“Are you going to greet your guests, or merely stand here like a dolt?”
Alan straightened, shrugged off Hamdon’s hand, and mounted the steps. On the landing, he gave Mrs. Lenning the deference she deserved and greeted her first, even though his mind was screaming to go straight to Grace. He welcomed each one of them individually, but when he came to Grace, his tonguestuck to the roof of his mouth. Taking hold of her hand, he bowed over it but could only say, “Miss Lenning.”
“Lord Gladsby,” she said. “I must thank you for your generous invitation to include us in your holiday celebrations, as I am sure it was your sister’s idea.”
It had been Emma’s suggestion, or rather, command, but that did not mean it was unwelcome. He cleared his throat. “It is my pleasure to have you all join us.”
In his periphery, Mr. Lenning and Hamdon, his customary cane in hand, gave each other a pat on the back. While Grace’s presence washisfocus, it was her brother who probably held more interest for his sister and her husband. Mr. Lenning and Lord Hamdon had been boyhood friends since their days at Eton. They’d not want to pass up the chance to be together for a holiday.
“Miss Lenning.” His sister cut in front of him, and he realized he was staring at Grace again. He really needed to pull himself together.
“We are so happy to have you with us.” Emma gave Grace a small hug. “Come, let us get you warmed by the fire.”
And just like that, Emma whisked her away, asking questions as the rest of the group followed them down the stairs and into the drawing room. They really should have let the housekeeper show their guests to their rooms where they could dress for dinner, but he supposed they could forgo the formal practice this once.
He ran a hand through his curls and straightened his dinner jacket. Thatcher, his footman, carried the load of cloaks and greatcoats down to the ground level, and Gibbons followed with the gloves and hats. When everyone had disappeared from the court, Alan let out the sigh he’d been holding. He’d acted like a complete idiot.
What had happened to the cool, collected man he’d learned to portray? Despite years of military discipline, he’d fumbled over his words like an infatuated schoolboy. The next few weeks would be miserable indeed if he could not get a hold of himself. Grace was his friend, nothing more.
Dinner was a fabulous mixture of sweet and savory dishes. Grace resisted the urge to scrape up the last vestiges of the cream sauce that had covered the venison and turnips. Prudence, however, did not even bother restraining herself. A tiny squeak from Pru’s fork pierced the quiet conversation.
To Grace’s relief, Lord Gladsby held up a finger, signaling the footmen to remove the dinner plates instead of eyeing her sister with disapproval.
A small dessert dish of bread and cream was set before her. Grace wiggled her toes in her shoes. Buttered shortbread pudding was her favorite. Did Lord Gladsby remember? No. That was ridiculous. It was not as if he’d planned his meals around her likes and dislikes.
“Oh look, Alan,” Lady Hamdon said, “your favorite.”
Lord Gladsby raised his spoon in Grace’s direction. “And Miss Lenning’s as well.”
Grace stilled, her gaze focused on Lord Gladsby as he dipped his spoon for another bite. He’d not forgotten their conversation. They’d been peering in the windows of the bakery in Venworth and he’d asked after her favorite sweetmeat. After she replied, the conversation had naturally turned to a discussion of many favorites: puddings, colors, books. Had it really been that important to him to remember?
She winced as a foot hit her shin. Across the table, Prudence tipped her head in Lord Gladsby’s direction. She’d notacknowledged his compliment. The awkward silence about them jarred her into action.
“Yes. And your cook has done an excellent job with it. Please pass on my compliments.”
“I will,” Lady Hamdon said.
Conversation carried on around Grace, but the knowledge that Lord Gladsby had thought of her comfort pulled her thoughts away. Then again, maybe she was making far too much of his gesture. He was simply being a good host. Perhaps tomorrow he’d serve Bradley’s favorite, or Lady Hamdon’s. It really was nothing.
Lady Hamdon rose and the other ladies took their cue, leaving the gentlemen and making themselves comfortable in the drawing room. Candlelight mixed with the fire in the hearth, giving the room a soft glow that soothed Grace and reminded her of how tiring travel could be. Her lower back had yet to recover from the bumping and jarring of the carriage, so she allowed herself a moment to relax into the cushioned back of her chair.
Diana and Prudence kept up the majority of the conversation with Lady Hamdon, allowing her to let her mind wander until the gentlemen entered.
“I heartily agree,” Anthony said to her brother, pulling Grace from her stupor. “I do love a game of Toilette. It’s nearly as good as Buffy Gruffy.”
“Those are both delightful,” Lady Hamdon interjected. “I will schedule an evening for each.”
Several more games were discussed with great vigor. This one was too vulgar for their taste, that one didn’t hold one’s interest. Eventually, they created a list that they all could agree on.
“You have been unforgivably quiet, Grace,” Prudence chided. “Don’t you want your say in what parlor games are played?”
“Oh, I’m sure whatever Lady Hamdon has planned for us will be enjoyable.”
Her Ladyship tipped her head, her fingers working the tips of her gloves. Odd. None of the rest had replaced their gloves after dinner, but perhaps the lady was more comfortable formally dressed.
“Actually, Miss Lenning, I would like to know what your family does during the Christmas season. Alan and I wish to make your stay here as full of comfort and cheer as possible, so we thought to incorporate some of your traditions with our own.”
Grace shifted in her seat, sneaking a glance at Lord Gladsby—Alan, as his sister had called him. The name suited him. She let it roll around in her mind a moment, then remembered she was supposed to be giving suggestions for Christmastide activities.
