“You’re doing perfectly.” Samantha turned and whispered the encouraging words over her shoulder, just loud enough for Grace to hear.
After smiling in response, she continued studying the room. The viscount shook the hand of some older gentleman. When she heard her name, she snapped her attention back to the viscount.
“And this, Lord Drummel, is my ward, Miss Grace Morgan.”
This was her cue, and Grace bent into a practiced curtsey, offering a warm smile to their host. “A pleasure.”
Lord Drummel was a full head shorter than the viscount, and far more well fed, but his features were kind, as was his smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Morgan. Is this your first time in London?”
Grace nodded, holding her tongue, remembering that it was always wiser to keep her peace rather than prattle on.
“I see, and how do you like it?” he asked, his salt and pepper eyebrows arching in question.
She was saved having to answer by the arrival of a woman with regal stature. Nearly taller than Lord Drummel, she was as lean as he was well fed.
“Ah, Miss Morgan, allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Drummel.”
Grace executed her curtsey once more, taking extra care to perform the action perfectly. Something told her that Lady Drummel would notice a misstep faster than a hawk would see a mouse in a field.
“An honor, Lady Drummel,” Grace spoke softly.
“Miss Morgan.” She nodded, then turned to the viscount. “And Lord and Lady Kilpatrick. We were thrilled to receive your acceptance of our invitation.”
Her eyes were sharp and shrewd as she gave a quick study of Samantha, then dismissed whatever she was looking for as if not present.
Not that any part of that made sense. Grace made a mental note to ask Samantha later.
“It was our pleasure to attend, Lady Drummel,” Samantha replied, all sweetness and light, but Grace noted the slight tightening around her eyes.
They made small talk for a few moments longer before moving on and allowing their host and hostess to greet other guests. As they moved from earshot, Grace saw the way the viscount protectively placed his arm around Samantha’s waist.
Maybe, Grace thought, she wasn’t the only one under scrutiny. And perhaps they weren’t as unnoticed as she thought.
Maybe the ton were simply better at appearing disinterested when they were just the opposite.
The music ended, the dancers disappeared, and then the music restarted in the Scottish reel. Couples lined up to perform the dance, and Grace scanned their faces, knowing it was vain, but searching for something, someone familiar.
“Ah, just in time.” The viscount gave a quick smile and strode forward.
Immediately Grace recognized the gentleman as Lord Sterling, but what caught her attention was the way the ton behind him followed him with their eyes.
Good Lord, isthathow they did it? Wait till you turned your back and then stare? She gave a quick glance behind herself, just to check.
When it proved fruitless, she turned back to watch the approach and attention gained by Lord Sterling. Women scanned him from head to toe, while gentlemen tugged on their shirtsleeves and stood a little straighter.
In that moment, she decided she would never, not in a hundred million years, understand the way London Society worked.
Nor did she wish to.
“You made it.” The viscount shook Lord Sterling’s hand in greeting.
“I wasn’t particularly given a choice,” he remarked.
Grace wondered whatthatmeant.
“You didn’t want one. You like being bossed around.”
“I live for your guidance,” Lord Sterling replied dryly, then turned to Lady Kilpatrick. “A pleasure, my lady.”
