Chapter Seven
Your father wishes me to take you to task,” Grace said as she settled into a position against the wall beside Danny, just out of earshot of the rest of the family, and offered him a glass of lemonade which she had fetched only moments before.
“And I have been granted permission to pinch your ear, should you prove obstinate.”
Danny glowered just briefly at her over the rim of his glass, though his eyes strayed inevitably back to Hannah, who was presently engaged in a dance. “Couldn’t just mind your own business, could you, Gracie?”
“Why ought I, when minding yours is so much more fun?” Though the droll response failed to amuse him, she still enjoyed the chiding glance he sent her.
“Could at least have brought me something stronger than lemonade,” Danny groused as he discarded the glass he’d drained on the tray of a passing servant. He eased at once back into his position against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.
“If I had,” she said, “I doubt you’d be much in a fit condition for dancing when you get around to asking her. I’ve watched you pour three glasses of champagne down your throat already.”
“I’m not going to ask,” Danny said stubbornly, with a notch of his chin.
“Oh? Is it enjoyable, then, to watch her dance with everyone else?” Grace sidled a step closer and confided, “She’s only got one dance left free. It’s a waltz.”
“I’m not going to ask!” he reiterated crossly. A beat passed in silence as Hannah swirled past once again and the trill of her laugh sparkled through the air. Danny’s shoulders slumped. A sharp sigh whistled across his lips. “Got two left feet,” he said resentfully. “And she’d refuse, besides.”
“I’ll bet you ten quid she wouldn’t,” Grace said. “Even though you as good as told her that the things which are important to her are a waste of your time.”
“I did not!” Danny said, his shoulders snapping straight. “When?”
“Evening last.”
Danny blew out a ragged breath. “I said dancing was a damned waste of time,” he said.
“And that the color of her dress made her look sallow.”
“It did! How the hell is it my fault that yellow isn’t her color?” Danny threw up his hands in a surfeit of aggravation. “And she called me a gormless addlepate!”
“You are a gormless addlepate,” Grace said patiently. “And a muttonheaded clod, besides.”
He shot her a darkling look. “Couldn’t you be on my side for once?”
“If your side were the right one, I would be.” Was there ever a more foolish creature created than man? “Do you really think dancing with Hannah would be a waste of your time? Because I promise you, that is what she heard you say.”
A hot splash of color burned high in his cheeks. “I’ll step on her toes,” he said sullenly. “Never got the rhythm of dancing. Damned embarrassing, really.”
“Do you know,” Grace said softly, “I think Hannah would prefer to be dancing with you—bruised toes and all—than with any other gentleman here. But if you continue to let her think that you consider the things that are important to her to be beneath your notice, eventually she’ll believe you.
She’ll stop saving dances for you that you keep failing to claim. ”
Danny’s brows shot up. “Saving dances?”
“Oh, yes. There’s twelve sets this evening.
I’ve watched at least fifteen gentlemen approach her, and yet she’s still got one blank spot left upon her dance card.
I’ll admit I’ve not paid too terribly much attention at other balls, but my best guess would be that she’s always saved at least one back for you.
Just in the event that you decided to claim it. ”
That color in his cheeks burned hotter still, and he shoved his hands into his pockets with a little shrug. “It doesn’t matter,” he said glumly. “She’s not speaking with me at present.”
“Of course she isn’t. You hurt her feelings.” Grace nudged his shoulder with hers. “But she still saved a dance for you, Danny.”
“Gracie—”
“I beg you, don’t make me pinch your ear. I’d really prefer to resolve such issues without violence wherever possible.”
Danny gave a muted grumble, his shoulders slouching still further. “I’ll put my foot in it again,” he said on a sigh. “I always do, somehow.”
“Probably you will,” Grace acknowledged.
“So apologize. Each and every time you do. And endeavor not to do it again. She has little other recourse than to call you a gormless addlepate and decline to speak with you. After all, she can hardly push you into the mud like she used to when you were children.”
Danny dug one finger beneath the collar of his shirt, wrenching at the knot of his cravat. “I think I’d rather she did,” he muttered. “How am I supposed to ask her to dance when she isn’t speaking with me?”
“Lead with the apology,” Grace advised. “And for God’s sake, Danny, do not insult her gown.”
The corner of his mouth hitched up in a wry grin. “I won’t. She looks lovely in pink,” he said. “That’s all I meant to say, truly.”
“So you are going to ask her, then?” Grace inquired.
“I suppose I’d better.” Danny withdrew one hand from his pocket and flexed his fingers within the confines of his evening gloves. “Probably it’s a preferable alternative to planting Mr. Templeton a facer, which is what I’ve been considering.”
“Danny.”
“Don’t be a scold. He’s danced with her thrice this Season already.”
And he was eaten up with jealousy about it. “You might have danced with her thrice this Season already. If you had asked.”
“Aw, hell, Gracie,” he murmured, abashed, and somehow Grace had the feeling that just a few moments of honest conversation had had more of an effect upon him than a good, old-fashioned pinch of the ear could ever have done.
Danny rocked upon the balls of his feet with an odd restlessness; as if now that he had been prodded into action at last, he could hardly restrain himself.
“I will collect that ten quid if she says no,” he said.
But she wouldn’t. Hannah had only been waiting for Danny to come to his senses. Grace could see it in the sly little glances she cast over her shoulder every so often, whenever she chanced to pass close enough to get a good look.
“I’ll give you ten quid anyway if you can get through a dance without stepping on her toes,” Grace said. “But you’d best get to it. You’ll have precious little time to ask before the next set. And it’s your waltz, I believe—if you find yourself brave enough to claim it.”
“You’ll pinch my ear if I don’t,” he said, one foot scooting ahead of the other as he gathered his nerves. “I’m off, then. Wish me luck.”
Grace lifted her glass in a subtle salute as he headed toward the opposite side of the room where Hannah’s dance had ended, presumably to catch Hannah before the waltz began.
Uncle Rafe caught her attention as she meandered back into the midst of their group. “Any luck?” he murmured, sotto voce, his voice tinged with desperation.
Striving to appear appropriately modest and humble, Grace inclined her head. “He’s going to ask her,” she said. “And I didn’t even have to pinch his ear.”
“Thank God,” Uncle Rafe said, his face etched with relief.
“He’s been just impossible these last days, moping about the house like every evil in the world had befallen him at once.
” His gaze tracked his son across the room, and he watched intently as Danny cast himself into the path of Hannah and her latest dance partner, Mr. Templeton.
A brief moment of conversation, and Mr. Templeton excused himself with a bow. He’d been meant to return Hannah to the bosom of her family, of course, but probably he, like most everyone else present, would assume that Danny was as good as that.
And still, Uncle Rafe stood still and tense, as if he had caught a breath between the clench of his teeth and could not let it escape until Danny had proved himself somewhat less than the fool he had most recently contrived to be.
Grace coughed into her fist and whispered, “I promised him ten quid if he didn’t step on her toes. You’ll pay it for me, of course, won’t you?”
“Gracie, I’ll pay a hundred if—yes, he’s come up to scratch at last!
” It had ended on a bit of a crow as Hannah at last tucked her hand into the crook of Danny’s arm.
As if he’d quite forgotten where they were, Uncle Rafe’s palm landed atop Grace’s head and mussed her perfectly-arranged curls in a gesture of absent affection.
“You damned miracle worker, you,” he said.
“Just the ten quid will do,” she said, wrinkling her nose as she ducked out from beneath his hand and touched her head gingerly to assess the damage that had been wrought.
Blast, her hair had almost certainly gone all fluffy and disordered—but then the stifling heat within the ballroom had been bound to ruin it eventually, anyway.
“Oh?” Felicity turned toward them, the cornflower blue of her skirts swishing. “What miracle has Grace worked?”
“Nothing much.” Ah, hell—a loose pin dangled down before her eyes, only half-caught in the curl it had been meant to secure.
“She’s convinced Danny to ask Hannah to dance at last,” Uncle Rafe said. “And a damned good thing it is, too. I don’t know how much longer I could have held my tongue.”
“I only gave him a little nudge in the right direction,” Grace demurred as she attempted to catch the pin…only to feel another loose pin strike the nape of her neck.
“Well, it was good of you to do it,” Felicity said as she plucked the pin from Grace’s hand.
Grace peered through the curl that bobbed before her eyes. “Felicity, be honest. Am I a wreck? Is my hair beyond salvaging?”
A glint of laughter sparkled in Felicity’s green eyes.
“No, not at all—though Rafe ought to know better than to muss a lady’s hair.
” She laid her hands upon Grace’s shoulders to turn her about.
“Here, let me fix it. It’s nothing too serious; only a few pins have come loose.
Not even worth a trip to the retiring room, I assure you. ”