“I cannot ask for more, and I’m already sure I’ll slip up at least once. As long as he refuses to be scandalized, we shall get along famously I’m sure.”
The viscount gave a low chuckle. “Yes, well . . . of the three of us, R—Lord Sterling is the most aware of propriety.” He frowned slightly, his brows drawing over his eyes. “Honestly he might be a real asset when we begin your debut. I’ll mention it to him.” He nodded, as if approving of his own brilliant idea.
Grace was tempted to groan, but in truth, she should accept all the help she could get.
“If he’s to arrive shortly, we should take a few moments to change.” Samantha stepped forward, kissed her husband on the cheek, and backed away quickly, neatly dodging his outwardly grasping hand.
“You’re getting slow in your old age,” she teased, retreating toward the staircase.
“You’re learning my tricks. I’ll have to come up with some new ones,” he answered, arching a brow while he gave her a wide, almost predatory grin.
Samantha paused at the bottom of the stairs, and Grace passed her as she ascended to the second floor.
She strode purposefully to her room, not turning back because she was quite certain that while she didn’t understand much about love, she knew one thing for certain; it was fun to play hard to get, but it was more fun to get caught.
A giggle echoed softly down the hall just as Grace closed her bedroom door, a smile teasing her lips.
It would be nice to be chased, even nicer to be caught, but only by someone you could trust. She had seen such a relationship in her parents, and again with the viscount and Samantha, but she was certain it was uncommon. She’d heard stories, she’d seen small windows into life on the other side of the equation, and that wasn’t what she wished to experience.
She rang for her maid, and once Regina arrived, she changed from her slightly damp walking dress into something more suitable for dinner. Regina freshened up her hair, and Grace dismissed her. She should take leave of her room and go downstairs to the parlor and await their guest, but she was rather inclined to stay in her room a few minutes longer, to absorb the silence and read, even if it was just for a few moments. The temptation was too great and she picked upA Midsummer Night’s Dreamand started where she’d left off. She’d just reached the part where Puck puts the magic love drops on the eyes of Demetrius when a knock sounded on her door, causing her to jump slightly. She tucked a length of lace in the book and set it to the side. Eyes bleary, she stood and walked to the door. As she opened it, she belatedly realized it had been a much longer break than she had intended on taking.
Regina was on the other side of the door. “Pardon miss, but my lord wishes you to join him and Lady Kilpatrick in the parlor downstairs.”
“Of course.” Grace nodded, feeling abashed at neglecting to be prompt. Regina gave a quick curtsey and walked away. Grace ran her hands down her skirt, smoothing it and taking a deep breath before she started in the opposite direction towards the stairs. A wayward lock tickled the side of her face and she tucked it behind her ear. This was the perfect opportunity to practice all that she’d been taught at Samantha’s kind hand. . . and as such, she was profoundly nervous.
True, he was a friend of the family, but Lord Sterling would also be a very good judge of whether she could pass muster for the rest of London society. A test—she had to think of it as a challenge. There, thinking of it that way was helpful. She took the last stair and twisted her lips. She’d much rather rise to the challenge of something she enjoyed, something she was actually good at, and this was not something in which she excelled.
Drat.
There was no way but through it, and she wasn’t a wilting flower. No. She was made of something far more durable; she couldn’t think of anything as an example at the moment, but that didn’t signify. It was still true. She could, shewoulddo this!
Shoulders back, she held her head high and walked down the hall toward the parlor, where she knew they all waited. With one deep breath she pretended a grace she didn’t possess and walked into the parlor.
Which was immediately discovered to be empty.
“Blast it all,” she muttered, her shoulders sagging slightly. She had the urge to stomp her foot for good measure, but she held some sense of decorum and promptly walked over to a chair and took a seat. While she had assumed she was late, she clearly wasn’t the latest. She rather thought it was on purpose. Leave it to Samantha to hedge her bets and make sure she arrived on time. Samantha was far too discerning; it was irritating as much as it was helpful.
Grace tapped her toe on the rug, shifted to find a more comfortable position, then blew out a frustrated breath. She was bored already.
The sharp sound of heels clicking on the floor in the hall just beyond had her sitting up straight in her chair, lest the viscount or Samantha walk in and see her slouched and in an impatient position. But the man who rounded the corner was most certainlynotthe viscount.
Good Lord, but the man was tall! She imagined that if she were beside him, he could see clean over her head, and then some. His gaze immediately met hers, and a shiver of... something . . . shot through her. It wasn’t unpleasant; it was however, foreign, and she took note to evaluate it later. She stood, not knowing what else to do, and watched the way he paused as he entered, appearing slightly unsure. His eyes were a pale blue, framed by dark lashes and brows. His hair was meticulously combed into a classic fashion, one that defied trend but somehow fit him. He tucked his hands behind his back, not smiling, simply . . . watching.
It was all sorts of disconcerting, and, as often happened when Grace felt uncomfortable, she started talking.
The talking wasn’t the bad part; it was the inability to stop the talking that usually got her into trouble, but it was too late now. Her mouth had opened and the words started to pour forth.
“Good evening, you must be Lord Sterling.” She impressed herself with the pause she gave to at least allow him to nod. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard so much from the viscount, though he never mentioned your being so tall. Though, that may be because he is quite tall himself, but I dare say, you’re taller, aren’t you?”
She took a breath, forcing herself to stop, but when he didn’t answer, she felt compelled to continue. “I rather thought Samantha and the viscount would be down here already, but they get distracted quite easily. It’s rather sweet if you ask me. I had my suspicions when the viscount first arrived at Kilmarin House, that it was a match from the start.” Her arms tingled, her fingertips were warm and she tried to force herself to stop talking.
If the damn man would just say something,anything!What ever happened to chivalry?
He blinked, as if slowly digesting everything she was pouring forth in a rush of language. But he made no reply, which of course, forced her to—
“Ah, I see you’ve met my ward!” The viscount strode in, saving Grace from her own folly and inability to harness any semblance of self-control. She could have kissed his feet in gratitude for her rescue.
It was horrifically annoying to need to be rescued from oneself. Inconvenient as well.
