Chapter Fifteen
Grace was exceptionally careful to pay attention to each detail of her dress for the evening. Her hair was pinned perfectly, and her maid had tucked several soft white feathers into her coiffure to add a little more elegance. Her dress was a lovely shade of cream, just the perfect hue that set off her fiery red hair without washing out her complexion, or making it pink—or so the modiste had said when she’d picked out the fabric. Honestly, she couldn’t figure out if the modiste was completely accurate, but she did feel beautiful as she gazed at her reflection, so that certainly had to meansomething.It wasn’t every night that she felt like she belonged in a crowded London ballroom with the most elite of the society, but tonight . . . tonight she did.
The carriage was waiting out front as she passed through the foyer and met up with Samantha and the viscount. She regarded him with a slight uneasiness. He’d been quite assertive in his statements regarding Lord Westhouse, and as such, she felt obligated to give his words weight. However, it fought against every instinct in her mind and heart, so she constantly felt at war within, making her edgy whenever the viscount was around. It wasn’t the best of feelings, but it was tolerable. And the elation that overtook her when with Lord Westhouse far overcompensated for the uneasiness from the viscount’s disapproval.
As they all entered the carriage, she smoothed her skirt and turned to the window, preparing for a mostly silent ride.
“Did I mention that Lord Sterling was back in residence?” the viscount offered as they started down the road.
Grace turned her gaze to him. “No, I wasn’t aware.”
The viscount gave a dismissive nod. “He requested the supper waltz with you, and I agreed. I assumed you’d wish to see him since he’s been gone for several weeks.”
Grace gave a slow nod. Something felt a little off. “Of course, I’m happy to oblige.” And she was, but as she thought about it, it smacked of planning.
“And I spoke with Lord Greywick earlier today, he mentioned that he hadn’t made your acquaintance yet, and requested the second waltz.” The viscount gave an innocent smile. “You know, his wife is the one to thank for the Almack vouchers.”
Grace was sure her suspicions were well-founded by this point. He was most certainly trying to control her waltz dances, keeping them occupied so that she couldn’t dance with Lord Westhouse.
Her anger simmered just below the surface as she took a breath to calm herself. A temper to match her hair—her father had always said that and it was more than accurate.
As his ward, she understood that he had the power and obligation to oversee her transition into independence, or rather marriage, but that didn’t mean that she needed to appreciate that, at least now. Most times she did appreciate it, but not at the moment.
No.
At the moment she wanted to give him an earful.
But that wouldn’t help her cause.
What she needed—she thought about it for a moment while the viscount awaited her response. Let him wait.
What she needed was Lord Westhouse toprovethat he was a changed man. Not that she fully understood the nature of the huge trespass for which he had to atone, but apparently there was more to the story than either side had shared. But,but,if Lord Westhouse could prove to them that he was a man of honor, a man of good principles, then they would not meddle so. That had to be the answer.
She’d suggest it tonight.
After all, if he were everything he said, then it would be no effort at all. Would it?
Her temper abated, she turned back to the viscount and realized that he was still awaiting her response. He raised an eyebrow.
Samantha cleared her throat.
“Yes, of course. I’d be honored,” Grace replied, quickly searching her memory for the image of Lord Greywick. Certainly she’d at least seen him before, even it if were just across the crowded ballroom.
“Brilliant.” He nodded in a very satisfied manner.
Grace had the urge to raise a brow in sarcastic query, but stifled the impulse.
“That dress is so very lovely on you, Grace. I’m very pleased with the modiste’s recommendations on the color. It suits you perfectly.”
“Thank you.” Grace nodded graciously. “I rather thought it was quite beautiful as well.”
They continued in polite conversation till they reached the Rohner residence. After they stepped from their conveyance, the music from the ballroom greeted them as if floating on the air. Its welcoming sound beckoned them into the ballroom, which was already crowded with people in conversation. In the middle of the ballroom, the cotillion was being danced, and Grace searched the dancers for Lord Westhouse’s familiar face. He had mentioned in passing that the cotillion was one of his favorites.
When she didn’t see him, she regarded the rest of the ballroom, her eager eyes searching for his dear face. As one who had never been in love, or even experienced infatuation, it was a delicious, heady feeling to have that special connection, that need to see another person.
The viscount excused himself to speak with another gentleman several yards away. Samantha took her arm and led her toward Lady Greywick. She was standing beside a classically handsome gentleman, and judging by the protective arm at her back, Grace made the assumption he was Lord Greywick.
Lady Greywick gave a wide smile as they approached where they stood, just on the edge of the dance floor.
