Chapter Five
G race hopped into the carriage, her heart beating with excitement. Finally she was being allowed to mix with proper English company! She was to meet Lord Domac’s parents—an earl and his countess—for tea. There would be other ladies and gentlemen there too, but with her father, Lord Domac, and the unsettling Duke of Byrning in attendance, she hoped that she would have enough friendly faces to do well.
And if that happened, then Father would allow her to attend her first ball!
She knew that plans were in place for her come-out. Her father’s banker had a daughter ready for her come-out. Her name was Phoebe Gray, and she had wealth but no aristocratic heritage. It had been Mr Gray’s suggestion that they come out together, and her father had thought it an excellent idea. They hoped to help one another launch into society that might or might not include the highest members of the ton.
But it all relied upon how well Grace performed this afternoon, and she was determined to make a good impression.
She only wished Lucy could come, too. The girl was almost painfully shy, and needed a lot of practice to make a good showing. But their father had insisted that, as the eldest, Grace was to enter society first. He had also pointed out—quietly, to Grace only—that Lucy needed more time to grow up. For all that she was a genius at sorting ledgers, she still seemed like a duckling wandering lost in the world.
So Grace sat in the carriage and struggled to contain her excitement. It was the first day of a new life for her, or so her father kept saying. And, even though she doubted it was true, his enthusiasm had slipped into her and now she quivered with anticipation. Unfortunately her father kept focusing on something else.
‘You are a proper lady now. You cannot let anyone know you spent your morning half-dressed around gentlemen.’
‘Two of them were there, Father. They know.’
‘Pray that they say nothing. Let us hope they are gentlemen.’
By which he meant that he hoped they were circumspect men who would not shame a woman? Privately she thought the odds very small that any man would hold his tongue if her actions were truly as scandalous as her father suggested. But the whole thing made no sense to her. She had brought her maid, she had been dressed properly on the way to the boat and on her return. And once on the boat she had dressed appropriately to the location. Wasn’t that what a sane person did? Dress and act appropriately wherever she found herself?
But apparently English rules were different, so she held her tongue. She looked down at her clasped hands and held her breath. Arguing never changed anything. It only made unpleasantness linger and she was in a mood to be happy.
‘You remember what to do during tea?’ her father asked.
‘I have practised,’ she said.
And she had. Often. Did he really think her so stupid as to not remember the English tea ceremony? It wasn’t even a ceremony, just a shared drink and sometimes a bit of food. And yet he put so much importance on it.
‘I pour tea, I drink tea, and maybe I converse.’
‘You won’t be pouring the tea. It’s the conversation that is important.’
She nodded. He’d already said that a dozen times in the last hour. ‘I shall do my very best.’
And then he did the one thing that had convinced her to risk everything on this mad trip to England with him. He softened his voice, he smiled at her, and he looked at her with such paternal love that her heart swelled.
And then he apologised.
‘I’m sorry. I am pestering you to death. It is only my pride in you that makes me want to show you off. But even if all is a disaster today, then it will make no difference. We will find a new place to live, another city to conquer.’
Guilt ate at her stomach and she glanced at her hands. She knew her father was ill. Though he hid it during the day, he coughed often at night—sometimes badly. She hoped it would get better, but one never knew. He’d often said how he wanted to spend his last years in England, and so she’d come with him here and would do her best to make him happy because he had made her and Lucy safe.
‘I need not find a husband,’ she said, as she had a hundred times before. ‘We can live together wherever you want.’
He clasped her hands in his and pulled them to his lips to press a dry kiss there. ‘You and Lucy have filled my heart when I thought myself nothing more than a dried-up old husk. I want to see you both settled before I die.’
‘We can be settled without husbands.’
‘A woman cannot inherit. She cannot manage her own affairs without a man to sign the papers. It is the same in China—’
‘I know.’
‘So I must find a good man to take care of you and your children.’
She tightened her hands in her lap. ‘You think Lord Domac is that man?’
Her father nodded. ‘He will inherit an earldom. That is no small thing. He is impatient, as so many young men are, but I think he will mature into a fine man. If you care for him, I think he will take care of you.’
‘I think he cares for my dowry, not me.’
‘Nevertheless, I have faith in his sense of honour. He will respect you as a husband ought.’
She nodded. In truth, that was a great deal more than she had ever thought to have. In China, her mixed blood made her an outcast. If her father thought this was the best way to secure her future, then she would consider marrying Lord Domac. After all, she put no faith in love. She only wanted safety. If he proved he could give her that, then she would be happy to marry him. But since she had not yet seen any proof of that, she made no promise to her father.
They arrived at the London residence of Lord Domac’s mother. Apparently the woman lived with her sister, the Duke’s mother. Her husband the Earl lived elsewhere, as the marriage was not a happy one. This did not surprise her. Many wealthy Chinese couples lived as strangers. Nevertheless, Lord Domac had assured her that his father would be there today to appreciate her beauty.
Or perhaps to ascertain the truth of her dowry.
Whatever the reason, she resolved to make her father proud. So when they arrived she grinned as he tucked her arm against his sleeve. Then they climbed the steps and knocked.
The butler was polite, the drawing room very lovely, and the Countess was dressed in a fine dress that was not silk and yet appeared beautiful nonetheless, thanks to some well-placed embroidery. Having once tried her hand at stitching, Grace knew how difficult the task was and appreciated the skill.
She and her father were introduced, and Grace made her curtsey. The Earl inspected her through his quizzing glass and the Countess looked at her as if she’d eaten something sour. Then, as one, they welcomed her father with polite phrases.
It was not an auspicious beginning, especially when the Earl rolled his eyes at his wife and headed for the door.
‘I’ve seen enough and have an appointment. Good day.’
Then he grabbed his hat from the butler and departed.
Meanwhile, Grace looked about the room, seeing several plates of food in small cut bundles. But what stood out to her the most was Lord Domac as he lounged in a corner, a smirk on his handsome face.
‘My lord,’ she said. ‘I did not see you there hidden behind the...the...’ What was the name of the instrument? She couldn’t remember. ‘The music,’ she said finally.
He grinned at her. ‘It’s the best seat in the house,’ he said. ‘I can watch everyone’s expression from here.’
‘Child,’ the Countess said with a crisp tone. ‘One cannot hide behind music. That instrument is a harpsichord. Harp. Si. Chord.’
Grace dipped her chin. ‘Yes, my lady.’
‘My daughter’s name is Grace,’ said her father, his voice cold. ‘Or in this case Miss Richards.’
The Countess curled her lip. ‘Of course. Miss Richards.’
Grace didn’t know how to respond to that, so she kept her mouth shut and her head lowered. At any other time in her life she would have found a way to escape. Now she was glad Lucy wasn’t here. The girl didn’t need practice with this kind of disaster.
Internally, she sighed and accepted the inevitable. If Grace had one overriding strength, it was the ability to adjust when circumstances changed. She would do her best to mitigate the damage, but there was little more she could do.
Fortunately, the awkward moment ended as the knocker sounded again.
Lord Byrning? Her heart leaped at the thought, but the sound of female laughter filled the room. It was a very polite kind of laughter, quickly snuffed, and yet the sound lingered as three very lovely girls were introduced. They came with an older woman as chaperone, and every one of them was greeted with warmth by the Countess.
They were Miss Smythe, Miss Lockwood and Lady Jane, daughter of Lady Charton, who was their chaperone. Grace watched them carefully, so to emulate their mannerisms.
‘Welcome, welcome!’ the Countess enthused, then she shot a hard look at her son. ‘Cedric, stop hiding in the corner. Come. Tell me you remember these lovely ladies?’
Lord Domac rose slowly to his feet. His smile was warm, and there was a languid kind of elegance to his bow. ‘Of course I remember them. But pray, you cannot tell me that none of you caught husbands last season? I cannot credit it.’
‘Why, sir,’ said Miss Smythe, ‘that is because you weren’t there last Season.’
The other two girls giggled at that, and generally fidgeted where they stood. If Grace had been so wriggly at the temple, she would have been checked for fleas.
‘Come in,’ the Countess said as she gestured into the room. ‘Let me introduce you to our other guest. Ladies, this is Miss Richards.’
‘It is a pleasure to meet you,’ she said, and she did a shortened curtsey because they were of equal social status to her.
‘Oh... Oh, dear,’ Miss Lockwood said as she pressed a hand to her mouth. ‘I’m afraid I can’t fully understand her. What did she say?’
‘Don’t be a dolt,’ Lady Jane cried. ‘It was something polite, I’m sure. Wherever did you learn to speak English?’ she asked.
‘I learned from English sailors,’ she said, doing her best to form the words clearly.
‘ Sail- ors,’ said the Countess, correcting her pronunciation. Then she turned back to the women. ‘How quaint.’
‘Indeed,’ echoed the girls as they wandered deeper into the room.
The three ladies and their chaperone immediately settled onto two settees while Grace remained standing. She hadn’t been invited to sit and, frankly, the perfume the ladies used was making her nose itch. Her father smiled at her and gestured for her to sit in the chair where he’d been, but she knew better than to take an elder’s seat, so she stood tall beside him.
There was a bouquet of flowers on a nearby table, and Miss Smythe complimented the arrangement. The Countess smiled, and then began a discussion of flowers that Grace had no ability to follow. She hadn’t heard any of these words, much less associated them with a bloom. And then Miss Smythe, who was apparently regarded as a flower expert, began to address Grace.
‘You should wear daisies in your hair, Miss Richards. They would stand out so beautifully against all that darkness.’
‘Don’t be so rude,’ chided Lady Jane. ‘Her hair isn’t long enough to support flowers.’ She looked over with a confused expression. ‘Is it customary to cut one’s hair in China?’
Best to answer in a general way, thought Grace. ‘Every nationality cuts hair, else we would all be caught on tree branches.’
Her father chuckled. At least she had pleased him.
Lady Jane was not so easily amused. ‘In England, we are taught not to walk into trees.’
The women laughed at that, while Grace steeled herself to endure. As unpleasant tasks went, this didn’t merit a mention, but she was disappointed nevertheless. Perhaps if she engaged Lord Domac in conversation the women would leave her alone. Her father had told her that English men were allowed to marry without parental approval. She’d even include a compliment to his mother.
‘Lady Hillburn, the flower designs on your gown are most unusual.’ Grace looked at Lord Domac. ‘English flower designs might interest my countrymen if they were stitched well on silk. Perhaps you could sell them in China.’
They had, after all, talked a great deal about what he thought would sell in Canton. Unusual flower designs would do well, she thought, at least until every artisan began copying them. But it was the best thought she had at the moment.
‘Of all the silly ideas,’ said the Countess. ‘Flowers do not last long enough to travel to China.’
‘Not the flowers themselves—’ she began.
‘Of course not!’ Lady Jane laughed. ‘But the designs. Embroidered on fabric. I’m sure they have nothing so elegant over there.’
Actually, the Chinese had elaborate art depicting all kinds of flowers. ‘Your blooms are different,’ Grace explained. ‘And isn’t different always interesting?’
Lord Domac chuckled. ‘It’s always intriguing,’ he said, with a warm smile to her.
She smiled back, relishing the kindness in his face. At least until he turned to his mother. ‘Painted fans, Mama. Perhaps we could export parcels of those to Canton. Make it all the rage over there.’
‘What a clever idea, Cedric,’ his mother said. ‘I’m sure they have seen nothing so lovely as an English rose on wood.’
It was possible, Grace thought. She had not seen many English fans.
She turned to the women. ‘Yours are so lovely. Would it be possible for me to look at one?’ she asked.
‘Oh!’ Lady Jane said as she pressed her closed fan to her chest. ‘I... Well, I suppose so.’ She passed hers over and the other women were quick to join in.
Grace looked at each carefully, evaluating them as she thought a merchant in China might. She inspected the paint, the quality of the wood, and even the craftmanship in the dangling ribbon. And while she looked the conversation flowed around her, all of it insulting.
‘I’m sure you’ve never seen anything so beautiful,’ Lady Jane laughed. ‘But I promise you this is a poor example. Something I use every day for making calls. I save my nicer ones—’
‘For the balls, of course,’ interrupted Miss Smythe. ‘The white one you had at the Weckstein rout was stunning.’
‘Do you recall how funny Miss Bradley was, accidentally getting it caught in her hair?’
‘My goodness, how we all laughed. Now, have a care, Miss Richards, we wouldn’t want you to get my fan tangled, would we?’
‘Don’t be silly. Her hair’s too short for that.’
Grace let the conversation wash away. They were just being spiteful, she knew. Women in China had disdained her as well. So long as they hadn’t tried to beat her, she’d counted the words as nothing.
What she couldn’t ignore was the way her father’s face fell with each horrid interaction. He kept tapping his foot in annoyance and shooting her apologetic looks. He did not want her to endure humiliation at these women’s hands.
What he didn’t realise was that their barbs barely registered. She was more interested in the idea of selling fans to China. That was, after all, what interested Lord Domac, and he was her only friend in this room.
In time, she finished her inspection and passed the fans back to the girls with her thanks.
‘Well?’ Lady Jane pressed. ‘What did you think of them?’
‘They’re very lovely, of course,’ she returned.
‘Then they’ll be popular in China!’ Lady Jane crowed. ‘I believe Lord Domac has landed upon a capital idea. Send fans to China!’
No, that wouldn’t work at all—but Grace knew she couldn’t say as much in front of these women. They would be insulted by her opinions. She maintained a wan smile as they began discussing which designs would work best, while Lord Domac listened with seeming fascination.
Though actually his attention wasn’t on them, she noticed. It was on herself. And his face slowly lost its excitement as he read her expression.
‘So not flowers,’ he said finally, apparently ignoring everything the other women had said. ‘Another design, perhaps? Something unique to England.’
‘Perhaps—’ Grace began, but before she could say more the door knocker sounded again.
Another visitor. Grace looked up with hope. She already knew where she stood with everyone here. Perhaps this newcomer would be more friendly and she could salvage something from this disastrous tea.
Like her, everyone turned to the door, waiting to see who entered. When a deep voice sounded in the hall, her heart soared and her entire body tightened. She had a simultaneous desire to run away from the man and to run towards him. In the end, she froze in indecision, her breath suspended as she stared at the doorway.
‘The Duke of Byrning,’ intoned the butler.
And there he was, looking as handsome in his gentlemanly attire as he had barefoot on the rigging, with the wind lifting his hair. He walked in with purpose, greeted his aunt with warmth, then nodded to his cousin. The women were all aflutter, each rising up to her feet to curtsey to the man. Thankfully, Grace was already on her feet, or she would have been left sitting there like an idiot. It took her father’s not too subtle poke for her to remember to make her curtsey.
‘Miss Richards,’ he said. His voice seemed to wrap her in the same warmth as it had on the crow’s nest. ‘You look sensational.’
She felt her cheeks heat. Her father had said exactly the same thing, but every word from the Duke seemed to heat her to uncomfortable levels.
‘I feel awkward in English clothing,’ she admitted, ‘but I am learning.’
‘I would never guess.’ Then he looked about. ‘Has no one offered you a chair?’ He turned and shot his aunt a hard glare. ‘Pray, let me find one for you.’
‘It is no matter,’ she said, but it seemed he was determined.
Stepping out of the room, he directed the butler to bring a pair of chairs. A moment later two footmen appeared, each with a straight-backed chair. The Duke directed them easily, pointing to the narrow spot where she’d been standing. Her father had to push his chair to the side, and then the new chairs were squeezed in such that they became a single bench. The Duke gestured for her to sit, which she did as gracefully as she could manage, and then he took the chair beside her.
It was a great deal of movement and activity, and in the end he was sitting pressed so tightly beside her that it felt more intimate than it had in the crow’s nest. She felt as if a deep breath would put her in his lap, and this time there was nowhere for her to run.
Even worse, she had absolutely no desire to move away.