“Enough of that drivel, Margaret,” Elizabeth interrupted. “Brandon, you must arrange a meeting between us as soon as possible so these nasty rumors may be put to rest. Do you think we could arrange tea with Mrs. Burstow two days hence? We may then decide the best plan of presentation and at which affairs you should start the Season.”
He held back a sharp response. “I told you at the start that I would give them the time they needed before being available to you. Two days’ time is barely enough. I will ask them when it is convenient for them, but if they agree to see you early, I will hear no complaints about their outmoded dress or the house being at sixes and sevens.”
“Brandon, I don’t care a jot how they are dressed. I want to meet the woman you love.”
* * *
“There is nothing of use here,” Aunt Aggie exclaimed as she threw gown after gown on the bed and over chairs, while rummaging through their wardrobes the next morning. “Girls, get your hats, we are going shopping!”
Lydia was very excited to see London fashions, but Grace knew this was all a waste of time and money on her behalf.
“I do not wish to hear one word from you, my dear,” her aunt scolded when she tried to resist. “You are to be a marchioness and will dress accordingly.” She knew no way to tell her aunt the new clothes would not be needed, so she accepted defeat as graciously as she could.
Day and walking dresses, evening and ball gowns were ordered for each of them! That was the minimum Aunt Aggie would allow. She reminded her modiste of the business she had referred her way over the years, and graciously extracted a promise that at least two of the day dresses would be ready the next morning. Reminding the woman that she was dressing a future marchioness sealed the bargain.
When they returned to Berkeley Square, the post awaited them, and the girls jumped when Aunt Aggie shrieked. “Dear Grace, Lord Weston is asking permission to bring his sisters here the day after tomorrow to meet you.” She returned the missive to the salver. “That settles it. Tomorrow we will have to go to the milliners for hats and the bootmakers for shoes. Oh, dear, and we must go to Pantheon’s Bazaar for your underclothes and stockings. It seems the marquess is eager to present you to his sisters. That is as it should be, and we will be ready!”
The day after tomorrow? Things were moving too fast for Grace. This Season was supposed to be about Lydia, and she would remind them of that. She would also have to show Lord Weston that his high-handedness would not be tolerated. He did not even have the courtesy to ask if it was convenient for them!
“Grace, there is a missive for you here, as well,” Lydia said, exclaiming over the lovely vellum.
“I cannot image who would be writing to me,” she said, perplexed. Lord Weston would communicate through her chaperone, as was proper. She glanced at the frank on the envelope. It was from Lord Weston. He did, indeed, flout Society without a care! As she unfolded the page, a newspaper clipping drifted out of the note. She bent to pick it up and noticed it was their betrothal announcement cut from the London Gazette. She turned her attention to his missive, and blushed at the first line.
Dear Grace,
I hope the day after tomorrow is not too inconvenient for you and your aunt. I fear our desire to take things slowly was a bit unrealistic. According to my sisters, rumors run rampant, and they are likely correct (as much as I hate to admit it). We must put a halt to the gossip.
However, if you are not comfortable about the day after tomorrow, please let me know and I will tie my sisters up somewhere until a better time presents itself.
Your Servant,
B.R.
P.S. I do hope the announcement meets with your approval. I left out the explanation of our falling head over heels in love to save space. I will be more effusive in the letter to your father.
Grace laughed out loud and supposed that must be the whole problem with rakes—their charm!
“Does his missive to you say anything different, Grace, dear?” Aunt Aggie asked, as she surreptitiously tried to read the letter over Grace’s shoulder.
“No, Aunt, except that Lord Weston does say if the day after tomorrow is not convenient, we must let him know and he will set a later date.”
“I suppose we may as well leave it as it is,” her aunt said with a martyred expression. “I have never met the younger one, but I can tell you from experience that his eldest sister, Lady Wright, sets herself up as a leader in Society.” She whispered to Grace so Lydia would not hear, “I believe she is a veritable dragon.”
“If you truly believe so then you and her brother agree wholeheartedly, dear aunt!”
The silence in the drawing room was deafening. Lady Wright and Mrs. Hale were seated on the striped sofa across from Grace’s aunt, drinking tea. Lord Weston stood leaning against the mantel, arms crossed over his chest. He was enjoying himself immensely.
He had always been the focus of attention in drawing rooms such as this. Now he stood back and watched as these three women took each other’s measure. He’d seen concentrated focus a thousand times over games of chance, when even the blink of an eye could determine which card was played. But this was as intense as any he’d seen, and he would wager the stakes were just as high to these ladies. It was only the first of many new pleasures he expected this Season, thanks to his lovely affianced.
As the strain rose and topics of conversation became fewer, he thought about returning to the great hall, a room he would love to explore. It was one of the most interesting entrance halls he had ever seen, one that had likely taken a woman’s deft hand to make so beautiful. He wondered if that hand was Grace’s.
He was brought back to the present by the strain in her aunt’s voice as she attempted to converse with his overbearing sister. He was thankful for Maggie, or the uneasy silence would have driven him mad. “I pray you will forgive Grace and Lydia for not coming in immediately to greet you. As you know, they arrived in London two days ago and the modiste only delivered the first of their gowns moments ago.”
Brandon knew what a coup that was to anyone who understood the fashion world, as did his sisters, so he gave the first round to Mrs. Burstow.
“Lord Weston had assured Grace you would understand if they presented themselves a little outdated, but I would not hear of it. I insisted they change immediately.” Her tone was almost arrogant, Brandon noted. This was going to be most enjoyable. Even Gentleman Jackson himself, with his famous boxing club, might not have witnessed such a bout as was brewing between Grace’s aunt and his sister.
At that moment, the door opened and Grace and Lydia came into the room. Both performed demure curtseys, but Lydia, in her nervousness, was the first to speak. “We are terribly sorry to be so late. Good morning, my lord,” she finished, as if it had taken all her bravery. He smiled at her and winked.
Grace’s aunt rose and brought the girls forward as she introduced them. “Lady Wright, Mrs. Hale, this is Grace and this is Lydia.”
Before anyone else could speak, Elizabeth rose from the sofa, strode over to Grace and held out her hand. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Grace. I am Elizabeth, Lady Wright, and this is my sister, Margaret, Mrs. Hale.”
Maggie could