the choice, even I would rather dance with one of them than be stuck with myself.”
Grace would have expected to find bitterness in his expression, but then, as she studied him more closely, she saw none there. It was just an acceptance of facts. Grace could understand t
hat. She’d had her own facts she’d needed to find ways to accept in life.
Indeed, his smile had been generous as he’d added, “Really. You must go. Mr. Young and I will be fine here.”
At the time, Grace had felt unable to turn down what, for the duke, represented a generous offer.
Now, however, as Becky stood behind her, trying her hair this way and that, Grace thought: Do I even want to go at all?
Chapter
Thirty-Three
“I think it’s delightful using the gramophone instead of having live performers come in,” Kate said to her father as he led her around the dance floor. She was attired in a deep amethyst sleeveless silk dress. In her hair, there was a matching forehead band with peacock feathers attached at the back, while Father, she thought, looked spiffy in his white tie and black jacket, as did Cousin Benedict. “It gives Wright something to do.”
“Yes,” Father said. “You know, it’s surprising, really. Wright is usually so resistant to any small changes, and yet since he’s got the hang of the thing, he no longer wants to let anyone else touch it—not even me!”
“Too bad, though,” she said. “With Wright refusing to make metaphorical entries on any dance cards, it leaves Mrs. Murphy without her natural partner.”
“Yes, well.” It was clear Father knew something should be done about the situation, but perhaps not quite just yet. “Shouldn’t you be dancing with Benedict?”
“Father!” She laughed. “You are so transparent!”
“Well.” He gave a rueful grin. “Someone has to think of the British Empire.”
“If you’re determined to do it, I see no reason why the rest of us need to worry our heads. Besides, why dance with anyone else when I can dance with my favorite partner?”
It was true.
Kate knew that one day some man would come along to take over the primary place in her life, but that day hadn’t come yet. And until then? Who better to dance with than the man who had taught her?
She smiled at the memory of being little, her father gently teaching her the various dance steps she would want to know when she grew older. How patient he’d been with her—even when she insisted on leading!
But her brow furrowed and her smile disappeared as she said, “Do you think we’re doing the right thing?”
“Kate.” He pulled back a bit as he examined her face more closely. “It’s not like you to ever doubt yourself. And anyway, what ‘right thing’ are you talking about?”
She struggled with her thoughts, with forming the accurate words, but the impulse to be vague about that which was so scary was too strong.
“This…thing that happened today with Dr. Webb. Do you think we’re right to pretend that—”
“No one is pretending anything!” he said, speaking words more sharply than he was accustomed to with her, more sharply than she was accustomed to hearing from anybody. “No matter what is going on, we must never forget who we are!”
His tone softened a bit as he added, “There is nothing going on here. And if it were, it would be nothing I couldn’t protect you against. Haven’t I always protected you?”
She had to admit he had. Of course he had.
“Of course!” she said brightly, determined to shake off her unease. “How silly of me. Now, what shall we do about the others?”
“Others?”
“Everyone is supposed to be dancing. And yet so far, family is just dancing with family, while the servants are hanging back against the walls. We must mingle, Father! How will anyone else know what to do if we don’t lead the way?”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“And I suppose you want me to dance with Mrs. Murphy, give her a little spin around the place?”
“I consider it your duty as head of the household.”
“I know,” he said, looking down like a reluctant little boy. “But whenever I dance with her every year at the Servants’ Ball, she always steps on my feet.”
“Then you must move your own more quickly,” Kate said, twinkling her eyes at him fondly as he released her.
“And I suppose you’ll ask Benedict to dance?” he said.
Kate had a wild thought then. Since family could dance with staff on this occasion, if the stable boy were here, she could ask him to dance. What would that be like? But he’d never be here, she reminded herself. He’d never be anywhere in this house unless it was the kitchen.
“Of course not,” she said. “Cousin Benedict is busy with Mother. Besides, I’m going to ask Wright to dance—give someone else a chance spinning the gramophone!”
…
Daniel stood with his back against the wall, posture ramrod straight, eyes forward, as he might when called upon to serve at a meal.
He knew what was expected of him: to join in the fun. But as good an actor as he fancied himself, even at the annual Servants’ Ball he found these situations so awkward. Why bother? Was he supposed to pretend they were all equals, for what amounted to little more than five minutes, only to go back to being wallpaper?
He’d seen Lady Katherine approach old Wright a few minutes ago and place her gloved hand on his forearm, asking him to dance. Wright rarely could muster resistance to the charms of his favorite Clarke daughter and yet in this instance, he’d shaken his head vehemently, determined not to relinquish his control of the gramophone. So then Daniel had observed Lady Katherine make straight for Jonathan and, bold as you please without even asking permission first, take his hand to lead him out. Daniel watched, feeling a chuckle form inside, as Jonathan awkwardly sought for where exactly on Her Ladyship’s person he was meant to place his hands without giving offense.
“Excuse me?” a tentative voice said. “Daniel, isn’t it?”
Daniel shifted his eyes downward to see Lady Grace standing before him in her aquamarine dress, so striking against her auburn hair. It was enough to take a person’s breath away.
He nodded.
“Do you mind?” She held out her hands, still tentative. “The others, or at least those who want to, have all paired up, and I find myself without a dancing partner.”
Daniel tore his gaze away, looked around the music room, and saw that she was right. The countess and her father and the dowager countess and Benedict Clarke’s mother were all seated on the sidelines in white crushed-velvet Queen Anne chairs with gold trim, but as for the others? The earl had just shifted from Mrs. Murphy to Myrtle Morgan, Lady Clarke’s maid; Benedict Clarke was dancing with Mrs. Owen; Agnes and Becky were dancing with each other, giggling over who should lead while tripping over each other’s feet; even Fanny was taking a turn with the earl’s valet, old Albert Cox.
And Lady Grace, while not possessing the bold determination of her elder sister, did look like she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Plus, she was Lady Grace.
There was no way out of it.
Not that he necessarily wanted one, but it was vaguely terrifying to be so physically close to her, dressed as she was, to smell her scent on the air.
“If you like,” he said at last, recognizing how ungracious he sounded even as he said the words. Still, he came back to the idea that this, like the Servants’ Ball, was meant to be fun for the servants, too. And yet where was the fun if one had no choice in the matter? If he had his way, it would’ve been him asking her to dance, not the reverse. But he’d never be so bold.
He’d been laughing inside at Jonathan’s discomfort a moment earlier. But now that it was his turn to feel discomfort, he was no longer laughing.
Where was he meant to place his hands?
If Lady Grace were someone else, if she were one of the village girls encountered on a night he’d gotten off to go to a dance in the village, or Becky even, he’d know exactly what to do. He’d place both hands around Becky or some village girl’s waist, firmly, and spin her off into a reel. But with Lady Grace, where—
“I think,” she said, taking one of his hands and positioning it o
n the small of her back, and he felt a thrill go through him at the startling physical contact between them even if there was the thin fabric of her dress separating his hand from her skin, “you put this here.” Then she took his other hand and placed it on her shoulder. “And put that one there.” Then she positioned her own hands on him, creating a mirror image. “There! I think that should do it!”
The first steps in the dance that commenced could only be termed awkward.
Daniel had no idea where to let his eyes settle. He certainly couldn’t look at her. That would be too forward. Not to mention, he’d managed to glance at her once tonight, but if he allowed himself a second time, how could he ever stop? Now, if it were a village girl, or Becky—
“Do please look at me,” she said, only instead of the command that the words might indicate, her voice was entreating.
With great reluctance, he did so.
“Daniel,” she said, gazing up at him. “I know this is awkward for you. It’s awkward for me, too. I’ve never asked a man to dance with me in my life—not even Father!”
Every time someone referred to him as a man, Daniel found himself wanting to object, “I’m not a man yet—I’m only seventeen!” But then he had to remind himself that to everyone else in the world, in this world, he was supposed to be older.
“Look,” she tried again, “I only asked you to dance because I thought someone should thank you.”
Daniel was completely taken aback by this, so much so that it stopped him in his dancing tracks and he ceased moving his feet for a moment. “Thank me?”
“Of course! Everything you did earlier today, from the moment you came forward to help Merry—”
He began moving again. “Anyone might’ve done the same.”
“No.” She tilted her head to one side, considering, then shook it slightly. “I don’t think so. Maybe others wanted to help, but no one else came forward, not like you did.”
“That’s not entirely true. You did. You went to help Mr. Young before anyone else even moved.”
“Of course,” she said, as if there’d been no choice in the matter, when there must have been. “He’s my friend. But you? What is Mr. Young to you? No one knew you were capable of that. You could have just hung back. No one would have ever known.”
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