It was the subject of Greenfields that Alison broached with Grace one bright afternoon, after she returned from a drive a trifle breathless from laughter at one of Charlie’s jokes. The day of their wedding was fast approaching. Charlie followed Grace in only to demand Henshaw’s attendance at the Swan, to celebrate his last days of bachelorhood.
Grace and Alison shared a mutual look of resignation, before assuring their men that they were perfectly happy to be left alone. It was a Saturday, after all, and the sun was shining too brightly for anyone to think of work. Alison poured out two glasses of lukewarm lemonade, and Grace tried not to think too longingly of the water ice that would have been served in every fashionable house on a day like today. They carried their drinks out into the garden and sat chatting, Alison with her needlework, Grace too animated by her drive with Charlie to think of doing anything useful.
“You seem to be getting on better with my brother each day,” said Alison, casting Grace a shrewd glance. Grace could not conceal her smile.
“I am beginning to hope that we shall be happy together,” she said simply. Alison lowered her brows.
“He has not –” She paused, embarrassed, and continued in a whisper. “He has not made improper advances on you?”
“Charlie? Gracious, no!”
How could Grace tell the sensible Alison of the shiver which had run to the very tips of her fingers when Charlie kissed her in the curricle that morning? He had pulled the horses to a stop on a sun-dappled country lane and taken Grace’s face in his hands as though it were the most precious thing he had ever touched.
“I can’t go on any longer,” he’d said, a husky note deepening his voice. “You are too lovely, Grace, it’s too much for me to bear!”
And the kiss, when it came, had been sweet and slow and tender. Their first kisses, snatched and stolen in quiet corners, had been shy and almost polite. There was nothing polite then about the way Charlie pulled her body towards his and deepened the kiss as the wind rustled in the trees.
Grace could still feel the imprint of his mouth on hers as she tried to make light conversation with his sister. The impropriety of it all risked making her blush.
“You and Mr Henshaw seem to be the very model of a happy marriage,” she said, to turn the subject from Charlie and his advances. “My parents have not given me a good example to follow, so I have taken to looking at how my married friends get on for my inspiration.”
“Mr Henshaw is certainly very…inspiring,” Alison agreed, a smile forming on her lips which, Grace thought, resembled her own smile as she thought of kissing Charlie. The two women caught each other’s eyes and dissolved into laughter.
“Enough of this silly, girlish talk!” said Alison, taking up her needlework again. “Grace, I wanted to ask you whether you and Charlie have ever discussed the reason behind his proposal.”
“He has never told me why he wished to marry me,” Grace admitted. “I find it matters less and less each day. Besides, it’s not as though I’m in a position to refuse him.”
“But you are in a position to guard your heart,” said Alison. Grace began to laugh, thinking she was joking, but Alison’s firm gaze soon put a stop to it.
“What on earth do you mean? Guard my heart – you cannot think Charlie would do anything to hurt me?”
“Never intentionally!” Alison assured her, setting her work aside to take Grace’s hand. “Charlie never means to do badly by anyone – least of all you! It’s only that… Well, I’ve been watching you these past few weeks, and it has lately occurred to me that you must be more than half in love with my brother already.”
“In love!” Grace repeated, astonished. “I am more sensible than that, I hope!”
“It might be better if you were,” said Alison. “At least until you are certain that Charlie’s heart is yours. Nothing could be more dreadful than a marriage with affection on one side only.”
“In that regard, my mother has given me ample warning,” said Grace, a little sadly. “But…you mean to say that Charlie’s attentions to me are not what they seem?”
“Oh, no! He is incapable of dissembling. No, I simply felt that I had a duty to tell you…” Alison broke off in some confusion. “Before I thought you truly liked him, I did not think it necessary for you to know, but now that you do, I couldn’t bear it if you had some idea in your head about love at first sight, or anything of the sort. Charlie proposed to you so very rapidly that it must have seemed quite romantic –”
“On the contrary, it was not romantic at all!” said Grace lightly. “He asked my father, my father commanded me to accept him – and there we were, engaged.”
Alison searched her face. “And you never thought to ask him why he offered for you so suddenly?”
“I believe I did, at first, but he gave no very satisfactory answer, and I thought that in the end perhaps I would rather not know.” Grace wondered whether those were really still her feelings. “I think, now that things have come about so nicely between us… I think I would not mind knowing. Unless it is something very dreadful.”
“Not dreadful at all! It is only that there was no question of affection in it.”
Grace laughed, relieved. “Well, I never thought there could be! We had a childhood friendship and five minutes’ conversation before we were engaged! What could speak less of affection than that?”
Alison sighed, passing a hand across her forehead. “I am so relieved! Well, in that case, I will tell you, and I am sure Charlie will not mind it. He ought to have told you himself, but you know how important matters are wont to slip gentlemen’s minds… The fact is that he offered for you because you will inherit Greenfields.”
Grace considered this information a moment and realised that it did not at all come as a shock. That Charlie longed for his old home had been clear from the start; that he would go so far as to marry for it was surprising, of course, but perfectly in line with his passionate nature.
“He truly loves the place, does he not?” she said, unable to prevent a hint of sadness creeping into her voice. Greenfields was pleasant enough, but it would never be her home. “I hope we do not end like my parents – one in London and the other in Whitby! That would be too bad.”
Alison looked devastated. “I have upset you. Oh, Grace, I am so sorry! I should not have spoken. I’m sure that Charlie’s feelings now are quite different to those he had when he offered for you.”
“I am certain of it,” Grace answered. “And I did not need your warning about guarding my heart until I am certain of his. Mama’s example was more than enough for me.”
“Then I am sorry for your mother, and hopeful for you!” said Alison warmly. “A happy marriage is a joy which I wish could belong to everyone.” She paused a moment, lost in a happy reverie. “I will say this for my brother – when he loves, he loves completely. You need only look at his love for Greenfields to see that.”
“And his love for you,” Grace smiled. “Believe me, I have no doubt at all that Charlie will make me an excellent husband. Love may come, or it may not, but I shall be content no matter what.”
Satisfied, Alison returned to her needlework. Grace sipped on her lemonade in quiet contemplation. She was quite astonished to find that the warm lemonade of friendship was more than equal to the ice-cold sweets of London society.
7
Whitby-on-the-Water was not renowned for its selection of fine inns and taverns, but for a few celebratory drinks in raucous male company the Swan was perfectly adequate. Charlie and Henshaw were enjoying a cold draught of the local ale when an almost unheard-of event occurred.
A perfect stranger walked into the taproom.
The people of Whitby were not so gauche as to turn and stare at him, but nobody could have missed the many sidelong looks at the handsomely dressed stranger. The man now looking around with a proprietorial air was clearly a figure of fashion. His pantaloons were a shade of yellow hitherto unseen in Whitby, his hessians gleamed a glossy black, and
his cravat was impeccably tied in a knot so complex that none of the assembled men would have dared to mimic it.
He must have been on a long journey, for Whitby was distant from any place of consequence, but not a trace of travel-wear showed on his appearance. The stranger removed a vibrant green glove to smooth his already-immaculate waxed hair, and ordered a glass of sherry.
Charlie, no longer the sheltered boy who would gawk at strangers, paid him very little attention until, following a gesture from the barman, the stranger sat down at his side.
“You must be Captain Everly,” he said. His voice was a touch nasal, with an accent that must have been decidedly fashionable.
“I am indeed!” said Charlie, who was in a magnanimous mood. He extended a hand, shook the stranger’s warmly, and introduced Mr Henshaw. “And who might you be, good sir?”
The stranger smiled wryly. “I believe you may have heard of me, though we have never met. My name is Vincent Seabury.”
Charlie’s eyes flared wide. He nodded at Henshaw, who took his leave immediately.
“What business do you have in Whitby, Mr Seabury?” he asked, not bothering to keep the rough edge from his voice. “What business do you have with me?”
Mr Seabury took out a gilt snuff box and helped himself to a small pinch. “It’s a rather delicate matter, I fear. It seems that you are in possession of something which is, in fact, mine.”
Charlie knew that Grace would be mortified if he made a scene, so he made every effort to control his temper. “I sincerely hope you are not speaking of Miss Rivers in those terms, sir.”
“Then I am sorry to disappoint you, Captain. Miss Rivers is precisely who I mean.”
Charlie pushed out his chair and stood up abruptly. “I don’t think we have anything to discuss. I am sorry you made your journey for nothing.”
Seabury waved a languid hand. “Sit down, dear boy! I am sure we can reach a satisfactory conclusion. The fact is that I have the prior claim.”
“The lady has the right to cry off an engagement,” said Charlie, refusing to sit. “As far as I can see, she was right to do so.”
Seabury narrowed his eyes. “Have you been long acquainted with Miss Rivers? She never mentioned you in London.”
“Our acquaintance is not your concern.”
“No, then. Just as I thought. I trust, then, that you will not suffer too great a disappointment if we put matters back as they should be.” He tapped his pocket meaningfully. “I am quite prepared to pay a handsome sum for you to relinquish her.”
“Grace is not a horse, to be bought and sold!” Charlie snapped. He felt his fists clench of their own accord, but thought of what Grace would want and relaxed them slowly. “I warn you, sir, I am not known to take an insult lightly.”
“But there is no insult here!” Seabury smirked. “Only a business transaction. Miss Rivers has a fortune – you and I do not. But I have acquired the means to relieve you of any more pressing monetary concerns which have led you to this rash engagement. Tell me what your debts are, dear boy, and I will see that they are paid. There is no need to cast yourself into matrimony to avoid embarrassment.”
Charlie laughed. “Grace’s fortune is nothing to me!” Though his honesty pricked him as he said it. Greenfields, of course, meant something – but he was quite certain that all Seabury’s money would not buy him that.
Seabury sighed and dusted an imaginary speck from his pristine gloves. “I was afraid it might come to that. The fact is, dear boy, that my claim to Miss Rivers is much more substantial than I think you can understand.” He lowered his voice. “The fact is that I have bedded her.”
Charlie slammed his hands down onto the table, sending Seabury’s snuff box tumbling to the ground. “I will warn you one last time – hold your tongue and leave this place!”
Seabury was unmoved. “I am willing to go to any lengths to get her back, Captain. I must give you fair warning that, if you cannot be reasonably persuaded, I will be forced to resort to dire measures.” He gave a cold smile. “What price Miss Rivers’s reputation, I wonder?”
“You would not spread such a diabolical lie!” Charlie was not certain how, but he knew in his soul that Seabury was lying. Grace had an innocence about her, a sweetness and naivety, that could not possibly be false. The way she kissed him – hesitant at first, then full of surprised longing – no-one could manufacture that. He was absolutely sure that no man had kissed her the way he did, let alone the primped peacock who sat smirking at his table.
“Would I not?” asked Seabury lightly. “I must give you a warning in return, Captain – do not test me.”
“I’ll see you dead first,” Charlie growled. Seabury seemed amused.
“Are you calling me out, dear boy?”
“Name the time and place!”
Charlie had spoken loudly enough to draw attention. Henshaw hurried back to his side, taking his arm and murmuring, “What in the blazes do you think you’re doing?”
“It’s a matter of honour,” Charlie gritted out. “A lady’s honour – and I will go to any lengths to protect it, Seabury, as you shall find to your cost!”
Seabury’s smile grew a little thinner. “Let it not be said that I am a coward,” he said, at last. “I am unfamiliar with the locality. You suggest the place, and I will meet you tomorrow at dawn.”
“Let this not become a dying matter!” interrupted Henshaw. “Swords, gentlemen, not pistols! Do you have a man to act as your second, Seabury?”
“I will find one with little trouble.” Seabury bent to retrieve his snuff box, which he tucked fastidiously back into his pocket. “Swords at dawn! Where shall I meet you?”
“At the top of Cleve Hill,” said Charlie, grateful that Henshaw’s arm was still restraining him. “We shall not be disturbed there.”
“Very well.” Seabury stood up, brushed himself off, and gave them a cold bow. “On the morrow, gentlemen.”
“What pigeon-brained idea was this?” hissed Henshaw, dragging Charlie back into his seat as Seabury left. “What will Alison say – what will Miss Rivers say? What possible excuse can there be for duelling a man of whom you know absolutely nothing? He may very well be a master of swordplay, and then where will you be?”
“I am able to acquit myself tolerably well, thank you, Henshaw,” said Charlie, still stiff with rage. “You must not breathe a word of this to Grace.”
“I, breathe a word? The whole tavern knows what you are about! Charlie, what possessed you?”
“That, I cannot say,” said Charlie. “No – I will not. Don’t ask me, Henshaw. Only know that there was no other way to answer his insult.”
“He has cast some aspersion on Miss Rivers,” guessed Henshaw. For the first time, Charlie regretted how well Henshaw knew him.
“I said, don’t ask me! Only stand at my side tomorrow morning.”
“That I will do gladly,” said Henshaw. “For Alison’s sake, if not yours. You do not know how little you deserve so loving a sister!”
“I do know it,” said Charlie, clasping his hand. “And I could not ask for a better brother than you. Now, let’s go and engage a doctor for the morning. I mean to leave Seabury bleeding!”
“I will go for a doctor,” said Henshaw. “You had better go home and confess to Alison and Miss Rivers before they catch word of this from someone else. You can hold out little hope of their forgiving you if you do not make a clean confession.”
Realising the sense of this plan, Charlie left the arrangements for the duel to Henshaw and returned home with no clear idea of how he would break the news. That Grace and Alison would be alarmed was certain – but perhaps he might manage to contain their dismay, if he was clever about it.
Not that he had ever been clever, Charlie thought ruefully, as he arrived at Alison’s front door.
8
The news that Seabury had come to Whitby was enough to turn Grace pale and send her pacing about the room in distraction. Charlie took her in his arms, forcing her
to be still, and pressed her head to his shoulder. He was deeply sorry that there was more distressing news to give.
Alison, who had listened to his first announcement gravely, took the opportunity to slip out of the room to leave them alone together. She could have no inkling of what Charlie was about to say, and must have thought it was for Grace’s ears only.
“What is Vincent doing here?” asked Grace, her voice slightly muffled by Charlie’s coat. “What does he want with me? Oh, hasn’t he done enough already? Why can’t he leave me alone?”
“He will leave you alone,” said Charlie firmly. “If he does not choose to, I will force him to. You will not see him again.”
Grace lifted her face to him, radiant in its teary beauty. Charlie could not resist her, so close, so warm and so much in need of his care. He kissed her forehead, kissed each cheek, kissed the tip of her nose and drew a smile from her. He was about to claim her mouth and make her forget all about Seabury when he recalled that he ought to tell her about the duel.
“There is one more thing,” he said cautiously, “but you need not fret over it. I have called Vincent out.”
“What?” Grace pushed herself away from him, those lips which had entranced him hanging slightly open. “Charlie, you cannot!”
“Swords only. Henshaw saw to that.”
“Swords?” Grace lifted a hand to her mouth, trembled for a moment, then mastered herself and fixed him with a stern glare. “Charlie, you won’t. I forbid it.”
“It is already decided, Grace.”
“Then un-decide it! Send your seconds to work the matter out between themselves!” Charlie had never seen Grace furious before. He’d had no inkling of the way she would make the air vibrate with the force of her anger. She looked almost wild. Beautiful, certainly, the way a storm is beautiful.
The Duke, the Earl and the Captain Page 9