“She has a particularly intelligent mien.”
“Oh, well, in that case.” The servant rolled his eyes.
“Her servant will be reading a book,” Seb said through gritted teeth.
“Right, gov.”
Seb resisted the impulse to snap a retort, reminding himself that the task of patrolling rigid British social hierarchy was often consigned to those who served the elite. He would not shoot the messenger—or, in this case, the footman.
After casting a glance toward the front door, he drifted toward the dining room. The soft, murmuring tones used by gallery patrons rolled out into the corridor.
Inside the dining chamber, which had been transformed into a gallery, framed illustrations covered the walls, and small groups and individuals in fashionable clothing circled the room as they studied the multitude of images. Seb moved to study a rather intriguing picture of a creature that looked to be half fish, half bishop.
“Peculiar, isn’t it?” a female voice asked from behind him.
He straightened and turned toward the woman. Her blond hair gleamed beneath the brim of her stylish bonnet, and she gazed at him coquettishly with wide green eyes. He gulped.
A minute went by. And then another. She seemed to expect him to answer.
Sweat rolled down his back. What was he supposed to say? Something flirtatious? Something droll, or perhaps scholarly?
Words filled his mouth, and yet he could give voice to none of them. It was as though he had been presented with a coffer full of words and he had to select the best ones from the pile. There were too many options, too many ways to speak and fail.
“Er . . .” He coughed into his fist. “Well . . .”
He reached the limit of his ability. No other syllables or phrases made it past his lips.
“Made a friend, Miss Susan?”
With an internal groan of despair, Seb watched as a young man wearing what was likely the latest Continental style approached. The dandy lifted a brow as he took in Seb’s ragged appearance.
“Didn’t know this exhibition admitted charity cases,” he drawled. “How did you get in?”
Heat poured into Seb’s face and his hands coiled into fists. But a gentleman didn’t brawl, and while Seb wasn’t of genteel birth, he understood how public fisticuffs was considered the height of boorishness. The one weapon a refined man could use was his wit.
Seb opened his mouth to say something clever and cutting.
Nothing came out.
Miss Susan giggled. “The poor thing. He hasn’t been domesticized.” She took her companion’s offered arm. “Come, William. If we wait for him to answer, we’ll be standing here until All Souls’ Day.”
As William and Miss Susan ambled off, trailing laughter behind them, embarrassment and anger tightened Seb’s muscles. He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to take a calming breath.
“I’m sorry, Sebastian.”
His eyes opened at the sound of Grace’s voice, and she stood in front of him, her gaze soft with sympathy. In the corner of the room, her maid sat on a chair while she read.
“They were beastly,” Grace said.
He inwardly groaned. “You witnessed that?” Perfect.
She nodded. “Never seen it in action before. Is that how it always is?”
“Not with people I know, people who I consider my friends.” Christ, could he feel any more mortification? “But if they’re strangers to me, or I’m in social situations, I simply . . .” He shrugged stiffly. “You know. You’ve seen. I turn into a maladroit oaf with the finesse of a badger.”
“You have a better vocabulary than a badger.”
“Except I can’t access it when I’m too busy mumbling.” He held up his hand. “My gracelessness is hardly worth discussing. Not when you’ve got that set of your mouth you have when you’re unhappy.”
She let out a long exhale, and her shoulders drooped. To keep from reaching for her and offering physical comfort, he pretended his feet were bolted to the ground and his arms were weighted with sandbags.
“My father fell ill yesterday.” At Seb’s exclamation of alarm, she continued. “He’s recovering, told me this morning that I was to continue on with my usual schedule. He insisted I come out this afternoon.” She shook her head as if she could not quite believe her father could be so commanding when ill.