And no wonder, for standing before the fireplace, his attention on the weak and flickering flames within, was her father.
He straightened and turned to face Grace; his dark eyes narrowed, though his expression wasn’t particularly displeased. Still, there was no warmth in him either. He looked over Grace as though she were a painting in a gallery that he did not quite comprehend.
He quirked a brow in surprise at her silence, and Grace hastily curtseyed.
“Father,” she greeted even as her stomach seemed to sink to her knees. “I did not expect to see you. I had not heard you would be returning to England.”
“No, I had not told anyone,” he informed her as he clasped his hands behind his back. “Not even your mother. Who is Charlotte, Grace?”
Grace’s palms began to perspire, which usually occurred when her father directly questioned her in that tone. “Charlotte Wright, Father. I visit with her often. We’ve grown close in the last two years.”
Her father grunted to himself, then turned to glance at his wife. “Is that Miss Wright the heiress? Daughter of John Wright?”
“Yes, Trenwick,” she replied, smiling in the same fashion as before. “She and Grace are very good friends, and the Wrights think very highly of Grace.”
“Good.” Her father returned his attention to his daughter. “Excellent, Grace. It is important to maintain beneficial connections, and to gain the good favor of those with influence. I am very pleased to hear it.”
Because that was why she had formed a bond with Charlotte. To forge beneficial connections and to please her father.
Grace forced a tight smile and inclined her head. “Thank you, Father.”
He stared at her again for a long moment, his eyes on her face.
He looked older than she recalled, his hair sprinkled with more grey and white than before. He was tanned, and his face was just as it had been, no additional lines or creases had formed, except for a pair of them at his mouth. No doubt due to frowning too frequently about his younger daughter’s failures. In all other respects, he was just as she remembered. The same stature and stance, the same style of dress, and the same domineering intensity in his gaze, all perfectly her father and all as she recalled.
But why was he here?
She glanced at her mother, who held absolutely no answers in her expression or manner, and barely avoided biting her lip. Any sight of behavior or habits less than ideal would be cause for comment, and she did not need a discussion on childish behaviors at the present.
“Come and sit down, Grace,” her father suggested, though his tone was rather commanding. He gestured to the sofa nearest him, ironically where Grace usually sat for tea with her mother.
Knowing she had little choice, Grace did as her father bid and moved to take a seat. “How was your journey from Austria, Father?” she managed, stammering slightly.
He noticed the stammer and a furrow formed between his brows for a brief moment. “Tolerable, thank you.”
When he said nothing else, Grace made herself smile. “Do you plan to stay long with us in London? It has been such an age.”
“That all depends.”
“On what?” she asked, though she was sure it was unnecessary.
“On you, my dear girl.”
Of course, it did. She should have guessed.
Her mother sat on the settee opposite her, her eyes flicking between Grace and her father with a startling frequency. Grace wanted one moment, just one, with her mother alone. Something to give her an ounce of comfort with this sudden development, anything at all to hint at what her father’s plans were, to prepare her for whatever was coming.
There was no moment. And there was no preparation.
Grace forced herself to meet her father’s gaze as he stood before her. “Why do your plans depend on me? What have I done?”
“Nothing, nothing,” her father assured her, his tone surprisingly gentle, given the tone of his letters. “Believe me, I’ve had my solicitor look into every eventuality. Discreetly, of course. He tells me your reputation is excellent, and that you are a well-respected young woman.”
She heard the compliments in his words, but something else caught her attention. “Your solicitor? Mr. Bryant?”
Her father raised a brow at her tone. “No, another one I secured to see to other matters while I am abroad. Recently, when certain questions and concerns were raised…”
“About me,” Grace added, forcing her tone to be as mild as possible while being impertinent to her father.
“Yes, about you.” He gave her a severe look, and Grace dropped her gaze to the floor. “Can you blame me?”
Grace shook her head, her eyes burning. “No, sir.”
Her father sighed and sat down near her. “I am concerned, Grace, about your situation. You are set up well enough that you will never be an unfortunate spinster without means, like so many other women.”
Women that she was friends with, no doubt.
“But I refused to believe that the situation was as bewildering as I saw it,” he went on. “Surely, there had to be a reason for all of this.”
Yes, surely there must be a reason that none of the men in London wanted her. Clearly, the fault was hers and not theirs.
“But,” her father continued, not requiring any response from her, “no reason has presented itself.”
Of course, it hadn’t.
Wait… It hadn’t?
She looked up at her father in confusion. “Father?”
His expression was sympathetic, which was one of his lesser utilized looks, and he shook his head. “I don’t know where your faults lie either, Grace. From what I can tell, you are everything a father could wish for in a daughter. I could not be more pleased.”
Grace blinked uncertainly, an odd warmth filling her chest. “Thank you, Father.”
“Except, of course, for your being a spinster. It’s shameful. Just shameful.”
It was all Grace could do to avoid throwing up her hands and rolling her eyes. Charlotte certainly would have done so under these circumstances, but Mr. Wright was hardly the same man as her father and would not be surprised by such a thing. If Grace gave in to these impulses, her father would consider it a fault and do something about that.
“We are all blinded in some way, Grace,” her father said with another sigh. “We are confounded by your unmarried state, which is why we must look elsewhere for answers.”
“Elsewhere?” Grace cried suddenly. “Surely, you’re not sending me away, Father! I could not bear going abroad for a suitor, not when I adore England so.”
Her father gave her a look, a mixture of surprise and disgruntlement. “No, Grace, I am not sending you abroad. I want you to remain in England, disappointing though it has been for you.”
She heaved a sigh of relief, then glanced up at her father quickly, wondering if he would consider that inappropriate. But he had no reaction, his gaze upon her remained steady.
Grace looked at her mother, who still had no answers.
Did she even know what her father was talking about? Had he shared any details with her before Grace had arrived? It had never truly occurred to her to wonder about the nature of her parents’ marriage, about their relationship with each other, but it seemed that her father tended to act without consideration for anyone else, including his wife. Was she simply expected to acquiesce to his commands and wishes with no opinions of her own at all?
Was that any way to manage a marriage?
Not that she had any experience with such things. After all, she was, shockingly, a spinster.
Oh, the horror.
“I had something else in mind for you, Grace,” her father went on with a slight clearing of his throat. “Something that will undoubtedly be more beneficial to us both.”
Grace’s skin began to tingle warily. “Oh?” she managed to ask as her fingers played at the embroidery along her skirts.
Her father nodded, smiling at last, which was always a suspicious s
ight. “Yes, although the details still need to be worked out.” He straightened in his seat and lifted his chin. “As we are all blind to where your faults lie, it only follows that in order for us to discover what we can improve in you to bring about suitors and marriage, we must bring in a new set of eyes. One not at all limited where you are concerned.”
A new set of… what?
Grace blinked once. “And do what?”
“Why, find your faults, of course.”
Her mouth dropped open, and she stared at her father for a number of heartbeats, waiting for him to crack a smile or even laugh. Surely, he had to do so; it was a ludicrous idea.
But there was no hint of a smile, nothing at all resembling amusement.
Grace’s eyes flicked to her mother, who stared at her husband in absolute horror.
“Trenwick,” her mother said at last, placing a hand on his arm, “you don’t mean…”
He shook her hand off, turning to her. “Of course, I mean it. We must bring someone in and have them examine her, Leonora. They must spend time with her, truly get to know her, and find whatever it is that we are missing.”
“What… what would they do?” Grace whispered, her fingers numb against her skirts.
He returned his attention to Grace. “Observe you. Your manner, your accomplishments, your comportment, your speech… Anything they can think of. Their task will be to study you, to even be critical, if it comes down to it, but only in the most respectful way. After all, we are all trying to find the things that are keeping you from being married.”
Grace’s brow furrowed in thought. Her father’s tone was not nearly as severe as his letters had been, and in fact held far more warmth. But the words were much the same. There was something wrong with her, in his mind, and bringing some stranger in and paying them to perform a sort of analysis on her as though she were an experiment was the only way to discover what it was.
Someone would be tasked with observing her specifically to find her faults. It would be worse than being back in the schoolroom with a governess, for even her governesses, stern though some of them were, had never been cruel.
Her father let the silence stretch on, then leaned forward, his expression now eager and earnest. “You must see why this is necessary, Grace.”
Why it was necessary? For someone to examine her for no other reason than to discover what was wrong?
No. No, she did not.
Still, she found herself dipping her chin, not quite a nod. “Who?”
“I beg your pardon?”
Grace cleared her throat. “Who would be the one coming to assess me? Have you selected someone as yet?”
Her father shook his head, seeming pleased by the question. “I knew you would come around, Grace, and that you would do your duty.”
Duty. Was that what she was doing?
“But to answer your question,” he went on, “no. I have not selected someone as yet. I am leaving the task of finding candidates to my new solicitor, Mr. Hayes. He will find suitable, respectable people who are knowledgeable in the ways of Society and who are not familiar enough with you to be blinded as the rest of us are.”
Grace nodded to herself, her thoughts whirling with possibilities. None of them good, but possibilities nonetheless, and she knew that no amount of crying or arguing on her part would change her father’s mind. Everything had already been set in motion, even if nothing had been officially set. This was happening. Someone would come and find whatever insurmountable faults kept her from attracting a man. And she would spend the extent of whatever length of time it took living in a cloud of doubt and discouragement.
Because she couldn’t get a husband for herself. No, she had to have someone come in and find everything that was wrong with her so she could be mended, and then she would be able to get a husband for herself.
That was all that mattered. All she was good for. Just marriage. Except she needed help to accomplish that, and an official faultfinder.
How pleasant.
“Might I offer suggestions for potential candidates?” she heard herself ask, though she hadn’t the faintest idea whom she would suggest. Everyone she knew well enough to ask had expressed the same confusion about her spinster status and apparent faults as she now felt.
“If you have any ideas, yes, of course,” her father said with a nod. “I welcome any assistance you can give us in this. After all, it is your future we are hoping to change.”
He smiled with more warmth than he had given her in at least fifteen years, then rose and left the room, leaving Grace alone with her mother.
Silence prevailed in the parlor, which it almost never did, and Grace focused her efforts on regaining warmth and feeling in her fingertips. Various bits and pieces of her had flickered between freezing and flaming, between a tingling sensation and no sensation at all.
She heard herself inhale and exhale, one, twice, three times, before she forced a hard blink and made herself look over at her mother.
There was hardly any color in her mother’s cheeks, and she seemed to be staring at her crocheted fingerless gloves as though they held some answers for her.
Grace wet her lips. “Mama?”
That brought her mother’s eyes up and she heaved a sigh. “I am so sorry, Grace. He sent no word he was coming, and he certainly never mentioned finding someone to examine you.”
“I know, Mama,” Grace assured her. She laughed once without humor. “It was written all over your face. He shocked you as much as he did me.”
Her mother smiled and put a hand to her brow, leaning back against the settee. “I do wish he had consulted with me first. This plan of his can only bring more trouble, mark my words.”
Grace shook her head. “Mama, not only is that going to be mortifying for me, but surely it is not at all respectable. A stranger taking stock of areas in which I lack? All to improve the chances of my getting married off? You might as well hang a bell around my neck and have me eat from a trough.”
“It will not be so bad as that,” her mother protested, albeit weakly.
Grace gave her a look. “Yes, it will. Someone will likely be paid by my father, either monetarily or in some other way, just to compile a list for him of everything that they can find that is wrong with me. By the end of the sessions, no doubt I will have learned to moo on command. That should improve the price of this particular cow, yes?”
“Oh, Grace,” her mother laughed, though there was compassion in her expression. “It will be all right.”
“Will it?” Her voice cracked in the question, and she averted her eyes, clearing her throat.
Her mother rose and came to sit beside her, taking her hand. “I don’t know how, darling, but I do know that somehow this will be all right. We will get through this, and then your father will leave you alone. Or go back to the Continent.”
Grace looked at her mother dubiously. “You do realize that wishing your husband away from you does not provide the most encouraging example for marital bliss…”
“Oh, we are looking for bliss?” her mother asked, her mouth curving in a lopsided smile. “That changes everything, absolutely everything.”
Grace giggled and slouched inelegantly against the sofa. She shook her head and drummed her fingers against her stomach. “I know very well I am not perfect, Mama, and I know very well that I have flaws.”
“As do I, Grace,” came the soft reply. “And so does your father. We know you are not perfect, despite your father’s claims that we expect you to be.”
“So why is it so hard for anyone to find a reason that I am unwanted in the marriage mart?” Grace asked, gesturing slightly with her hands. “I’m not extraordinary in any aspect, especially since Father did not want me to be a spectacle for either praise or criticism. I am the same sort of girl that fills every dance hall and ballroom in London.”
Her mother tutted softly. “You’re better, dear. Infinitely better.”
Grace frowned at her. “Which is mother-speak f
or ‘I cannot agree with that statement by virtue of having birthed you,’ yes?”
“Something like that.” Her mother fluttered her eyelashes, smiling blandly.
“Lovely.” Grace groaned and stared up at the too-ornate ceiling above her. “He doesn’t know about the Spinsters, does he? That would be…”
“Oh lord, no. I would never tell him that. No, that secret is safe, unless his solicitor knows.”
Grace shook her head slowly. “I have to tell them about all this. The Spinsters. Charlotte will be beside herself. And she just might volunteer to find the faults.”
“Your father might let her.”
“Don’t tell her that. She’d either be delighted or offended, and I’m not sure which would be worse.”
Chapter Four
Paying calls can be a tiresome excursion no matter how we feel about those we are calling upon. And sometimes receiving calls can be even more tiresome.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 13 March 1816
“I’m doing my duty, I’m doing my duty, I’m doing my duty…”
Aubrey shook his head as the carriage rolled up to Trenwick House in Mayfair, wishing the statement actually gave him some encouragement or strength. But alas, it provided neither comfort nor motivation. Worst of all, it did nothing to keep him from this visit.
He didn’t have anything against the Morledge family, nothing at all. He simply hated paying calls. It was a forced formality which led to an unnecessary awkwardness that he despised. Even with families and people he knew well and liked, the engagement became unbearable and stilted. He was really much better in the more casual situations of life.
Unfortunately, very few of those happened when in London among Society.
He looked up at the façade of Trenwick House, wishing one could enjoy a foreshadowing of one’s forthcoming experience by examining its location beforehand. Preparation would be so much the better if such a thing were possible.
But sitting out here wouldn’t solve anything, nor would it make this experience any more pleasant.
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