“Yes,” she said, and he fancied there was even some relief in it. “Only—how will you get her to invite me?”
“Simple enough,” Henry said as the music began to wind down at last. “I’ll tell her I’m courting you.”
Chapter Eight
Courting me!” Grace found herself grateful for the wave of polite applause for the musicians that swept over the room and disguised her shrill cry.
“Yes. It’s the perfect solution,” Lord Lockhart said blandly, as if he hadn’t just made the most outrageous suggestion Grace had heard in the whole of her life. “If the public believes we have formed some manner of attachment to one another—”
“A courtship, you mean to say,” Grace hissed beneath her breath as he settled her hand in the crook of his elbow, securing it in place with the pressure of his opposite hand.
“—Then I could call upon you without arousing suspicions. You could expect to receive invitations to my family’s events.” Those icy blue eyes raked across her face. “That is, of course, unless you have already got a suitor. That man you were speaking with earlier—”
Grace’s brows pinched. “Who?”
“Dark hair. Bit unkempt.”
“Oh. Danny Beaumont?” A laugh bubbled up in her throat. “He’s not a suitor; he’s practically my cousin. And he’s desperately in love with Lady Hannah Gillingham, besides.”
Was that relief that had settled into the slope of hisshoulders? The corner of his mouth hitched up. “Is she practically your cousin, also?”
“I’d say so, yes. As I’ve known her since she was twelve.” An odd thought tucked itself in the back of her mind and pulled her shoulders tight. “You’re not courting someone else?”
“No, and it would be the height of cruelty to set my sights on any woman before my personal matters have been satisfactorily resolved,” he said. “It would be unconscionable to make promises to a woman which I might not be capable of keeping.”
His title, she supposed. His estates, his fortune. For that was often what marriage meant amongst those of his class—one married not only one’s husband, but his connections, his possessions, his prestige. Which made it seem all the more remarkable to her that her family was full of couples who had found happiness in their spouses, whose marriages were loving and affectionate.
He was meant to be escorting her back to her family, and yet he seemed to be dragging his feet, his path circuitous instead of direct. To make a point of his pretended interest? Luckily she hadn’t been engaged for the following dance. “Call upon me, you said,” Grace murmured as they threaded slowly through the crowd.
“It would be convenient for the purposes of strategizing. And for the sake of your reputation, you’d do well to keep your invasions of my garden to a minimum.”
If he only knew. “Chasing after Tansy is a convenient enough excuse,” she said.
“Tansy is a devil given feline form,” he said, “and she cannot be relied upon to make her little visits when it would be most expedient. Besides, I’ve something of an impression that your sisters have rather too many responsibilities of their own to prove particularly strict guardians. The caterwauling that seems to emanate from your house at all hours would suggest we mightexpect at least a modicum of privacy to converse.”
“You’ve heard it?”
“I imagine everyone on the street has heard it,” he said, his voice tinged with exasperation. “This morning there was some manner of shrieking over a hair ribbon, I believe?”
“Well, there’s an awful lot of children about. And little Lucy”—Felicity’s daughter—“is fond of filching Flora’s favorite ribbon.”
“Hasn’t she got any of her own?”
“Oh, dozens and dozens. But Flora’s has got lovely little rosettes embroidered upon it, and it is a beautiful shade of blue.” Was that a chuckle he had muffled behind his hand? “There’s the threat of a battle to the death which must be averted at least once a week.”
“It sounds like chaos,” he said. “In my house, there’s just me, Eliza, and Mother. Eliza is with her governess much of the day, and Mother so rarely leaves her rooms. The house feels too often like a mausoleum.”
“I can hardly imagine it. There’s so many people within ours that it’s a madhouse most days.” Probably he was right; her sisters had so much pandemonium to contend with that they would find themselves more likely than not unchaperoned—so long as they stayed within the drawing room and kept the door open. With the near-constant shrieks and battles waged amongst the children, it was unlikely even that someone might eavesdrop upon them. “I suppose you’re right,” she admitted. “Tansy isn’t precisely a suitable chaperone, besides.”
“I’ll call upon you tomorrow, then.” His steps slowed still more as they neared her family. “To whom am I returning you this evening?”
“Do you know, I’m not certain.” Grace peered through the crowd, striving to see which of her sisters remained. “Probably Charity,” she said. “Mercy appears to have wandered off, and Ibelieve Felicity and Ian are joining this next set.”
“And do you always attend events in such numbers? There must be a dozen of you altogether.”
“Nearly always. We enjoy each other’s company, and good company has a way of livening up an event that might otherwise be rather dull. Of course, Aunt Phoebe and Uncle Chris don’t attend events quite so often as the rest of us, as Uncle Chris’ knee injury prevents him from dancing.” But they were nearly always present for family events regardless.
“I’ll confess I find that something of a relief. Mr. Moore is rather too intense for my taste.” At her quizzical glance, he clarified, “I had the dubious pleasure of making his acquaintance a few nights ago. Certain veiled threats were made.”
