Chapter Four
Grace had heard it whispered that American taste wasn’t up to English standards.
During yesterday evening’s ball, she had thought this comment was meant as an insult to her fellow countrymen.
Standing in the Dashworths’ Blue Lounge she questioned her understanding.
The Dashworths were supposed to be the pinnacle of English high society, a ducal family wealthy beyond belief.
Yet this room was garish and, quite frankly, an abomination on the eyes.
There’d been plenty of time for her to imagine the upcoming conversation.
Over two years had passed since she had realised there would have to be a day when she met these people and tried to explain everything.
What she had not factored in in any of her imaginings was being completely on her own after her arrival in their home.
The Dashworths’ butler had shown her to the room, apologising that Lady Blackmore and Lady Edward were delayed and would join her shortly.
There were so many chairs and settees in this long sitting room that she had no idea where she was expected to sit and wait.
She hoped she was only meeting with the two women today and not the disapproving duke.
No doubt he would find fault with her behaviour whichever seat she chose.
So now she was overthinking it, standing staring at the sea of blue, feeling like driftwood left on the beach after the end of a storm.
This discussion was going to be difficult; someone might cry and she had the horrible feeling that person would be her.
She’d been longing to get it out of the way, promising herself that she and Sarah would stop at a teashop on the way home and buy something indulgent to eat.
Looking forward to something beyond an unpleasant anticipated event was how she’d managed to survive the last few years.
This unexpected aloneness, with Sarah taken off to the servants’ quarters, wasn’t helping her peace of mind.
By the time Lady Blackmore entered, carrying a baby on her hip, a fine tremor was running through Grace’s body and she tucked her hands into her skirts so that the countess would not notice.
‘I am sorry to keep you waiting,’ said Lady Blackmore, some of her hair coming loose from its pins.
The slight unravelling made her look far less calm and sophisticated than she had during the ball the night before, causing Grace to warm to her; she knew a thing or two about being dishevelled.
‘Arabella is fretful and every time I put her down she cries. I hope you do not mind if she joins us.’
‘Goodness me, not at all.’ As Grace stepped towards Lady Blackmore and the little baby girl, some of the tension rolling through her eased.
It boded well that the countess was the sort of parent who would not leave her distressed child when a caller came.
The same could not have been said for Grace’s mother, who did not have a maternal bone in her body.
Both of Grace’s parents had viewed their two daughters as assets to be used to further their own interests and not as individuals with thoughts and feelings.
Arabella’s whole body was shuddering, the way babies did when big emotions had swept through them. Tears still stained red blotchy cheeks.
‘She is beautiful,’ said Grace.
The baby took that moment to reach out and grasp one of Grace’s bonnet’s ribbons in her chubby fingers, pulling it into her smacking lips before anyone could stop her.
‘Oh no,’ cried Lady Blackmore as the material disappeared into her daughter’s mouth.
‘Please do not worry. I can see Arabella is a lady with exceptional taste. This bonnet is from Madame Madeleine herself.’
‘It will be ruined. I really am very sorry.’
‘If it makes her happy, then I will happily bear the sacrifice.’ Standing this close to Lady Blackmore, however, was a little disconcerting. Grace tugged at the remaining ribbon and began undoing the bow.
‘There is no need to take your bonnet off. Truly, we can find something else for her to chew on.’
Grace doubted the babe would be happy with anything other than the white ribbon clutched tightly in her tiny hand.
As much as Grace loved babies, she wasn’t entirely keen to have her bonnet back covered in Arabella’s saliva.
‘It is fine. I am not a great fan of wearing a hat, or anything in my hair if I am honest. Wearing them always gives me a headache; a disaster really, given that the fashion is for we ladies to wear our hair up, bound and covered, unless we are in the privacy of our own home.’
Lady Blackmore flashed her a grateful smile. ‘I quite agree. Fashion is not designed for comfort. I despise tightly tied stays, but one cannot do without them unfortunately.’
‘They are dreadful things that should be burned,’ said Grace, wondering if this conversation was entirely appropriate to be having with a countess, but the lady opposite her did not seem offended.
Indeed, her eyes twinkled with merriment. ‘How we suffer for our looks.’
Grace smiled back, a dull ache beneath her breastbone, because Sebastian should have lived to meet his sister-in-law. He would have liked her and would have been pleased Freddie had found someone so amiable in a wife.
‘Well, if you are sure you do not mind sacrificing that ribbon, shall we take a seat?’ Lady Blackmore gestured to some chairs surrounding a low wooden table. ‘I promise you that I shall return your bonnet as good as new. In the meantime, you must borrow one of mine to journey home in.’
Grace murmured her thanks, taking one of the seats furthest from the door. It was surprisingly comfortable and she sank into the cushions, thinking that, if everything went well, she would ask where she could buy a chair just like it.
Lady Blackmore arranged herself on one of the longer settees, placing her daughter on her lap.
‘I have asked for tea and cake to be brought to us in a few minutes. Lady Edward will be here shortly, as will my other sister-in-law, Lady Christopher. She was not at the ball last night, but I am sure you will get along famously.’
Grace smoothed her palms along the armrests, debating whether to blurt out her reasons for being in England, now, when it was just the two of them, or wait for the others to arrive.
The decision was taken out of her hands when Lady Edward entered the Blue Lounge followed by, presumably, Lady Christopher, a dark-haired woman with a warm smile.
After introductions were made, and they gave one another leave to call each other by their Christian names, Katherine, Edward’s wife, entertained them all with a brief description of what her wards were up to.
Even though the story, which involved a ball of wool, the mysterious appearance of a kitten and a husband who was slowly losing his mind, was entertaining, it was hard to pay attention.
The story was full of love and affection and Grace was so pleased that this family was one that showed both of these openly and without restraint.
But there was also a reason for her being here and the sooner she got it over with, the better for her own peace of mind.
It would complete the promise she had made to Clare, which she was determined to keep despite Clare never knowing she had made it.
A series of footmen in dark, crisp uniforms entered carrying trays covered in sandwiches and cakes. It all looked delicious, but Grace did not think she could eat a single thing. As the moment where she had to blurt out her news drew nearer, her stomach swooped and dived.
‘Are you enjoying your stay in England, Grace?’ asked Katherine when the servants had laid down their trays and almost silently melted away.
‘Everything has been delightful so far.’ Aside from exchanging words with the sternest man in England, but Grace had the impression he had not discussed the incident in the Serpentine with the rest of his family and she was not about to share the details of her indiscreet behaviour either.
‘How long do you intend to visit?’
‘I have no return date,’ she said.
All three women smiled widely at that and Grace’s nerves ratcheted up another notch.
The way they were all staring at her as if they were delighted to see her was unsettling.
Was it conceivable that they knew who she was to them?
No. That was not possible. Even if Sebastian had written to them about her, which was highly doubtful given what a terrible correspondent he was, Wilmott was not her real name.
It seemed unlikely the three ladies were this friendly because of their exchange last night and even what had come after that.
According to Mrs Hitchings, Grace had become something of a sensation.
After her first dance with the duke, she had been besieged by partners, and people had almost clambered over one another to talk to her.
She was no antidote and had plenty of friends before everything had fallen apart, but she had never received attention like she had last night. It had been most odd.
Even if Mrs Hitchings was right and Grace had somehow become popular without really understanding why, that had happened after all the Dashworths had left. Gossip did move quickly, but surely it couldn’t be that fast.
It couldn’t matter if these women liked her. She had come here for a reason and she needed to get on with it. Shifting forward slightly and wishing she was somewhere else entirely, she said, ‘There is something I need to tell you…’