Home For The Holidays

by Sherry Ewing

  Both women fell into a duet of chuckles.

  Grace took the quill and ran the feather across her cheek. Nicholas watched the repeated motion, wishing his fingers could replace the writing instrument. The room suddenly felt as though it contained a raging inferno. At last she set it down upon the writing desk. A small groan escaped him. Since the room had been eerily silent, the sound carried about the library as if a horn were blaring for all to hear the call to hunt.

  A startled gasp escaped Grace, her hand perched at her throat. Her head swiveled about the room until they landed upon him tucked away in the corner. Her eyes widened with recognition. In an instant, she rose so rapidly that her chair almost overturned, and Cedrica reached out to steady it before it crashed to the floor.

  Courtesy demanded he rise to join them now he had been discovered thanks to his own stupidity. Nicholas had no excuse for his rudeness, not that she would make mention of it. He began to cross the distance between them, the book all but forgotten in his effort to remain nonchalant. His heart hammered in his chest the closer he came to her, and he was unsure if he was pleasantly surprised or outraged that a woman he barely knew was causing such a reaction. A flicker of his deceased wife flashed inside his mind just before he bowed before the ladies.

  “M-My lord,” Grace stammered.

  There it was… that small hesitation in her voice that he remembered so fondly from their previous conversations.

  “Lady de Courtenay,” he murmured before raising his brow to the other woman. “I do not believe I have had the pleasure, Lady…”

  “Where are my manners?” Grace asked with a sudden air of confidence showing brightly across her face as though she had just realized, and was pleased, there was another person present. “Cedrica, may I present Lord Nicholas Lacey? Miss Grenford is the companion of the Duchess of Haverford, Lord Nicholas.”

  “Miss Grenford,” Nicholas acknowledged with a short bow and a click of his heels.

  “Lord Nicholas,” Cedrica replied, watching them over the rim of her spectacles.

  Silence. It was deafening to Nicholas’ ears as he frantically searched the recesses of his brain for some form of polite conversation. He was surely out of practice since it had been more years than he could remember that he had actually shown any interest in another woman besides his wife. How difficult could this be?

  “When did─”

  “How have─”

  They spoke at the same time. Of course they did, and Nicholas watched the smallest of smiles touch Grace’s face. A chip of ice melted in the smallest recesses of his heart.

  Cedrica continued to glance between them. “If you do not mind, Lady de Courtenay, I will just continue to work on the seating for tomorrow’s dinner.” She did not wait for a reply but took a seat at the desk, placed the quill in hand, and bent her head to become absorbed in her work.

  Nicholas motioned to a sitting area near the hearth, and Grace made her way in that direction to politely sit upon the edge of one of the chairs. Folding her hands upon her lap, she waited while he, too, took a seat opposite to her.

  “You arrived this morning,” she stated matter-of-factly.

  “How did you know?”

  She laughed, merrily, pointing in the direction of Cedrica. “The guest list of course, my lord. I receive reports on the guests on the quarter-hour if I wish it.”

  He was an imbecile. “And naturally you are one of the ladies who, along with my niece Elinor, are planning all the festivities to keep an entire entourage and village occupied for well over a fortnight, are you not?”

  “I am afraid my poor attempts are hardly in the same league as some of the others who are far more knowledgeable about planning these sorts of engagements. I am trying my best to do my part and help wherever I am able,” she replied shyly.

  “I have no doubt you are doing a splendid job, my lady.”

  “You are too kind, Lord Nicholas. I am generally someone who prefers my own company to being seen in a crowd,” she professed.

  “And yet you blended in just famously that… night.” He well remembered the enchantress who had captured his attention.

  “I am afraid that one occasion was more of a ruse than my true nature,” Grace admitted. “The mask gave me a fair amount of freedom at least for one night.”

  “I still recollect our meeting quite fondly.”

  “You do?” Surprise etched itself across her face, making her appear even more beautiful than he remembered. She really had no idea how refreshingly different she was from the other women of his past acquaintance. Perhaps that was because she was older than most of the other simpering young ladies looking out for a husband to catch.

  “Yes. I do indeed, my lady.”

  Her brow creased. She bit her lip before raising her eyes to his. “I, too, have thought of that night often, although I know it is wrong I do so.” She blushed in embarrassment.

  Silence—again. Nicholas cleared his throat. “Will you meet me later in order that we might have a private word together?” The words rushed out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  “We are alone now. I am certain you could tell me whatever you wished to say now just as you could later.”

  “We are not completely alone,” he replied with a nod toward the lady busy at the desk.

  Her breath caught in her throat, and he watched in fascination as she moistened her lips. “I do not think that is wise,” she answered with a quick glance toward Miss Grenford to ensure they were not being overheard.

  “I meant no offense, Lady de Courtenay. I only wished to privately convey my apologies for my horrendous behavior when we─”

  “I assure you, sir, that is hardly necessary,” she interrupted, looking about the room.

  “I must disagree,” Nicholas insisted.

  “I would like to forget the matter entirely,” Grace interjected smoothly as though she had already rehearsed this conversation inside her head many times before. Her confession only reaffirmed his thoughts but moments before. She wished the matter between them to remain but a memory. He swore under his breath, for he knew she was just as attracted to him as he was to her.

  “Why?”

  Why indeed. Why was he pushing her to reveal something she did not wish to discuss?

  A snort, or some other unladylike noise, escaped her. “Why?” She then proceeded to lean forward to continue in a frantic whisper. “You speak of an incident that would bring shame upon myself and my family if even a hint of my actions that night were to hit the gossipmongers of Society. Scandal in any form does not sit well within my family, especially when I have a younger sister who has yet to make a suitable match.”

  “You were among many who attended the masquerade and one woman among such a surge of people would hardly be recognizable,” he retorted.

  “Yet you had no problem identifying me at the book shop,” she fumed with her reply.

  “I had an advantage that others at the celebration did not have,” he replied smugly.

  “You did not,” she retorted.

  “It was your voice,” Nicholas stated with a knowing roguish grin.

  “M-my voice?”

  His smile widened. “Your tone is most unforgettable, at least to my ears.”

  “My word…” she said in a breathy rush. “How could you─”

  Nicholas reached across the empty space between them and took her hand. It trembled beneath his as he brazenly kissed her knuckles. “Your chin is also most memorable and hardly something you could conceal with your mask that night.”

  “Sir, please refrain from─”

  “Shall we discuss your unforgettable mouth, Grace?” he whispered, knowing he dared much using her given name without her permission.

  “I sh-should th-think not!” she stammered.

  How charming was her stutter?

  “Such a sweet kiss has been kept at the forefront of my mind since we last saw one another,” he confessed in earnest. “Not a day has gone by that
I have not thought on renewing our acquaintance.”

  “Lord Nicholas…” She pulled upon her hand, and he had no choice but to release her, much to his dismay.

  “Call me Nicholas,” he urged.

  “I cannot, and neither should you call me by my given name.” She gave him a chastening look that declared more than any words she could have spoken. Clearly he had overstepped the boundaries of propriety yet again.

  The door opening at the far end of the room cut off any further conversations between them.

  “There you are, my dear,” a man’s voice declared while he made his way into the room.

  They stood as one. Nicholas watched with narrow eyes when the young gentleman, whom he was certain any woman would consider pleasing to the eye, came up to Grace, put his arm around her shoulder, and proceeded to lean down to kiss her cheek. A flicker of memory raced across Nicholas’s mind when he recognized the gentleman as the one who ushered Grace from the masquerade.

  Grace looked upon Nicholas, clearly embarrassed. “Lord Nicholas Lacey, may I present Adrian, Lord de Courtenay. Lord de Courtenay is my─”

  Nicholas could barely stay in the room to hear the last of her admission while he watched the pair who were so familiar with each other. How could he have been so mistaken or assumed so much? “A pleasure, Lord de Courtenay. I am sorry to occupy so much of your lady’s time. If you will both excuse me, I must see to my daughter and nieces.”

  He hardly recognized their reply in his haste to rush from the room with his pride still intact. A veneer of ice formed around Nicholas’ heart yet again. Now he knew why the lady wanted nothing to do with him. Grace, Lady de Courtenay was not a widow. She was married!

  Chapter 8

  Grace set down her wine and placed her napkin next to her plate. The dining room was full of conversations, and the house party was in full swing. The majority of the guests had arrived at Hollystone Hall and were enjoying a buffet supper. She was still unsure where the last few days had gone, but at least she had been kept so busy she had no spare time to muse inside her head about her last conversation with Lord Nicholas. His abrupt departure from the library had been odd, and since then, he avoided her at all costs as though she were afflicted with some dreadful disease.

  Her casual gaze swept the room and its occupants, but she knew where he was seated. She always knew whenever he was in the same room with her, whether by chance or if she attempted to seek him out. Something about that man pulled to her like some invisible link. Grace could be having a conversation with someone, and she would instantly become aware he had walked into a room before she even saw him. Those little tingling sensations alarmed her no end when they rushed from the pit of her belly to burst forth throughout her entire body like a beacon to announce his arrival.

  Her attempts to find out what had changed between them had become most important to her. She had relived their conversation a thousand times, and yet she could not seem to find an answer to why he had left when Adrian had interrupted a conversation that had pleasantly surprised her. Although she had reservations that they should continue their association, there had still been a small part of her elated he continued to think of their kiss together.

  She raised her hand to her lips as if she could still feel his mouth pressed to her own. Her gaze fell upon Nicholas as their eyes met again. Yet it was the silent menacing glare he tossed her that all but shouted a clear message from across the room. Stay away from me. In an instant, he portrayed the look of bored disinterest and broke their connection by returning his attention to a lady sitting to his left.

  A vague whisper of memory suddenly popped into her head from the library. Nicholas had said your lady. He could not possibly think that Adrian and she were married, could he? She supposed since Nicholas had not allowed her to finish the introduction that the situation could be misconstrued. It would explain so much.

  A sudden plan to speak with him invaded her thoughts. It would be daring, but she would not allow the man to continue to stay mad at her when she had done nothing to warrant his animosity.

  “I could have him if I so wished it,” Miranda stated with a smug look plastered on her face.

  To be honest, Grace had no idea what, or rather whom, her sister was talking about since she had not been listening. “You shall have to pardon me, Miranda. You were saying?”

  Her sister gave a weary sigh. “Honestly, Grace, do you have your head in the clouds? I just spent the last five minutes discussing our wager.”

  A short laugh escaped Grace’s lips that caught Nicholas’ attention. “Are you ready to turn over that lovely bonnet?” she hinted with a sly glance at her sister, knowing Miranda would never let the matter go so easily.

  “Ha! That will hardly be likely, Gracie.” She grinned as if she had already won their bet. “Since you obviously heard not a word I said, I was discussing the topic of who shall be the lucky gentleman I will get to propose to me by the time the charity ball rolls around to ring in the New Year.”

  “That is less than two weeks away. Do you not think that is overly confident? Just who is this unknown gentleman you think to bend to your will?” Grace reached for her wine glass and took a sip.

  Miranda’s brow rose at the insinuation that she would fail in her quest. “I thought I would choose the Duchess of Haverford’s son, Lord Aldridge. He would do nicely as the gentleman to help me win our wager.”

  Grace almost choked on her wine. “Surely you are joking. Why, you have not even met the man.”

  “But meet him I shall, and when I do, I shall have him down on one knee proposing. Not that I would actually go through with it, mind you. I want to be in love with the man I wed.”

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, my darling sister, but I have heard from Her Grace’s companion, Miss Grenford, that her son does not plan to arrive until Christmas Eve.”

  A worried frown marred her sister’s features. “Oh? Well, no matter, that still gives me plenty of time.”

  “I can already see how pretty that bonnet will look perched upon my head,” Grace taunted. “Maybe we should double our wager since you seem so very sure you shall have won our bet by the charity ball.”

  Miranda raised her hand to her chin. “I am listening.”

  “How about my new blue redingote against… say… that divine fur muff Adrian just purchased for you?” Grace took another sip.

  “That is not fair. My muff is barely out of the box! I had planned to show it off the day we walked to Christmas services.”

  “Well, if you are afraid to lose the muff, our original wager can still stand. I will still be the victor whether or not you care to sweeten the bet.”

  “I did not say I would not accept this newest proposition,” Miranda declared in a huff. “Very well. You have yourself a wager.”

  Grace laughed. “Then we have a deal. The muff will complement the bonnet I will win from you just famously.”

  “I wonder how it would feel to actually be married to the Marquis of Aldridge?” Miranda murmured with a far-off look.

  Grace set her glass down. “The Marquis of Aldridge is out of your league, Miranda. His reputation as the Merry Marquis is known throughout society. Surely even you have heard of him.” Her hushed tone held a warning that even her sister could not ignore, but ignore it she did, the little fool.

  “Every man must sow his wild oats before he settles down to wed.”

  Grace sighed and leaned forward to whisper in her sister’s ear to drive her point home. “Miranda, dear, please do not fool yourself into thinking that the marquis will fall for your ploy. You do not wish to be on the receiving end of his attention, for it will only leave you terribly disappointed, if you are that lucky. My word, the things I’ve heard about his exploits I dare not repeat here amongst mixed company.”

  “I can handle him,” Miranda declared, giving Grace a push and putting some distance between them.

  “No one, and I repeat, no one handles Aldridge. Better to set y
our sights on someone else.”

  Miranda waved her hand as though she had already made her decision despite Grace’s advice. “You have no say on who I may choose, but be prepared to lose our bet. I shall be bringing him to one knee by the charity ball.” Her pert little nose lifted a notch.

  “You are so innocent in many ways, Miranda, and are giving me a headache. All jesting aside about our silly wager, I do not want to see my sister hurt or despoiled. Do not let it be said that I did not warn you.” Grace excused herself. She would need to speak to Adrian, so he could keep an eye on Miranda. Heaven forbid the little fool was found in a compromising position with the Merry Marquis. He would never marry Miranda under any circumstances, if becoming wed was even a remote thought in the man’s head.

  Grace made her way to her room, the headache a reality by the time she reached the third floor. Elsie was just laying out her nightrail and turning down the bed, although it was still too early to retire.

  Her maid bobbed a curtsey. “My lady, I did not expect you at this hour.” She proceeded to turn up the wick on the bedside lantern.

  “I have an errand for you, Elsie, which requires your discretion.”

  “Of course, Lady de Courtenay.”

  “Please find out which room belongs to Lord Nicholas Lacey and when he retires for the evening. I have something of his that I need to return to him.”

  “I can take care of such matters for you, my lady. No need for you to bother yourself,” Elsie offered in concern.

  “No. I am afraid this is something I must do myself.”

  Elsie left, and Grace went to the trunk at the foot of the bed. Going through the stack of clothes, she reached the bottom and pulled forth Nicholas’ jacket, which she had brought to return to him. There was barely a hint left of the cologne he had been wearing that meaningful night of their first meeting. She brought the garment to her nose and inhaled while lovely memories swirled around in the recesses of her mind.