“I am so sorry, my love,” her mother whispered tearfully.
Grace could not respond, not without dissolving into tears, and she would not do so here, and not now. She only nodded, knowing her mother was as powerless as she, if not more so, and there would be nothing gained by raging at her.
After a moment, her mother left her with her solitude, closing the door behind her. Only then could Grace breathe freely, and she was surprised that her tears fell slowly, without any sort of energy or haste. There was no upset to her breathing, no powerful release of pent up emotion or distress.
The tears simply fell, and with them, a part of herself.
Damaged. Failing. Disappointment. Unremarkable.
How had she forgotten that this was at the heart of the matter? That she was the shame of her family and the despair of her father? That Aubrey was not meant to encourage, romance, or entertain her, but to evaluate her? He was to examine her. Assess her.
Fix her.
Aubrey had spoken with her father, had updated him on their progress. Had he been reporting regularly? Had he been telling her father more than he was telling her?
Could he be flirting with her to expose her? Could every one of his kisses be used against her in all of this?
Did her father know about that?
Everything she thought she knew and felt suddenly seemed fleeting and foreign, uncertainty shrouding anything familiar and warm. She was cold and abandoned, shivering in the darkness of her father’s shadow. She knew no joy, only doubt.
Only fear.
She sat in the chair, staring at nothing, unable to move for the terrifying vulnerability she suddenly felt. Was the whole of the household aware of this maddening search for her deficiencies? What would the investigation of her reputation turn up? Did all of London see her with the same degree of blemish as her father?
What did they say and think?
What would Aubrey hear?
Would he tell her?
Or would her father be the one to reveal the whole miserable report to her in one crushing dialogue of defamation?
“Lord Ingram, Miss Morledge.”
Grace blinked faintly, another fall of tears setting free on their wandering course.
Wandering. Like she was. Like she’d thought they were. Like she longed to do at Withrow. To just wander and stray wherever one fancied without any concern for destination or distance, just wandering for the sheer pleasure of existing.
“I’ve had a letter from Sterling, which means it’s from Georgie, and apparently someone has been reporting… Egads, are you ill?”
Grace blinked again, and this time, her eyes moved to look at him, noting his wide-eyed concern mingled with a hint of terror.
“No,” she said simply, her tone firm, if soft.
His brow furrowed, and his fingers rubbed against each other absently. “You sure? You’re pale as death, and it’s quite scared me out of my wits.”
Her throat worked twice on a swallow. “Good.”
“Good?” he repeated, his brow clearing. “Grace, what’s wrong?”
“Have you been investigating my reputation for my father?” she inquired in the calmest tone she had ever heard from her own mouth.
Aubrey’s eyes widened further still. “He told you that?”
She felt the first crack in her composure, even as another tear trickled from her eye. “So you are.”
He took two steps towards her. “He told me I had to, but it’s not as though I’m dredging up gossip from the gorgons. And I don’t know what he’s said, but I’m not telling him anything. Whatever he’s told you…”
“What are they saying?” Grace asked, choosing, for the moment, not to pursue the possibility of his betrayal. “Tell me.”
“You know what they say,” he responded at once, his fingers shifting again. “You’ve heard it all before.”
“I haven’t. All I’ve heard is that I am perfect, which we both know isn’t true. You’ve been looking into it. What have you heard?”
Aubrey folded his arms, his expression disbelieving and irritable. “What is this? Why do I feel as though I am on trial for something of which I am ignorant?”
Something inside her snapped and she shot to her feet, tears starting to flow with the fury she’d forgotten all about. “Tell me what they say, dammit!” she screamed, her voice cracking. “I am entitled to know what my own reputation is, and if I am to be found wanting by the world, surely I have the right to bloody know why!”
He fell back a step, irritation gone, and stared at her for the space of several heartbeats. Then he straightened and cleared his throat. “You’re right. I won’t pretend that I haven’t begun to make discreet inquiries, but I also will not pretend that I have done so extensively. I like this no more than you, and I told your father I refused to violate your privacy by revealing what our sessions here entail. I told him I respected you too much to do so, and that you deserve the dignity of such. Kindly stop considering me as though I am in league with your father in my intentions.”
Suitably chastened without any vehemence, Grace felt tension begin to ebb from her shoulders, though her spine had lost none of its stiffness. “Very well. Tell me, then. Please.”
Aubrey nodded, seemingly content with that. “I will not insult you by sharing what you already know about what people say, which truly is most of what I have heard from people I have spoken with, and you know how I feel about people as a general rule.”
A fleeting impulse to smile lit her lips, but then it was gone.
“Thus far,” Aubrey went on, giving her an earnest look, “the only thing less than exemplary I have heard from anyone is that one or two gentlemen have refrained from any sort of pursuit of courtship of your person on account of your father. They have found, or have heard, that he is a man of some intimidation, and they did not feel it would be worth the risk.” He shook his head in disgust. “I could have said so many things to such a statement of idiocy, but I refrained for your sake.”
Grace stared for a long moment as the words sunk in. “So, I am to be neglected and ignored as a prospect for matrimony because my father is intimidating? How is that my fault?”
“It isn’t,” Aubrey insisted, taking another step towards her. “Such cowardly reasoning isn’t indicative of you in any way. That only reflects poorly on them. And it is but one, possibly two, Grace.”
She tried for a weak smile even as her eyes welled further. “But it adds another layer to the matter of my lacking whatever is required to make a woman appealing, don’t you see?” She hiccupped softly and sank back down into her chair. “I have been picked apart and trod upon, interrogated and accused, observed and dismissed, and I have no answers for it. I had no answers today. Nothing to say for myself, nothing to answer him with.”
“Him?” Aubrey said sharply, moving to stand before her. “Your father?”
She nodded, a weak sob escaping. “I’ve been getting missives from my father for months and months, each one chipping away at my self-respect and my contentment, and now I have my father here in my home as a constant reminder.”
“Of what?”
“How I have disappointed him,” she whispered, closing her eyes on fresh tears. “How I fail him. Shame him. Every time he looks at me, I wonder what he sees or does not see. I cannot please him, no matter what I do or how I try.”
Her hand was suddenly seized and gripped tightly, and she felt Aubrey suddenly before her. A hand brushed at her tears. “You cannot live your life to please him, Grace.”
She sniffed and nodded. “I know. Because even living my life doesn’t seem to please him.”
Again, Aubrey wiped at her tears, and with a faint stroke of his thumb, her eyes fluttered open. His eyes sought hers with a raw pain that echoed the keening sounds of her heart. “Grace…”
“I have lived the last several months of my life in two extremes,” she murmured, turning her hands to clutch at his. “Perfect in the eyes of the world, and a fail
ure in the eyes of my father. Which of the two extremes do you think I am more prone to believe?”
“You are not a failure,” Aubrey told her firmly, his hand cupping her cheek.
She nodded against the pressure of his palm. “I know. But I’m not perfect, either. So, what am I, Aubrey? What am I?”
His thumb stoked absently against her cheek again, and his throat worked, but he said nothing. How could he? What could he say? Even Grace had no answers here, and the question hung between them without answer.
She didn’t want an answer.
Not yet.
“I cannot endure fault-finding today,” she whispered apologetically. “I’ve been scrubbed raw, and I cannot bear being more exposed, not even to you.”
Aubrey blinked and his lips curved in a tender smile. “All right. No session today. If you like, I’ll leave the room and come back in just as myself, as your friend, and start this whole thing over.”
Grace smiled back, feeling a surge of affection towards this sweet man before her. “I don’t want you to go, but what will we do instead?”
He dropped his hand from her face and returned it to the other in her lap. “Whatever you like. I am completely at your disposal.”
“Would you teach me to fence?” she asked, tilting her head with the question. “I feel like stabbing something.”
He laughed warmly and gripped her hands. “Not a chance in hell, goddess. Next option.”
Grace grinned and let her fingers brush against his in his hold. “Chess. I know very little, and I want you to teach me.”
Within minutes, a chess board was brought in, the rules explained, and a game begun. Aubrey advised her every move, matching hers with too-kind moves of his own, clearly taking pity on her inexperience. He chatted aimlessly, never venturing back onto the topic of her outburst or even that of finding fault. He never even referred back to his announcement about a letter from Tony and Georgie, nor anything that might remind her of any faults or the finding of them.
She nearly cried again as she considered him across the board from her, eying his own chess pieces with some intensity. “Thank you, Aubrey.”
He grunted. “For swiping your pawn? My pleasure, I’m about to do it again.”
“Aubrey,” she said again, letting the tenderness she felt for him seep into her tone.
His eyes were on hers at once.
She smiled with real emotion. “I mean it. Thank you.”
Aubrey stared, as Aubrey usually did, and just when she thought he might say nothing, he reached out and took her hand, drawing it to his lips softly, tenderly caressing the skin of her fingers.
“I am at your service, Grace,” he murmured, kissing her hand once more. “Whatever it is. I hope you know that, if nothing else.”
Her heart soared, and at that moment, she loved him. Then and there, she gave her heart over to him and to none other. Come what may of this whole dismal affair, she loved Aubrey, and nothing had ever felt more perfect.
“I know,” she whispered happily, extending a finger to brush against his chin. “And I don’t deserve you.”
Aubrey smiled at her, kissing the tip of her finger, then resting her hand back on the table, though he held it still. “Actually, I think the sentiment is reversed. Goddesses being what they are, mere mortals really haven’t any hope…”
Chapter Nineteen
The wise individual finds allies wherever she can, and the wiser individual takes every advantage such allies will allow.
-The Spinster Chronicles, 7 May 1819
Your presence is requested at an evening soirée at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Johnston, at the behest of Mrs. Miranda Sterling, to begin at seven in the evening on the 23rd day of this month.
If you could arrive at two in the afternoon, it would very much be appreciated.
Grace stared at the scribbled addition to the formal invitation as the carriage rolled along the London streets, smiling to herself. Her parents had not received any sort of additional invitation for an afternoon with Miranda, although they had been invited to the soirée. Her father had been surprisingly vague about his attendance, which made Grace wonder what it was Miranda knew about him.
But it seemed that Miranda Sterling was a woman worthy of her father’s approval, for he had very nearly ushered Grace out of the door himself. Whatever it was Miranda wanted Grace there for hours before other guests, he was determined she would be present.
It was the first kind thing he had done for her in weeks.
She shook her head to herself as she neared the Johnstons’ address. She refused to spend any more time thinking about her father or worrying about his opinions when she had an afternoon and evening of enjoyment ahead of her. Miranda was one of the most refreshing individuals she had ever met, and she would savor every moment in her company today.
Grace was shown into the house without much ceremony, and then brought into a comfortable parlor, smiling as she entered.
“I am so sorry to be late,” she apologized as Miranda came towards her, hands outstretched. “James had taken the carriage, and he was delayed in returning…” She shrugged as she trailed off.
“No matter,” Miranda gushed, kissing her cheeks fondly. “We did not mind in the slightest, did we?”
“Not at all,” came the warm tones of Francis, Lord Sterling, standing behind a settee where his wife sat.
Grace curtseyed to them both, grinning. “That, my lord, is because the pair of you are remarkably good-hearted and patient. How else could one be related to Tony and still enjoy his company?”
Francis laughed and bowed in acknowledgement. “Well, someone had to save the family name, Miss Morledge. It was down to Alice or me, and time will tell which of us is victor.”
“How is Alice?” Grace asked at once, moving to the pair of them. “She looked so well the other evening, but I had no chance to speak with her.”
“Fully recovered,” Janet assured her as she took her hand. “Anxious to make up for lost time.”
Grace laughed once, smiling at the energy of such a young woman. Then she sobered. “And Hugh?”
Francis shook his head. “Somewhere in the north, we’ve not heard from him in some time. One can only hope he is well.”
“Enough talk of sad things,” Miranda scolded with a clap of her hands. “Everyone can agree that Francis and Janet possess excellent characters, though I am far more partial to she than to he.”
“Excuse me?” Francis protested hotly.
Miranda ignored him. “I’m curious how Lord Ingram feels about waiting for Miss Morledge to arrive.”
Grace stilled as Miranda turned to indicate the other person in the room, whose presence Grace had entirely missed. Aubrey stood near a tall window, the afternoon light shining through on him as though from heaven itself, and his smile bore all the benevolence of an angel from such realms.
“Well, Aubrey?” Miranda demanded, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.
Aubrey shrugged his shoulders, his eyes trained on Grace. “One would never complain about being kept waiting by a goddess. I am quite sure there are several myths involving such.”
On cue, Grace’s cheeks flamed, and she shook her head at him. “For shame, Lord Ingram. Do you suggest that all myths are truths we must abide by?”
“Not all,” he replied, sliding his hands into the pockets of his dark trousers. “One should never intentionally venture into the underworld, and I would advise against spending a great length of time staring at one’s reflection.” His smiled deepened just enough to make her toes curl. “Though some of us would have a great deal more to admire there than others.”
Francis made a loud sound of dismay and waved Aubrey away. “Such hot air will surely poison the rest of us! Down, Ingram, down.”
Aubrey looked at Francis in mild amusement. “It’s only hot air if untrue.” He returned his gaze to Grace. “And this is not.”
Grace would have sighed had she not been in the company of others, but
she bit her lip all the same. This was a bold change in him, to be so blatantly flirtatious before others, and she found the experience an exhilarating one. There was great fun in being secretive, but this?
This was delightful.
Still, there was decorum to maintain. Grace turned to Miranda with an embarrassed smile. “May I ask why you invited us so early, Miranda? I don’t object in the slightest, only perishing with curiosity.”
Miranda linked her arm through Grace’s and walked with her a bit. “No particular reason, I only like the company. Mr. Johnston is providing a fine supper for us, and I thought it would be a shame to have such a grand meal wasted on only the three of us. And with Georgie and Tony away for her confinement, I may invite whomever I please without bowing to family niceties. You did bring a change of clothes, did you not?”
At Grace’s nod, she clapped almost merrily. “Wonderful. I have a maid who is dying to get her hands on your hair, and I have promised the task to her. She is a marvel, I tell you, and you shall indeed be the goddess Aubrey proclaimed you to be.” Miranda stopped then and gave Grace an assessing look. “Which reminds me. Dear Rufus needs a bit of exercise before the excitement of the evening, and I really haven’t the desire to wander about in the gardens. Aubrey, would you be a dear and take him out there for me? A bit of running about might do you both some good. And Miss Morledge, perhaps you could keep him from misbehaving?”
Grace’s cheeks heated, but she raised a brow in Aubrey’s direction. “Aubrey or Rufus?”
Francis applauded her reply while Aubrey only grinned in response. “Likely both, Miss Morledge. If you have the stamina.”
She lowered her chin a touch to meet his gaze squarely. “I have. Shall we?”
“Are we to be without adult supervision?” Aubrey asked drily as he moved towards the door, arm extended towards Grace.
Miranda waved a dismissive hand. “Foolish boy, we can see the garden from the windows! How much trouble could you get into there?”
“That would all depend on whether anyone is looking,” he replied with a respectful nod, winking at Grace, who immediately thwacked him on the arm.
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