Grace wished Tristan was here. The idea of him aiding her in selecting gowns was completely inappropriate, but he was her one and only friend. At least she hoped he still was despite their kiss. Now was not the time to think of that else she’d never be able to make a decision.
She couldn’t help but glance at Miss Flitchard again. Grace wished she were aiding her rather than the modiste.
“Wait.” Mrs. Danby studied the gowns. “There is one missing. You simply must see it.”
Miss Flitchard stepped forward. “Do you think it’s still in the carriage? Shall I search for it?”
The older woman waved a hand in the air as she scoffed. “I will do it myself.” She turned to Grace. “So difficult to find good help these days.”
Grace held her tongue, though she dearly wanted to tell the modiste that if it weren’t for her assistant, she’d have found a different dressmaker.
The woman turned so that her gown flared out behind her and exited the room. Voices could be heard in the foyer. Mrs. Danby’s tone sounded rather flirtatious though Grace couldn’t make out many words. Still, it was enough to give Grace pause.
Confused, she glanced at Miss Flitchard, who wore a resigned look. As the conversation from the foyer grew louder and Mrs. Danby’s laughter filled the air, the assistant leaned forward to whisper, “I believe she found one of your footmen rather attractive.”
Grace couldn’t help but chuckle, delighted when Miss Flitchard joined in.
“I’m sorry. That is terribly rude of me.” Grace couldn’t contain her mirth. “It just took me by surprise. She appears to be significantly older than any of my footmen.”
“The younger and bigger, the better.” Miss Flitchard quickly covered her mouth with her hand. “Now I’m the one who must apologize. How vulgar of me. I am sorry.”
“Nonsense. I prefer it when you speak your mind.”
Miss Flitchard smiled, her eyes lit with amusement. “Mrs. Danby certainly doesn’t, so I’d be grateful if you refrained from telling her any of this.”
“Of course. It will be between us.” Grace realized that with the modiste’s exit, the strain in the room had faded. “Now then, which gown do you think would be best for the ball?”
The assistant’s gaze held Grace’s with candor. “It depends on what sort of impression you’re trying to make.”
Grace raised a brow. “What do you mean?”
“May I speak plainly?” At Grace’s nod, she continued, “Is this a ‘I want to find a lover’ ball or is it more of a ‘I must make an appearance so as not to upset anyone’ ball?”
Grace laughed. “Your bluntness is refreshing and humorous. I don’t know that it’s either of those.” She studied Miss Flitchard, wondering if she could truly trust her. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t have a job if I couldn’t.” She glanced away as though realizing she may have said too much.
Grace took pity on her and pretended not to notice. Perhaps one day the young seamstress would confide in her. But for now, her assistance and the possibility of a friend was enough for Grace to continue. “I sometimes don’t truly feel like a viscountess.”
At Miss Flitchard’s puzzled expression, Grace attempted to clarify her statement. “I mean, I am but only because I married a viscount.”
“I don’t think I understand.”
“I’m the daughter of the vicar of a small parish in the country.”
“But you married a viscount?”
Grace nodded, hoping she’d understand.
Miss Flitchard’s eyes narrowed. “You do realize that marrying a viscount makes you a viscountess, don’t you?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“There is no but.” The assistant shook her head.
Grace scowled, wondering how to better explain her situation.
Miss Flitchard seemed to understand at last. Her expression softened as she came forward to place a hand on Grace’s arm. “You are in all the ways that count. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how you feel on the inside.” A shadow crossed her face that made Grace curious. “Others will believe whatever appearance you give them.” She forced a tight smile. “It is simple really. And if you keep pretending long enough, somewhere along the line, it truly becomes who you are.”
In that moment, Grace knew without a doubt that Miss Flitchard was keeping a few secrets of her own. “You are not merely a modiste’s assistant, are you?”
“Of course, I am.” She smiled far too brightly and turned toward the gowns. “Now then, why don’t we start by eliminating the ones you don’t like. Narrowing down the choices will help.”
In short order, they had selected two styles of gowns that Miss Flitchard promised could be blended together to suit Grace’s preferences.
“And as far as the fabric and color? A fine wool? Silk?”
“I suppose wool as I am still in half-mourning, don’t you think?” Grace asked. “As long as it’s not crape.” She’d already worn gowns made of the dull black fabric for a year, and she hoped never to wear another.
“I know exactly what you mean.” Once again, Miss Flitchard caught herself, as though realizing she’d said too much.
Since she looked so uncomfortable, Grace didn’t respond to her comment. Several minutes passed as they selected two more designs and fabrics with Miss Flitchard suggesting clever changes to the style that would make a dress of half-mourning look like something else entirely. Her idea of having a paler grey underskirt and black piping suited Grace perfectly.
With the assistant’s help to determine Grace’s likes and dislikes, the task of selecting additional gowns was quite enjoyable.
Mrs. Danby had yet to return but, as far as Grace was concerned, the longer she was gone, the better. Grace was much more comfortable with Miss Flitchard.
“For the ball gown, I think we need something special. It will be your very first ball. That calls for the need to make a statement.”
“A statement?” Grace couldn’t help but wince at the term.
The assistant tapped her lower lip as she considered the options. “I know just the thing.”
Grace wasn’t certain if she should be worried or excited by the look on Miss Flitchard’s face.
“I can’t seem to find the gown anywhere.” Mrs. Danby glided into the room, the color in her cheeks high. The end of a ribbon from her corset peeked out of her neckline. As Grace looked closer, she realized the woman’s gown was slightly crooked. “I had your footman assist me in the search to no avail.”
Miss Flitchard caught Grace’s attention, eyes wide, doing all she could to keep from laughing.
It took a moment for understanding to dawn, but when it did, Grace had to turn away from the modiste before chuckling as well. Apparently Mrs. Danby had needed a lot of help from the footman. The kind of help Grace didn’t care to know about.
“No need for concern,” Grace said, hoping her mirth wasn’t reflected in her voice. “I think I’ve made a decision, thanks to Miss Flitchard.”
Another glance at the assistant showed the younger woman shaking her head adamantly. Too late, Grace realized her mistake.
“Oh?” The modiste turned to face Miss Flitchard, censure in her tone. “I hope she didn’t overstep her bounds.”
“Not at all.” Grace waved her hand in dismissal at the suggestion. “It’s difficult to get the poor dear to speak, isn’t it?”
Mrs. Danby stared at her assistant for a long moment before looking back at Grace. “She does tend to be rather quiet.”
“But she’s an excellent listener, so I believe she’s gotten all the details.”
The women soon departed with their gowns and swatches piled high and the promise to have Grace’s selections ready in the next few days.
Grace was certain a gown wouldn’t make her any better prepared to attend her first ball. Then again, she would do anything for Matthew. She need only keep her focus on the reason for attending and all would be well.
; At least she hoped it would.
Even as her nervousness grew, she thought of Tristan. The knowledge that he’d be there eased her worries, but she also had no doubt his fiancée would as well.
With a sigh, she told herself it would be good to see the woman to whom he’d proposed, if only from a distance. Maybe then she could stifle her wayward longing for the handsome earl.
“Good morning.” Nathaniel rose as Tristan entered his library the next morning. “What brings you by today?”
“I was hoping you might be able to dig a little deeper on Stannus.”
“No luck with calling on his home?”
Tristan shook his head. He hated to ask his brother for additional assistance but didn’t know who else might aid him. Between his brother’s military experience and his success with the recent capture of a ringleader of thieves, he was better suited to this task than Tristan.
“How is Miss Fairchild?” Tristan enjoyed asking Nathaniel each time he saw him. He liked Letitia and hoped she was doing well. But even more, he enjoyed the besotted expression that came over his normally stoic brother when the subject of his bride-to-be was raised. That alone made it worthwhile.
Sure enough, Nathaniel’s face spread into a wide grin. “Quite well, thank you. I’ll tell her you asked after her.”
When Nathaniel’s expression sobered, Tristan knew exactly what his brother was going to ask. “How is your...fiancée?”
“I haven’t seen her for a few days but she was well when I last did.”
“I thought you might’ve had a change of heart by now.” The hope in his tone nearly made Tristan cringe.
“My heart isn’t involved in this decision.” Even in this day and age, it was still common for the nobility to marry for reasons other than love. His betrothal was no exception.
Nathaniel scowled. “That is why—”
“Can we keep this visit on topic?” Tristan hated the briskness of his words, but he simply couldn’t discuss his engagement with Nathaniel. Not when doing so forced him to compare it his brother’s. His own lack was clearly visible then, and Tristan didn’t care to examine it.
“Of course.” The tightness in Nathaniel’s face made Tristan want to march out the door.
How ironic was it that he’d hated not being strong enough to confront their father when he’d treated Nathaniel so poorly and now he did the same? Such behavior only proved to Tristan that he wasn’t capable of changing. He was who he was and no amount of regret changed it. While he liked to think he wasn’t as harsh as their father, he couldn’t eliminate his gruffness. It came out regardless of his intentions.
He sensed the questions forming in Nathaniel’s mind, could almost see the wheels turning as he processed Tristan’s reaction. No doubt some of Tristan’s emotions showed on his face. It would be best if he did what he’d asked his brother to do and keep their conversation to the reason he’d come.
“I’ve learned a little more about Charles Stannus and am hoping it might aid your research.” He shared with Nathaniel the little he’d learned from Grace, including the possibility that he was in debt.
“Perhaps we should inquire with some of the gaming hells to see if his name rings a bell there. Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?”
Despite their differences, Tristan knew he could trust Nathaniel. “Any information might prove helpful. I have come to know Viscountess Chivington and her young son. The viscountess is convinced that Stannus has deliberately put her son in harm’s way with the hope of causing his death.”
Nathaniel straightened in his chair. “Murdering a boy by making it look like an accident?”
“Stannus stands to inherit the title if the boy dies.”
“I’ll see if I can make some discreet inquiries. Perhaps Langston might be able to assist with this as well.”
“Grace overheard him saying he needed funds, which implies debt. I want to know to whom he owes money. That would tell me what he’s been up to and how desperate he is.”
“Grace?”
Tristan felt an unfamiliar heat creep up his cheeks as he clarified. “Viscountess Chivington.”
“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting her.”
“Few have. With luck and a little more convincing, she might attend the Albright’s ball in two days’ time.”
“I believe Letitia and I are attending that one as well. Perhaps you’ll introduce us. And if I discover anything by then, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Tristan was well aware of the curiosity in his brother’s expression. No doubt speaking of a widowed viscountess when he refused to speak of his own fiancée raised questions. But at the moment, he had no answers. Especially not after the heated kiss he and Grace had shared.
He hadn’t been able to dismiss the idea of having a discreet affair with Grace. But while the passion she stirred tempted him, it also had him hesitating. It was different from anything he’d experienced before. He wasn’t certain why. After all, passion was passion, wasn’t it?
If he indulged in an affair with her, it would soon end. That added to his uncertainty. He couldn’t imagine no longer seeing Grace. He valued their conversations, their friendship. He felt like a different man when he was with her. It was almost as if her goodness brought out the best in him. Unfortunately, he knew that wouldn’t last.
No matter what he decided, he’d have to be more careful when he spent time with her in public. He had to hide his desire for her, beginning at the Albright’s ball. Many eyes would be watching, including Samantha’s. No one could know how much he wanted Grace, or how much she was coming to mean to him.
Chapter Thirteen
“Men are sent to the Society’s premises to chop wood, and women and children to the oakum-room.”
~The Seven Curses of London
Grace stepped out of the carriage, pausing as she examined the mansion before her. The faint glow of dusk was fading, turning the colors of the evening sky into the perfect backdrop for the impressive three-story house.
Each window boasted a trio of candles, their stair-stepped heights so uniform that she wondered if a servant had been in each room, lighting them at the same time. Given the size of the Albright’s mansion with its tall white columns gracing the entrance, a large staff would need to be employed to maintain it.
As elegantly attired guests walked up the stairs to the front door where a liveried footman stood guard, Grace fought the urge to turn and run.
“My lady?” Frederick drew her attention, making her realize she had yet to descend the final step of the carriage. “Is all well?”
She closed her eyes briefly, wondering if she could truly do this. She knew no one here. The idea of standing in a room full of strangers who might judge her and find her lacking was daunting.
She smoothed her hands along the shimmering grey silk of her gown. Did her attire manage to mask the fact that she didn’t feel like a viscountess? Or would she be declared an impostor as soon as she stepped through those doors?
Then an image of Matthew came to mind. He was the reason she needed to succeed at this. She’d said good night to him in the nursery after she’d already donned her gown. He’d told her she looked like a fairy princess as he’d gently touched the jet-black and diamond necklace she wore. Then he’d run his fingers along the smooth silk of her gown in awe, much as she’d done when Miss Flitchard—Katherine—had arrived with it for a final fitting.
The fabric glittered as though it had indeed been sprinkled with fairy dust. Grace worried it was showy and would draw too much attention. But Katherine had shown her that it only did so in certain lights and angles. The subtle shimmer made the grey of half-mourning appear anything but ordinary. The bustle at the back of the gown was modest as was the small train. The fabric was lightweight enough that she barely felt the tug of resistance from the silk trailing along behind her.
Her hair was intricately coiffed, drawn back in plaited strands to tumble in supposed disarray in
the back. Her cheeks were so warm she doubted she needed to worry about pinching them for color.
Grace only wished Katherine were here with her now. At least then she’d have one friend. She drew a deep breath, keeping in mind Katherine’s advice of acting like a viscountess whether or not she felt like one.
“Thank you, Frederick.” She took the final step and descended to the walkway and made her way to the stairs.
Was Tristan already inside? She chided herself for even wondering. His fiancée would not take kindly to having Grace cling to him. How terrible that she couldn’t remember the woman’s name, though she was certain Tristan had mentioned it when he’d told her of his betrothal. Since then, he’d never spoken of her.
Nerves humming, she handed her wrap to a servant in the foyer along with her card. Though not normally needed, she’d never met the hosts. A short queue of people waited to greet Lord and Lady Albright before entering the ballroom, just as Katherine had told her.
It wasn’t so different from what happened in the country, but Grace didn’t want to make a misstep and was grateful for Katherine’s guidance.
“We are so pleased you could come, Viscountess Chivington.” Lady Albright’s warm smile helped ease Grace’s nerves.
“Thank you for inviting me.”
“I am sorry to hear of your husband’s passing.” The lady pressed Grace’s hand, her expression holding genuine sympathy.
As they exchanged a few more pleasantries, Grace couldn’t help but notice the woman behind her, whose avid interest made her difficult to ignore. From the way she stood so close, it was as though she were going out of her way to listen to Grace’s conversation with Lady Albright.
Oddly enough, the woman looked vaguely familiar, though Grace couldn’t think why. Perhaps that was why she watched Grace so closely. Mayhap they’d met previously.
All too soon, the time came for her to enter the ballroom. As she stood at the top of the steps that descended into the massive room, her breath caught at the size of the crowd.
Matthew. Matthew. Matthew. She silently repeated the mantra as she made her way down the stairs and entered the throng.
Rescuing the Earl (The Seven Curses of London Book 3) Page 14