Chapter Two #2
‘I see.’ Grace was not sure why Mrs Hitchings was telling her all this.
‘I would not bother to set your cap at him. He has never shown an interest in any lady.’
Grace wasn’t in London to find a new husband.
One was more than enough for a lifetime.
Admittedly, not all husbands would be as bad as Ichabod Willsden, her loathed, late husband’s real name.
Although theirs had been an arranged marriage, she had liked him very much at first, which went to show that her judgement was terrible.
Tying herself to a man, even if he was not as bad as Ichabod, was something she would never do.
There was a task she needed to complete and then the rest of her life was going to be devoted to fun: dancing, theatre trips, visits to art exhibitions, all the normal things Ichabod had not allowed her to participate in during their arduous years together.
She would, however, like to meet the Duke of Glanmore, for reasons that had nothing to do with marriage.
‘Do you think he is likely to attend this evening?’
Mrs Hitchings sighed. ‘Now there would be a triumph, but sadly, I think not. He does not attend many functions and he tends to stick close to his family or the gaming rooms when he does. He was not with his sisters-in-law just then.’
‘I beg your pardon?’ Out of the multitude of people she had just met, which ones had been from the Dashworth family and how had she missed them?
‘Lady Blackmore and Lady Edward,’ Mrs Hitchings clarified. ‘They are the wives of Lord Frederick and Edward Dashworth respectively.’
If Grace had been on her own, she would have sworn and stamped her feet.
The whole point of the evening was to secure a connection with a member of that family and she had wasted her opportunity by making bland small talk because she was utterly exhausted after speaking with a thousand other people.
It was a nuisance being as short as she was, because it was impossible to see if the two women had left the dance floor at the end of the latest dance.
She would have to throw herself in their paths and try again.
‘May I fetch you something from the refreshment table? I should like some lemonade,’ she asked her host, desperate to start her hunt straight away.
‘Not for me, my dear. But you go ahead. I shall sit with my friends awhile.’
Grace was halfway across the ballroom when her world came crashing down. Her heart thundered in her chest, beating such a heavy rhythm she was surprised she couldn’t hear it above the noise of the room.
He was here.
The rude, obnoxious man from the river, who had not been at all appreciative of the fact that she had tried to save him.
He was standing alone, next to a pillar, glaring at the dance floor as if it had done him a personal wrong.
No wonder he was not surrounded by others; it was doubtful he had any friends if he looked that angry all of the time.
He was like a black cloud on an otherwise sunny day.
Once again, however, she could not fault his attire.
His wide shoulders were shown off to their full advantage, underneath a beautifully cut Weston jacket.
His cravat was a work of art and Grace did not miss a few envious glances some of the younger men threw in its direction.
The glowering gentleman did not notice. He may have been carved from marble for all the reaction he gave to the merriment going on around him.
Hopefully, such was his awful nature, he would tell no one of her potentially ruinous behaviour, because no one would talk to him. This did not need to be a disaster.
Despite her reassurances to herself, her hand was shaking as she picked up a glass of lemonade, some of the liquid spilling over the edge of the glass.
Ichabod had always told her that her impetuous nature was troublesome.
She had ignored him towards the end of their marriage because he was frankly awful and if she had listened to every bad thing he said about her, there would have been nothing left of her self-esteem.
It was galling to find he was right in this one thing.
If only she had walked on and left that man to his solitude, she wouldn’t be contemplating faking a headache and leaving the ball which her friend was hosting for the sole reason of her getting to know people.
Not to mention retreating would mean giving up her opportunity to speak to Lady Blackmore or Lady Edward.
No. She straightened her shoulders. Just because he had treated her as if she were unworthy of breathing the same air as him, she would not be chased from the room. Or at least, not yet.
Instead of heading straight back towards Mrs Hitchings, she made her way around the edge of the ballroom, taking care not to get into the eyeline of the rude man.
Stopping now and then, she made conversation with some of her new acquaintances, always looking out for either of the two women to whom she was most desperate to speak.
If she were able to manage it, even for only a few minutes more, the evening would have been a success and then she could make her excuses and go.
She spotted Lady Blackmore and took a step in her direction, before coming to an immediate halt.
Her quarry was standing next to the dark, brooding man, not speaking exactly, but positioned in such a way that it was clear that they knew each other.
The grim-faced man moved then, for the first time as far as she was aware.
Unfortunately, she was more in tune with what he had been doing for the last ten minutes than anyone else in the room.
Lifting his head, he looked directly at her.
When their eyes met, her whole body locked down as if the weight of his stare was holding her in position.
Without taking his gaze away, he said something to Lady Blackmore, who jolted in surprise.
Turning to face the same direction, she nodded and the two of them made their way over to her.
The blood in Grace’s veins turned to ice, fear trickling through every inch of her.
If the man said anything about their previous encounter to the very family she was trying to introduce herself to, she would…
well, she was not exactly sure what she would do.
He towered over her, so it wouldn’t be anything physical, even if she had been a violent woman.
But she would be angry, very, very angry.
He would feel the full force of her wrath, which would probably mean he would end up being subjected to a lot of her glaring and some muttering.
No doubt both would bounce off his impeccably dressed shoulders.
Neither the rude man nor she broke eye contact as he moved towards her. It was a question of honour at this point, even if it was a bit strange.
‘Your Grace,’ said Lady Blackmore when they reached her.
It took Grace a moment to figure out what was going on.
For a second she thought Lady Blackmore had lost her wits and was calling her by a title she had hitherto never heard of, but her stomach dropped to her knees when the full awfulness of the situation hit her.
‘May I have the honour of presenting Mrs Joseph Wilmott.’
Grace curtsied, because that was expected of her. Inside her mind, she was screaming.
‘Mrs Wilmott,’ said Lady Blackmore, ‘this is my brother-in-law, Tobias Dashworth, His Grace, the Duke of Glanmore.’
Of course the odious man was the duke. Because Grace’s life was a disaster.
She was a joke. Every time she tried to make something better, she only went and made it a thousand times worse.
She should never have come to England in search of this family; she should have stayed in America and stagnated, because that would have been better than this: humiliation and ruination.
Maybe she was supposed to say something like she was pleased to make his acquaintance, but that would be a lie, given that she was currently thinking about planning her own death.
‘May I have the pleasure of this dance, Mrs Wilmott?’ said His Grace. His dark eyes fixed on hers, his expression unreadable.
It was incredibly tempting to say no. She doubted anyone ever told him that, but she needed to win him over and make up for the hideousness of two days ago and so, even as everything in her screamed at her to decline, she lied and said, ‘I should be delighted.’
An emotion flickered across his face, gone before she could guess at its meaning. ‘Excellent.’