“I never see you in the park. When do you ride?”
“Early. Sometimes it is only just light when we get there. I love to watch the dew pulled from the grass by the sun and the fog shrouding the trees. It makes the park seem enchanted as though it goes on forever.” She suddenly realized he was still holding her hand and she was babbling like an idiot.
He let go of her. “I think I have been missing a great deal.”
She sat down and he seated himself on the sofa beside her. It was a natural thing for any man to do who had just been greeting her. She should read nothing into it. Then he smiled at her in that way he had of seeming modest when he had no reason to be. She started disbelieving in her own mind all the worst things she had ever heard of him. And she realized that left her in a dangerous state open to his charms and with no tug of conscience to hold her back. It was like trying out a new mount knowing you should not gallop before you knew the horse better but not being able to keep yourself from the oneness that sprang from the sheer joy of finding a like-minded soul.
“Do you know who else is coming?” he asked with a glance toward Lady Charlton and the Fergusons.
“Probably Lady Rimer and her daughter Sally. Sir Felix Uttermeyer is usually on the list.” She was pleased when he scowled in response his right eyebrow arching higher than the other. “I suppose you would call us her literary list. That is why you are always invited because of your interest in the theater.”
“I would not have thought my interest above average.”
“But you are there every night. It’s not just having a box but actually attending every performance.”
“You are there every night as well.” He leaned back and swept an admiring gaze over her.
Suddenly her dress seemed not so ugly. Grace smiled.
Morewood returned the look. “You began to tell me why in the carriage and I think I interrupted you.”
“I believe William Marlowe is a genius.”
“A genius? High praise indeed for writing a few plays.”
“But I find myself so much in accord with his words as though they echo something I have been thinking. Each of his plays is perfect or nearly so. You started to tell me what he is like.” She waited but Morewood seemed taken aback. What a fool she was. If she had an interest in this man, why praise another to his face?
“He is just a man.”
“You still believe he would disappoint me?”
“On the stage, you have the polished elegance of his words, what he has toiled and labored over through the small hours of the night. In person, he would not play so well. In ordinary conversation his lips would not drop pearls of wisdom but he would sound like any other man.”
“I had not thought of that,” Grace said somewhat surprised at Morewood’s astuteness. But you are a man. Is it only other men who are oblivious?”
“I recognize my own limitations. At least I have the grace to admit it.”
She laughed and found herself bearing the brunt of all the gazes in the room. She should not be monopolizing Morewood even though she enjoyed his banter. “I assure you I would not have expected pearls to drop from his lips. I had only one or two questions, things I cannot ask…” Grace suddenly realized she was in danger of revealing her connection to Mr. Stone and her help at the theater. She paused in confusion, helpless to stop the blush that stole to her cheeks.
“Cannot ask whom?”
“Cannot ask anyone else.”
“What are your questions?”
“The new play, Two Hearts.” Is it a tragedy or a comedy?
He gave her a puzzled look. “It’s a love story.”
“I should have guessed that from the title. What does Stone think of it?”
“Sometimes I think Stone has no heart. All he ever thinks about is the money. He does not like the play.”
“It is a tragedy then, like Blackwell’s Revenge?”
“Isn’t love always a tragedy?”
She slumped. “I do not think you should let your personal life influence how you feel about literature.”
“But I do not. Has it not occurred to you that my experience of life has made me something of an expert on the subject of love?”
She stared into those intense blue eyes and shook her head sadly. “You may know intimately what love is not but I do not think you have experienced the real thing.”
“Perhaps not personally but I can create it in my mind. I would know it if I ever encountered it.”
“Lord Morewood, love is not some quarry to be pursued across the hunting field. It does not exist as an entity but must spark between two like-minded souls and only the eager passion of both can make it come right.”
He stared at her raptly. She thought he almost looked like he was committing her words to memory.
“Do you think so?” he asked his gaze moving to her lips after this impassioned speech.
“Yes, loving someone with all your heart when that love is not returned, that is not love but infatuation. I only hope Marlowe’s new characters truly do love one another.”
“Are you implying that the others did not?”
Grace sat back a little from his angry look and smiled to soften the comment. “I am not criticizing. But Blackwell’s Revenge, however noble a tragedy, would not have occurred if he had communicated a little more.”
“You would have had a happy ending?”
“Always. And even The Grass Widow could have been improved by the hero showing a little more trust in Joanna’s reformation.”
He looked puzzled. “I thought you said the plays were perfect, that you would not change a word.”
“I said nearly so, and I would very much like to suggest a happier ending for one of his future plays.”
Morewood nodded, as though he truly understood what she meant. “I believe Two Hearts will have a happy ending.”
Grace looked up at him as hopefully as though he had the power to make this happen. Perhaps if he had Marlowe’s ear he would suggest it.
“Yes, Stone insisted on a duel at the end and I convinced him the hero need not die to win Margaret’s love.”
“He let you have the script?”
“Of course. I mean, he let me read the play.”
She wondered why Morewood suddenly seemed so tongue-tied. “But will Marlowe agree with you?” Grace felt herself clutching her hands together.
“Yes, I will speak to Marlowe myself. When I tell him how much you wish it, I’m sure he will change the ending.”
“Wonderful. That means Stone really trusts your opinion. Perhaps Marlowe will as well. But what do you think?”
“I think it is better than the author’s first two and not as good as his next one.”
“Well said. At dinner we should toast Mr. Marlowe and his continued success. I hope he is a young man so that he can write many plays.”
He smiled at her and she felt her heart melting into her shoes.
“What is there about him that you like so well?” Morewood asked as though the answer did matter to him.
“I have been trying to analyze that myself. In spite of all the twists and turns of the plots, I think it is the honesty of the characters that I enjoy. Once they grow beyond trying to shield one another they speak quite frankly. What a treat to be able to discourse like that in real life.”
He stared at Lady Charlton. “Honesty is a rare quality in everyday life.”
“Perhaps only in our society where people say any number of things they do not mean just to cover what they cannot say.”
“If we were less polite we could not stand each other.”
She nodded. “Sometimes I feel like a moth that has stumbled into a spider web of gossip, built up over the days of the season. Who said what of whom? And there are all these poor victims tumbled and neglected because some spider lied about them.”
“And yet you have never fallen victim yourself.” He sent her a measuring look.
“That is because I see spiders for
what they are, predators.”
“But what do they gain from gossip?”
“Sometimes, if they hold someone back, they can push someone else forward, like a daughter.” She looked at Lady Charlton whispering to Lucy and nodding toward Lady Rimer and her daughter. “Sometimes there is no motive but to see someone helpless and tumbled in the web not knowing how they got there or how to get free.”
“And it always clings, doesn’t it, no matter if you do break away.” He flicked a speck of dust from his coat sleeve. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Because you have followed me so far into this extended metaphor without making a misstep.”
He laughed. “Merely trying to figure out if I am the spider or the fly.”
“Neither. You are the hero who rescues the moth.”
“I fear you miscast me, my dear.”
“Merely pointing out the part that instinct told you to play the other night. If you let yourself you would always play the hero.”
His face bore a puzzled expression, then he smiled as though he had caught her at something. “You are trying to change me, trying to make me better than I am.”
“Me? No, I am trying to understand you, just as I would anyone else I met for the first time.”
“So you study people too.”
She looked up at him perhaps surprised that he understood. “Some of them do not require much study. Once I realize what motivates them I can avoid offending them.”
“And that is how you stay out of the web, by courting the spiders and watching them very carefully.”
She smiled. “By not being any competition to them.”
He glanced at Lady Charlton now. “Then I think you have broken your own rules tonight. For even if I dance with both those insipid girls twice they will say you have monopolized me.”
“Up to this point in the evening I have shamelessly.”
“So who shall I dance with?”
“Not me,” Grace said with a laugh.
“You are already ensnared. You have ruined yourself in their eyes. Why not dance with me?”
“Because I am the moth who plays the pianoforte at these small entertainments. There will be no music if I dance.”
He sat back and laughed. “That is why she invites you and why you are not worried about being dropped by her.”
“Musicians cost something you know. Look, it is time to go in to dinner.”
Morewood took her arm and she felt the comfortable warmth of him through his sleeve. “If I danced with you,” he said smiling down at her, “there would be music even if there were no musicians.”
Grace stared at him in disbelief. He is arrogant. Still she could not suppress the happy blush that rose to her cheeks. Even if he didn’t mean it he knew how to turn a phrase or a head. But if he were not sincere what was his motive? He had no need of her fortune. Terrible that she suspected each compliment. She should accept them at face value and enjoy him. Just as Blackwell from the play should have believed Christine, she should believe Morewood.
Chapter Four
Brandon was seated so far away from Grace during dinner that he could not even trade glances with her. During her playing afterward, he danced all three sets. When he saw Grace massaging her hand he plopped down on a chair and proclaimed himself exhausted.
“I vote for something less strenuous, cards perhaps?” He could see the wheels turning in Lady Carlton’s head. She immediately called two footmen to rearrange the furniture and made up two card tables, pairing Brand and Lucy against the Fergusons and leaving Grace to pair her against Lady Rimer and Sally. This left Maria and two other ladies to fan themselves and gossip but Brand did not think they minded the exclusion.
The whole exercise represented a wasted two hours except that from where he sat he could watch the expressions of chagrin, acuteness and impatience march across Grace’s face. Whist is not a game for fools, which is what Lady Carlton was. Grace played like a demon but could not win because her partner seemed to deliberately prevent her from taking any tricks. Poor Grace.
When a late tea was served all the losers rose immediately to refresh themselves as the winners toted up their points. Lady Charlton was once again smiling on him with charity even though he and Lucy had lost to the old couple who told everyone their score with pride.
“How did your hand survive the evening?” he asked as he helped Grace to a cup of tea and a cake.
“Aching a little but it will be fine by tomorrow.”
“Sorry for the suggestion about playing cards. I thought it might be a relief for you from playing the pianoforte.”
“Less hard on my injury but more trying to my patience. Don’t worry. We won’t be playing here again.”
“Not by my suggestion.”
“Because of my agency. I shall insist the cards be counted before the next time she thinks to have us play.”
“Ah and one will be found to be missing?”
She handed him some pieces of pasteboard and he slipped them into his pocket.
“I see you are a woman of action.”
“Some solutions are simple.”
Brand took an incautious swallow of his tea and winced at the harshness. “Yes, by the time she discovers the loss of one card, it will be too late to borrow any from the neighbors.”
“Lest you think ill of me, this packet was borrowed.”
“Oh no. From you I apprehend.”
“So I had no qualms about destroying one. Oh good, the Fergusons are leaving. We need not be the first.” She caught Maria’s eye and placed her untouched tea on the side table.
“Must you all go so soon?” Lady Charlton asked.
“It’s after midnight,” Grace said to her hostess. “The young ladies are drooping with fatigue.”
Maria drew on her cape and handed Grace her pelisse. “It’s late. Tom Coachman will have fallen asleep again and forgotten to come for us.”
“May I escort you and Maria home?” Morewood asked. He took Grace’s pelisse and draped it over her shoulders.
“Now that would cause remark,” Grace said. “Besides, our carriage is probably waiting.”
“I will see that you get that far safely.” As the footman opened the door, Brand took them each by an arm and escorted them down the steps.
“How did you come, Lord Morewood?” Grace asked.
“I walked. They have no stable here and it’s no more than half a mile.” He hesitated, then cast her a wistful smile. “A bold woman would offer me a ride home.”
“I know. I was considering it,” Grace said gnawing her lip in a way that made him want to kiss it.
“Well?” demanded Maria.
Their carriage horses stamped in anticipation of the short drive and a late feeding. Grace said, “Lord Morewood, since you have no carriage waiting may we drop you at your house?”
“How very kind of you. That will save me being accosted by marauding footpads on the way home.”
Maria chuckled once they were in the carriage and under way. “Lady Charlton was looking daggers at you again, Grace.”
“Perhaps we won’t be invited back,” she said hopefully.
“I would not be so optimistic,” Brandon remarked. “Are her parties generally dull?”
“Yes, when you are not making a sensation. This one will be the talk of the town tomorrow.”
“What? Because of me?” he asked with his hand innocently laid on his chest.
“You have returned to polite society. Everyone will wonder why.”
He found himself entranced by her rich, mocking voice. “I wonder why myself.”
“Perhaps you were lonely,” Grace said.
“Perhaps.” He let his thigh touch hers as suggestively as he could with Maria sitting across from them. She did not jerk away but conveniently closed her eyes to the contact and he began to think of her as an ally.
“If only Marlowe would come out of hiding, it would be a fantastic opening for the play. Do you suppose h
e comes to watch his plays performed and we simply don’t know it? Stone says he never attends rehearsals.”
“No, I hear he is a recluse.” Brand was conscious of her expectant stare. “Takes care of his ailing mother.”
“Oh, perhaps I should call with some soup.”
“But no one knows where he lives,” Brandon argued.
“I would dearly love to meet him in person. You could arrange it.”
“Having once been subjected to ardent females, I doubt that Marlowe will agree.”
“But perhaps his views on women would change. Perhaps he would be less disillusioned if he came into society more.”
“Or more disillusioned,” Brand replied. “Considering the evening we have just spent.”
Grace leaned back against the seat. “I see your point.”
“Do you ride tomorrow in the park?”
“Yes, every morning it does not rain. It is the only way I can bear to start the day.”
“I am surprised you reside in London when the country might be more to your liking.” He looked at her profile in the passing and uncertain light of the torches in front of each house. Her mouth was pulled down in concentration.
“I am surprised myself. If I could not ride I would have to relocate to the country. There is Greenbrier, my brother’s place for the holidays and usually some invitations to other houses. Someday I will buy my own place in the country but not yet.”
Brand wanted to ask her what held her to London but they had only been acquainted for a day. She had opened her heart to him a little but that had been about the theater. This was something that touched closer to home with her. Somehow he did not think he yet had a right to invade her privacy to that degree.
“I have an estate in Warwickshire,” he volunteered. “It’s beautiful there but I hardly ever see it except during hunting season.”
“Why ever not? If I could come and go as I pleased in the country I would go there in an instant. As it stands I have more freedom in Town.”
“My sister lives there with her brood and we don’t exactly get on. Even my mother cannot stand her. That is one of the reasons I brought Mother up to Town with me.”
Two Hearts Page 4