Grace

by Deneane Clark

  Grace’s heart went out to him. He had only tried to do what he thought she wanted. With a valiant effort, she smiled up at him sweetly and replied, “You did exactly as I asked, O’Reilly, and I thank you.”

  Much relieved, the footman bowed and left the room, his step light as he returned to his duties.

  Grace watched him go, then turned to Faith. “Trevor will never forgive me for this. It’ll be the topic of gossip for weeks.” Her voice was glum, as she’d lost the hope that had sustained her for the past two days.

  Faith looked equally grim. “That’s the least of your worries,” she stated flatly. “Your own reputation will suffer when it becomes known that you sent O’Reilly into White’s to appeal to Huntwick. Society is well used to women chasing after Trevor, but there are rules, and I’m certain no one else has been as brazen as that. We’ll have to hope that since he was in Egerton livery, it will be supposed that O’Reilly was there on business for Aunt Cleo.”

  Grace looked skeptical. “And what do you think the chances of that would be?”

  Faith shook her head. “His lordship has made no secret of his attraction to you. That information, combined with the way he publicly reacted to your message, leaves me very discouraged, indeed.”

  As it turned out, Amanda did not have to track down her brother-in-law. As soon as she entered the house Desmond, the Seth butler, informed her that Lord Gareth was waiting in the library and that he had asked for her. Amanda thanked him and handed him her cloak before hurrying through the foyer to the library.

  Gareth had just poured himself a drink when she threw open the doors. He took one look at her face and reached for another glass. “Shall I pour you one also, my lady?”

  “Sherry.” She nodded.“Tell me it isn’t as bad as I think it is.”

  He handed her the glass. “It’s worse. How is it that you already know?”

  “I was with Grace when that misguided footman of hers returned,” she said. “Is there any chance nobody knew who employs O’Reilly?”

  Gareth shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

  Amanda sat down in a winged leather chair, one foot tapping furiously as she tried to think. “The message didn’t necessarily have to have come from Grace. For all anybody knew, it could have been from Lady Egerton regarding some business venture for which she needed advice, or an investment she had immediate questions about.”

  Again Gareth shook his head. “There are two reasons nobody would ever believe that. The first is that Hunt was quite obviously furious about the message. Since there are only ladies living in the Egerton town house, it will be assumed that the message came from one of them.”

  Amanda’s face fell, and Gareth continued.

  “Lady Cleo would hardly have sent a message that would have inspired such a reaction in Hunt, so obviously the message had to have come from one of the younger ladies.” He paused and smirked a moment. “Can you imagine our incomparable and ever-so-correct Miss Faith Ackerly pulling a stunt like that?”

  Miserably, Amanda shook her head.

  “Neither will anyone else,” Gareth finished. He swallowed the last of his port and poured another.

  Amanda took a restorative sip of her sherry, then remembered what Gareth had said. “You said there were two reasons that everyone would think it was Grace who sent the note. What is the second?”

  Gareth closed his eyes, his cocksure, arrogant attitude gone for the first time since Amanda had known him.

  “What is it?” she asked in alarm.

  “The second reason is entirely my fault,” he began, his voice heavy.

  “Yes, it is,” came a voice from the doorway. The Earl of Seth stood there, glaring at his younger brother with cold displeasure. “Please,” he invited scathingly, “tell my wife what you’ve done to her friend.”

  Gareth’s chin rose. His eyebrows snapped together as he glared back at the earl in a clash of wills that had begun years earlier. “You tell her,” he said coldly, then strode from the room. He slammed the door behind him. A moment later they heard the front door slam, too.

  “Really, Jonathon,” Amanda chided, “You leave him no choice. It can’t be all that terrible.”

  “Perhaps you should reserve judgment on that score, my dear, until you’ve heard what he’s done this time.” He helped himself to a glass of brandy before seating himself in the chair opposite his wife. “Yesterday my reckless little brother placed a public bet in the sum of one thousand pounds.” He paused. “The entry reads, ‘Miss Grace Ackerly will bring the Earl of Huntwick to heel within one week.’ ”

  Amanda gave a gasp of horrified laughter. She quickly stifled it at the quelling look from her somber husband. “Oh, my,” she said, unable to manage any other response.

  “Quite,” said Jon. “By this evening your friend will be known as an extremely fast and bold young lady. On top of that, because Hunt left White’s almost immediately after receiving the message, everyone will assume he left to obey her summons, making him look like a fool in leading strings.”

  That statement deeply alarmed Amanda. She caught her breath. Trevor would hate Grace for making him look so foolish, leaving her little if any chance of ever winning him back. She knew her friend could care less about her own reputation, but she also knew Grace cared a great deal about the reputation of her family, and even more about what Trevor thought of her. Considering the situation a moment, she could come up with no new ideas. In frustration, she gave up and changed topics. “Must you ride Gareth so hard?”

  Jon’s scowl deepened. “He must learn some responsibility, Amanda. Had he thought this through before placing the bet, he would have seen the most likely possible consequence and not done it.”

  “But, Jon, he feels terrible already. You couldn’t possibly make him feel worse, and I’m afraid you’ll drive him away from us again.”

  The earl fell silent a moment. That possibility had occurred to him as well. He well remembered the year immediately following their father’s death, when Gareth had fought the control Jon had tried to exert over him. That year had ended with Gareth running away to join the army, only to come home nearly dead after taking a bullet fighting Napoleon.

  Her husband remained silent, so Amanda pressed her momentary advantage.“He’s a grown man, Jon, needing to make his own choices and mistakes. Stop trying to control him or he’ll do something drastic. I heard him discussing a possible move to the American Colonies only the other day.”

  Jonathon looked at the earnest face of his beautiful wife.

  His eyes turned tender. “Marriage would settle him down, you know.”

  Amanda stood and walked to her husband’s chair. She settled herself comfortably on his lap. “I couldn’t agree more, darling.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest, then tipped it back to look up at him. “I’ll have to give it some thought,” she murmured, then promptly forgot Gareth, Grace, and Trevor as Jonathon’s lips claimed hers.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Grace stood before the full-length mirror in her bed-chamber, tugging on her clothes and finding critical flaws in her appearance where none really existed. She wore a shimmering gown of turquoise satin, a shade that exactly matched the bright blue of her eyes and set off to perfection her creamy complexion. Becky had fussed with her hair awhile, but in the end Grace decided to wear it down, held back from the sides of her face with mother-of-pearl combs. Long satin gloves in the same shade of blue as her dress encased her arms, ending just above her elbows. The gown itself had no adornment, elegant in the simple style Grace liked best, cut straight across her chest with short, square sleeves, a row of darts beneath her breasts and across her back. From the insert of each dart, a panel of teal chiffon fell in gossamer folds, forming the effect of an underskirt that just brushed the tops of her soft turquoise satin slippers.

  Amanda gave Grace a final appraising look. She took in the girl’s delicate cheekbones, made more prominent by the weight lost durin
g her illness. Her slightly tilted eyes appeared larger, and her face was still a bit paler than normal, but the combination gave Grace an exotic and vulnerable look. Amanda was counting on that vulnerability to help pull off the scheme she had concocted with Gareth.

  Grace gave her bodice another tug, uncomfortable with the low, square neckline, above which her rather smallish breasts swelled enticingly. “I can’t do this,” she said. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the nerves that were making her stomach do flip-flops.

  “Nonsense,” soothed Amanda, “you look beautiful. You have nothing to fear. They’re just people.”

  “It’s not the people who worry me,” muttered Grace.

  “Trevor’s just a person, too,” said Faith, as pragmatic as ever.

  Grace glared at her sister in the mirror. “You’re wrong,” she said flatly. “He’s two people, and right now I’d much prefer if he were the Trevor who chased me, rather than the one I’m chasing.”

  “You could have had him then, girlie,” said Aunt Cleo from the doorway. She moved into the room, inspecting her niece’s appearance through a lorgnette. “Although I think you’ll appreciate him more now when you get him.” She stopped before Grace and nodded. “I suppose you’ll do. You all will. Let’s go.” She rapped her cane on the floor in impatience.

  They rode to the ball in Aunt Cleo’s well-sprung carriage, Amanda rattling off last-minute instructions. “Gareth, Trevor, and Sebastian should have been there for at least an hour by now. Gareth and Jonathon have been putting about the word that the whole incident was a simple prank of Gareth’s, which should be believed, since he is always pulling stunts like this. Gareth has also promised to convince Trevor to go along with the plan and to behave toward you, Grace, as he always has.”

  “He won’t do it,” said Grace, a note of despair beginning to thread itself into her voice as the carriage neared their destination. “Trevor won’t give a hang about what people think of him, and he’ll be more than happy to see my reputation suffer.”

  “Stuff and nonsense,” barked Cleo from the corner of the carriage, her voice loud in the closed space. “Huntwick won’t tolerate people thinking he’s a fool. Men don’t, you know. Can’t abide it.” She nodded wisely.

  Faith, who had remained quiet until this point, finally spoke. “Lord Caldwell will go along with the plan,” she said quietly. Three pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. Faith sat primly erect in her corner, her hands folded in her lap, a small smile on her composed face.

  “How can you be so sure?” Amanda asked.

  “Because I took the liberty of sending your brother-inlaw Gareth a message as soon as you told us what you had planned.”

  When her niece did not elaborate, Cleo lost patience and thumped her cane on the floor. “Spit it out, girlie! What did you tell him?”

  Faith smiled tolerantly. “Well, it’s perfectly obvious that if his lordship’s ability to handle a mere female is questioned, his business partners may also question his ability to select sound investments.”

  Cleo, Grace, and Amanda stared in openmouthed amazement.

  “It’s true,” Faith insisted. “Lord Caldwell’s business reputation is entirely based upon his uncanny ability to judge whether or not an investment will reap good returns. Among the wealthier members of the ton, he is viewed as having rather a golden touch, because he seldom makes a poor business decision.”

  Amanda shook her head in admiration. “How do you know all this?”

  Faith raised disdainful brows. “Because,” she said loftily, “there is a great deal more to a newspaper than the society section.” She turned her head to look out the window as the carriage came to a stop.

  Making a mental note to ask her husband more about Lord Trevor Caldwell, Amanda quickly got back to the subject at hand. “Does anyone have anything to add?”

  Faith remained silent. Grace shook her head, her face a taut mask of misery. The footman opened the door. She took a deep breath and prepared to step out of the carriage into a crowd of people who would immediately begin whispering about her.

  Aunt Cleo suddenly checked Grace’s exit with her cane. “It won’t work!”

  Amanda and Faith turned their heads sharply in her direction. “Why not?” Amanda asked.

  Aunt Cleo gestured at Grace, who remained grimly by the door, steeling herself to face the crowd. “Huntwick can agree to be his most charming, and young Gareth can spread all the rumors in the world,” she declared, “but it will all be for nothing if Grace walks in there looking like a sacrificial lamb.” She leaned toward Grace for emphasis. “I don’t care how you manage it, but you go in there with your head high, your spine straight, and you smile, missy. If you don’t, they’ll slaughter you within moments—” She broke off as the footman lowered the steps and held out a hand to help them alight.

  With a last, long look at her aunt, Grace raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and stepped down, followed immediately by Aunt Cleo, Faith, and Amanda. They had not walked ten feet before heads swiveled toward them and whispers began. With a fixed smile, Grace offered her arm to Aunt Cleo, who took it and leaned in with a last bit of advice before they entered the lion’s den. “Just remember this, my dear: if tonight goes badly for you, Huntwick will still have his title, his money, and entrée into the highest circles of society. You, however, will be dropped so fast your pretty little head will spin.” Cleo felt Grace’s spine stiffen beside her, and watched as the intimidated look in her eyes changed to one of angry resolve. Much better, Cleo thought with satisfaction as they entered the beautiful Upper Brook Street mansion. Huntwick would not know what hit him.

  They gave their wraps to one of the footmen stationed just inside the door, then ascended to the third-floor ballroom. Grace felt her stomach tighten again as they neared the top. The music spilling from the entranceway grew louder, along with the din of the more than six hundred invited guests. Just outside the entrance she took a deep breath in an effort to calm her rampaging nerves.

  Grace felt an encouraging squeeze on her hand. “Are you all right?” Amanda asked in a low voice, as Faith and Aunt Cleo entered the ballroom ahead of them.

  Grace nodded, determined to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She pasted a serene smile on her face, then stepped up to the entranceway with Amanda. The butler bellowed out their names, and they began their slow descent.

  Those nearest the entrance responded with blatant immediacy. Heads turned sharply toward the top of the staircase, then back toward their neighbors. The news that Grace Ackerly had arrived spread in an ever-widening arc of whispers. Grace fixed her eyes on a point just above the blurred sea of faces and continued her poised entrance into the room.

  Across the ballroom Jonathon Lloyd watched them enter. He nodded above the crowd at Gareth and Trevor. All three men headed through the throng toward the small group of women now gathered at the bottom of the stairs.

  Amanda greeted her husband with a kiss on the cheek and then turned to her friends. “You remember Miss Grace and Miss Faith Ackerly, my lord?” The girls curtsied to the earl, and again Grace wondered what had attracted Amanda to such a stern, serious-looking man. She always had a hard time envisioning Jonathon Lloyd as anything but staid and boring, yet Amanda’s adoration was obvious.

  Gareth and Trevor chose that moment to join the group upon which so much public attention had focused. Lord Lloyd performed all the necessary introductions. Grace executed a perfectly correct curtsy, as befitted Trevor’s rank, although her knees trembled and her mouth felt as dry as cotton. She almost collapsed in relief when she saw Trevor smile down at her in that lazy way of his. Then she looked into his eyes and her heart plummeted: they looked right through her, as cold and expressionless as shards of green glass.

  Trevor went through with the farcical reintroduction to Grace. He had thought himself immune enough to her to manage to get through this evening without feeling overly affected. His heart had clenched, however, when he saw her, a breat
htaking vision in blue gracefully descending the wide staircase. When Seth presented her to him, he even found himself smiling warmly down at her. Then, just when he had almost forgotten his animosity, Grace dropped into a perfect curtsy. The simple act reminded Trevor of the day he stood in Cleo Egerton’s parlor, trying to think of a circumstance in which Grace would willingly curtsy to him. He managed to keep the smile pinned to his face as she rose, although he knew the revulsion he felt at having to play this role was reflected in his eyes.

  Shaken by the undiluted disgust in Trevor’s gaze, Grace watched as he secured her aunt’s permission to dance with Faith, as had been prearranged by Gareth and Amanda. Cleo gave him a nod, and the couple glided off to the dance floor.

  The whispering immediately increased. Gareth, who had remained with the small group of people that included Grace, had a hard time keeping a straight face. “Right now,” he said to her, “six hundred people are busy declaring to anyone who can hear that you certainly never sent Hunt a message at White’s.”

  Grace looked dubious.

  “They now know,” he continued, “because I told them, that Faith is also a possible candidate, and that your aunt Cleo is most fond of tracking Hunt down and summoning him to advise her on financial matters at the drop of a hat. Since everyone knows how very abrupt your aunt is, and how very correct your sister is, I’d say that most of these people are about to come to the conclusion that they were quite wrong about you.”

  Just then two matrons standing across the room caught Grace’s eye, staring at her in blatant disapproval. When they realized she had noticed them, they coldly and pointedly turned their backs. Grace looked up at Gareth and inclined her head in their direction. She gave him a sad smile. “There are those, however, who will choose to believe the worst. Some people will always remain convinced of my guilt.”