“On the contrary, I am honour-bound to do so!” The last thing Grace wanted to do was go over her recent disappointment once more, but it seemed there was nothing else for it. “I have the most frightful reputation imaginable, Captain. It seems that I am a notorious jilt. My last engagement recently ended under circumstances which…”
“That is precisely why you must marry Captain Everly!” snapped her father. “Who else will offer for you now? I will not have my only child become a spinster.”
Grace felt herself growing desperate. “But I hardly know him, Papa!”
“You knew Mr Seabury well enough, and see where that landed you!”
This hit home. Grace lowered her head to hide the pain. She wondered what would happen if she were to respond to her father in the fashion which his remarks deserved. Nothing good, no doubt.
She thought of her mother, who had borne a marriage to this cold man for so many years, and resolved to follow her example of dignified silence.
“Thank the Captain for his kind offer,” said her father. “The news of your engagement will appear in the next Gazette.”
Grace lifted her eyes. Finding no pity in her father, she turned instead to Charlie. “So soon?”
“I have no objection to waiting a little, if it will help you,” said Charlie. Mr Rivers held up a hand.
“But I object most strenuously! You have done enough damage to our family name of late, Grace. It is your duty to repair it as quickly as you may.”
“But is it seemly, Papa, so soon after Mr Seabury –”
“He has waited no time pursuing other options himself, by all accounts.”
“Sir!” Charlie objected. Mr Rivers fixed him with a beady eye.
“Do you want my daughter or not, Captain?”
“Of course I do!”
“Then you will hold your tongue in my presence. When she is your wife, you may treat her as you wish. Until then, she is in my house and in my power. Understood?”
That power which Grace had sensed before, humming almost violently just beneath Charlie’s smile, flared up in his eyes. “Understood, sir,” he said, a world of mutiny in his tone.
“Grace,” said Mr Rivers, “you are now engaged to Captain Everly. Is that quite clear?”
“Very clear, Papa,” said Grace. “Now, since that is settled, there is no more reason for me to stay. Do excuse me.” She dropped a brisk curtsy, risked one more glance at the fire in Charlie’s eyes, and pushed past him to leave the room. She did not run. She would rather have died than run, though her legs itched to move faster. If she could not have her independence, her pride, her choice, she would at least maintain her dignity.
Besides, where would she go?
3
The following evening found Charlie in a state of wicked enjoyment. The news that, in lieu of challenging Mr Rivers to a duel, Charlie had proposed to his daughter, gave Alison Henshaw such a shock that she had very nearly cuffed him round the ear in the manner of their rambunctious childhood. Recollecting at the last minute that she was now a grown and respectable woman, she refrained from violence only to collapse breathlessly into a chair. “Henshaw!” she cried, giving her husband the impression that some great disaster had occurred, “Henshaw! Only hear what he has done now!”
Once Mr Henshaw had been reassured that no murders had taken place, and had received an explanation that did more to baffle him than illuminate the situation, he poured a restorative glass of brandy for his wife and a celebratory one for Charlie.
“I suppose the proper thing to do is wish you joy,” he said, “which I truly do… but Charlie, you hardly know the girl!”
“I know that she will inherit Greenfields,” said Charlie. “That’s all there is to it.”
“And she accepted your offer based on such an impersonal motive?” asked Henshaw incredulously.
“I believe she had little choice in the matter. There was some talk of a scandal…”
“Of course!” cried Alison. “She has been engaged before, and – well, you know I don’t like to listen to gossip. There was talk of infidelity – something, at least, was hushed up – but I’m sure the truth is not nearly so unpleasant.”
Charlie shrugged and knocked down his brandy in a single swallow. “It’s not a love match.”
“How can you be so cold?” sighed Alison. “Charlie, when I consider all the happiness that marriage has brought me, to think of you setting up house with a stranger…it’s abominable!”
“She seemed a very pretty girl,” said Charlie. If his tone was unusually thoughtful, it was because he was recalling the first sight he’d had of Grace. A slim figure, wide-eyed, with a fine-boned face, bobbing dark curls and an expression of surprise. A trifle pale, perhaps, and almost tragically eager for company. His anger had vanished in a moment. He’d wanted to sit down beside her and laugh the colour back into her cheeks.
Well, now he would have the opportunity.
“You haven’t called on her since she came to Whitby?” he asked, knowing it was unlike Alison to let any newcomer to the town go unattended.
“Henshaw went to visit her father,” said Alison, guilt creasing at the corners of her eyes. “Miss Rivers has been kept somewhat closeted away. She was sent from London in disgrace, I believe. I would have called on her, but… to own the truth, Charlie, I could not bring myself to do it. I have avoided Greenfields since the sale. It’s simply too painful. If Miss Rivers were to call here, of course, or if I were to meet her in town, I would have been perfectly friendly.”
“Grace has not been seen much in town, I take it.”
“You’re on first name terms?” asked Henshaw, raising an eyebrow. Charlie laughed.
“She is my fiancée, after all!”
Alison reached out a hand to her husband for strength. “I feel as if I were in a dream,” she murmured. “To have Charlie home again – and the prospect of a return to Greenfields before him! It’s too much.”
Charlie could not contain a wicked grin at Alison’s demonstrations of shock. It was a much more eventful homecoming than he had planned for, and he liked nothing more than to defy expectations.
“Grace will come to the ball at Raunceston Hall, I expect,” he said. “I will introduce you then.”
“I hope I like her!” said Alison nervously. “Gracious, Henshaw, what if I don’t like her?”
“It doesn’t matter whether you like her or not,” Charlie interrupted, before Henshaw could comfort her. Alison had married after Charlie had left for the war, and he was not quite accustomed to her habit of relying on Henshaw for the support which, at one time, Charlie would have given her. “I am not marrying her because I like her.” Though he had to allow that he hardly disliked her. In fact, he had felt an instant attraction. But he was not such a fool to think that their future relationship could be predicted based on a few moments’ appreciation. It was Greenfields, not Grace, that he really intended to marry.
“I don’t think she will come to the ball,” said Henshaw. “She didn’t show at Mrs Radley’s card party last week, and I had it on good authority that she was invited. She’s keeping herself very quiet.”
“Then I will write to her,” Charlie decided, “and tell her to come. Courting her a little won’t do any harm.”
“You might even enjoy it,” said Henshaw drily.
Charlie was not a great letter-writer. His instruction to his fiancée that she should join them at the Raunceton ball was a trifle brusque, and not at all romantic. Whatever Grace’s private feelings were on receipt of such a letter, however, it had the desired effect: she sent a note back immediately to inform Charlie that she would indeed attend the ball the following evening.
Charlie had no time to visit his fiancée on the day of the ball. News of his return had spread rapidly through Whitby-on-the-Water’s admirable network of gossips, and he was obliged to spend all morning at home with his sister, receiving visits from all their old friends.
It did not escape Charlie’
s notice that most of the young women who called on his sister were, in fact, solely there to catch a glimpse of the dashing young soldier. To these ladies he took great delight in mentioning, as though offhand, the news of his engagement. Grace’s name never failed to draw a shocked gasp, though of course nobody was indelicate enough to question it.
He began to see that Grace must have been exceptionally lonely in Whitby. Not one of the young Misses admitted to having seen her at all. They could not tell him why, of course – the last thing they could admit to was being too snobbish to visit her based on nothing but unpleasant rumours.
Charlie had to admit to a growing curiosity about her previous engagement himself. This did not prevent him thinking very poorly of the people of Whitby for their behaviour. Life in the army had been largely free of the stifling corsetry of social rules. In his time away, he had romanticised his former life in the small town, thinking only of its comforts. He was shocked to receive such an abrupt reminder of its equal flaws.
All the same, it was clear that his exploits in the army had made him an object of great fascination. Charlie, while never vain, was not immune to flattery. He passed a very pleasant day with the endless stream of visitors, his pride and his nostalgia touched in equal measure.
Naturally, nothing but his regimentals would do for the ball. Alison, who had expressed disappointment when he arrived home in plain clothing, went into raptures when she saw him waiting by the carriage in his fine red jacket.
“Miss Rivers will fall in love with you the moment she sees you,” she promised, stopping to adjust his collar.
“More fool her if she does!” Charlie answered, eliciting a frown from his sister. He handed her up into the carriage, and Henshaw stepped up after them.
There was such a crush of people when they arrived that it took some moments for Charlie to ascertain whether Grace had kept her promise to attend. He had some idea of where he would find her, and his predictions turned out to be accurate. She was sitting down in a quiet corner, her father at her side. An elderly woman named Mrs Williams, one of Mr Rivers’s paltry handful of close acquaintances, dozed gently beside them in the manner of the world’s most indolent chaperone. Charlie, knowing he was watched by every guest, wasted no time in making his way towards her.
“I trust you are not engaged for the first dance, Miss Rivers?”
Perhaps Grace was a little proud, too, for her eyes did not betray a trace of gratitude at his rescue. “As it happens, I am not,” she answered. Charlie took her hand and kissed it, finally bringing a glow of happiness to that pale face.
“Then I insist you give me the honour.”
“I hardly think I can refuse,” said Grace archly. Charlie laughed and took her arm, steering her to the dance floor.
His own style of dancing was breathless and energetic, with little regard for the pace of the music. This did not prevent him from noting, with some delight, the grace and elegance with which Grace danced. Her skills in that area had been polished by London society, and Charlie thought that if there were any justice in Whitby she would have been held up as the example for all the other ladies to follow.
“You must find our little gathering somewhat dull, compared to what you were used to in London,” he teased.
“I try to make the best of every situation,” Grace answered, not entirely to his satisfaction. Charlie was accustomed to singing the praises of Whitby wherever he went; to find that it was not to her taste was a disappointment.
Still, he could not exactly fault her. Once their dance was concluded, not a single gentleman approached to claim Grace for the next one. Charlie introduced her to Henshaw and his sister, hinting with his eyes that Henshaw should ask her for the next dance. He did not want to see Grace sitting out for a single one, if he could help it.
Henshaw, of course, did not need the encouragement. Though he was a Whitby man born and bred, his manners had a delicacy which too many of the townspeople clearly lacked. Charlie took Alison aside for a glass of lemonade while they watched them together.
“What do you think of her?” asked Charlie, following Grace around the room with his eyes.
“Think of her? We haven’t exchanged more than three words! I remember her as a child, of course, but that hardly signifies.” Alison fixed Charlie with a look of disconcerting shrewdness. “You, I think, consider her very pretty.”
“And? She is very pretty. A man would be blind not to notice it.”
Alison made no response, but she was smiling.
Henshaw returned Grace to them with glowing cheeks and a little out of breath. “Let no man say I am too old a married man to dance a lively reel!” he declared. “A little refreshment, Miss Rivers?”
“I will take care of that,” said Charlie sharply, and offered Grace his arm. He had just managed to procure a glass of lemonade for her when they were interrupted by a pair of Charlie’s oldest friends, Mr Hubert Ripley and Mr Alexander Hemsworth.
“I hear congratulations are in order!” cried Hubert, shaking Charlie’s hand enthusiastically. “What news! First, your heroic exploits in Spain – now, an engagement! You are throwing all the rest of us in the shade, Everly!”
“We must beg you to introduce us to your charming young lady,” said Alexander, making Grace an elaborate bow. Charlie could not help raising an eyebrow. In the normal way of things, Alexander would have been the first to call upon the father of an eligible young woman from out of town. It spoke badly of him that he had avoided Grace until now, and Charlie was disappointed to find how much his friend trusted in gossip.
He put his reservations aside, however, to make the introduction, and secure Hubert and Alexander for Grace’s partners in the upcoming dances. Grace maintained a coolly pleasant demeanour, though Charlie noticed she was hiding her surprise at finding herself suddenly so well-attended.
With that task performed and his fiancée safe from being labelled a wallflower, Charlie offended every other young lady in the room in one fell swoop by retreating to the card room.
4
Grace was caught midway between enjoyment, at last, and a horrible fit of nerves. She knew all too well that it was only her connection with Charlie that made her at all palatable to the gentlemen who now clamoured for an introduction. She knew that they had gossiped about her, judged her, and deemed her unworthy. It was almost intolerable to make polite conversation under such circumstances, but conversation was the very thing she had been craving for weeks.
The elderly Mrs Williams made an indifferent chaperone at best, and remained in her chair in the corner with every appearance of being asleep, so Alison Henshaw had wasted no time in attaching herself to Grace’s side and steering her through her plethora of new acquaintances. Alison was a small, sharp-eyed, sensible woman who quickly endeared herself to Grace with her warmth and her intimate asides about all the young men. She seemed to know the secrets of everyone in Whitby, and had no compunction about sharing them with her future sister-in-law.
“Be careful of Mr Ripley,” she whispered at one discreet moment, “for he is a shocking flirt who will put his arm around you at the first opportunity. But a stern word will send him running with his tail between his legs!”
And,
“Do you see that dandyish fellow talking to Miss Swan? He has offered for her three times already, but she has her heart set on Alexander Hemsworth and won’t dream of accepting anyone else!”
Under Alison’s expert care, Grace began to relax and even to enjoy herself. It was wonderful to be dancing again, wonderful to chatter about inconsequential nothings, wonderful to forget her father’s stern gaze watching her from beside Mrs Williams.
For Alison’s part, if she felt embarrassment at her brother’s absence from Grace’s side, she did not show it. Grace understood she was making a great effort to endear herself to the new mistress of Greenfields, and was grateful for it.
She was well on the way to truly enjoying herself when all the pleasures of the evening were shat
tered in a single moment.
At first, Grace had no inkling that the ruckus in the card room had any connection to her at all. She was merely aware of raised voices, a crash as though someone had knocked over their chair, and all heads turning towards the card room.
Alison, however, whitened in an instant and gripped her arm. “What has that boy done now?” she whispered.
The caused for her anxiety was made clear a moment later, as a harassed-looking gentleman made a swift exit from the card room, closely followed by Charlie.
“Well you might run!” Charlie was saying. “I suppose you took me for the green boy who left this place three years ago! Well, you have Captain Charles Everly to deal with now – and I will not stand by and let myself be cheated!”
The harassed-looking man, realising that all eyes had fallen on him, turned to face his aggressor. He mumbled something about a misunderstanding, which only fuelled Charlie’s anger.
“You would do better to own up to your error, sir! I despise nothing more than a liar.”
“Charlie,” cried Alison, rushing to his side. “You had better come away with me now, hadn’t you? I’m sure no harm was meant –”
“No harm! Ha! Only meant to rob me of what I rightfully earnt on the battlefield, in Spain!” Charlie regarded the man with a look of disgust. “I doubt this cringing fellow has ever been so far from home as Brighton! And he thinks he can pull one over on me!” He shrugged off Alison’s arm and took a step forward, sending the man cowering and gasps rising from every corner of the room. “I’ll teach you the error of your ways, sir! Name the time and place!”
“There will be no duelling!” said Grace coolly, launching herself between the two men. “Not over so trifling a matter as a bad hand of cards.”
Charlie was so astonished to find her before him that he was momentarily lost for words. Grace stood firm and fixed him with her most practised London society stare. She had taken a wager on the nature of his anger: betting that it was the sort which was quick to flare and just as easily doused. While Charlie was staring at her in bafflement, she took a quick step towards him and murmured,
The Duke, the Earl and the Captain Page 7