“You may make me more comfortable,” she said.
Grace paused. It was only for a moment, probably not even a full second, but it was her only means of rebellion. She could not say no, and she could not even allow her distaste to show in her expression. But she could pause. She could hold her body still for just enough time to make the dowager wonder.
And then, of course, she stepped forward.
“I find the air quite pleasant,” she said once she had assumed her position at the dowager’s side.
“That is because you are pushing it about with the fan.”
Grace looked down at her employer’s pinched face. Some of the lines were due to age, but not the ones near her mouth, pulling her lips into a perpetual frown. What had happened to this woman to make her so bitter? Had it been the deaths of her children? The loss of her youth? Or had she simply been born with a sour disposition?
“What do you think of my new grandson?” the dowager asked abruptly.
Grace froze, then quickly regained her composure and resumed fanning. “I do not know him well enough to form an opinion,” she answered carefully.
The dowager continued to look straight ahead as she answered, “Nonsense. All of the best opinions are formed in an instant. You know that very well. ‘Else you’d be married to that repulsive little cousin of yours, wouldn’t you?”
Grace thought of Miles, ensconced in her old home. She had to admit, every now and then the dowager got things exactly right.
“Surely you have something to say, Miss Eversleigh.”
The fan rose and fell three times before Grace decided upon, “He seems to have a buoyant sense of humor.”
“Buoyant.” The dowager repeated the word, her voice curious, as if she were testing it out on her tongue. “An apt adjective. I should not have thought of it, but it is fitting.”
It was about as close to a compliment as the dowager ever got.
“He is rather like his father,” the dowager continued.
Grace moved the fan from one hand to the other, murmuring, “Is he?”
“Indeed. Although if his father had been a bit more…buoyant, we’d not be in this mess, would we?”
Grace choked on air. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. I should have chosen my words more carefully.”
The dowager did not bother to acknowledge the apology. “His levity is much like his father. My John was never one to allow a serious moment to pass him by. He had the most cutting wit.”
“I would not say that Mr. Audley is cutting,” Grace said. His humor was far too sly.
“His name is not Mr. Audley, and of course he is,” the dowager said sharply. “You’re too besotted to see it.”
“I am not besotted,” Grace protested.
“Of course you are. Any girl would be. He is most handsome. Pity about the eyes, though.”
“What I am,” Grace said, resisting the urge to point out that there was nothing wrong with green eyes, “is overset. It has been a most exhausting day. And night,” she added after a thought.
The dowager shrugged. “My son’s wit was legendary,” she said, setting the conversation back to where she wished it. “You wouldn’t have thought it cutting, either, but that was simply because he was far too clever. It is a brilliant man who can make insult without the recipient even realizing.”
Grace thought that rather sad. “What is the point, then?”
“The point?” The dowager blinked several times in rapid succession. “Of what?”
“Of insulting someone.” Grace shifted the fan again, then shook out her free hand; her fingers were cramped from clutching the handle. “Or I should say,” she amended, since she was quite sure the dowager could find many good reasons to cut someone down, “of insulting someone with intention of their not noticing it?”
The dowager still did not look at her, but Grace could see that she rolled her eyes. “It is a source of pride, Miss Eversleigh. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“No,” Grace said softly. “I wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know what it means to excel at something.” The dowager pursed her lips and stretched her neck slightly from side to side. “You couldn’t know.”
Which had to be as cutting an insult as any, except that the dowager seemed completely unaware she’d done it.
There was irony in there somewhere. There had to be.
“We live in interesting times, Miss Eversleigh,” the dowager commented.
Grace nodded silently, turning her head to the side so that the dowager, should she ever choose to turn her head in her direction, would not see the tears in her eyes. Her parents had lacked the funds to travel, but theirs had been wandering hearts, and the Eversleigh home had been filled with maps and books about faraway places. Like it was yesterday, Grace remembered the time they had all been sitting in front of the fire, engrossed in their own reading, and her father looked up from his book and exclaimed, “Isn’t this marvelous? In China, if you wish to insult someone, you say, ‘May you live in interesting times.’”
Grace suddenly did not know if the tears in her eyes were of sorrow or mirth.
“That is enough, Miss Eversleigh,” the dowager said suddenly. “I am quite cooled.”
Grace shut the fan, then decided to set it down on the table by the window so she would have a reason to cross the room. Dusk hung only lightly in the air, so it was not difficult to see down the drive. She was not certain why she was so eager to have the two men back-possibly just as proof that they had not killed each other on the trip. Despite defending Thomas’s sense of honor, she had not liked the look in his eyes. And she had certainly never known him to attack someone. He’d looked positively feral when he lunged for Mr. Audley. If Mr. Audley had been less of a fighting man himself, she was quite certain Thomas would have done him permanent harm.