“Is there any news of where he might be?”
“None, my lord.” The messenger shifted from one foot to the other and scanned the room over again.
“Who was he seen with at the ball?”
“Lord Barrow. Possibly some others. My source was not clear on that matter.”
Grace’s stomach dropped. Her father was speaking with Barrow last night. Barrow was back in the country.
In London.
Here.
Her teacup rattled against the saucer in her hands, so she placed them on the table before her. Aunt Dorothea looked at her inquisitively, so she tried to resume her calm, serene demeanor.
Uncle Laurence cleared his throat. “I need more information. Find out if he left with Barrow, and force your source to tell you who else the marquess may have spoken with at the ball. It’s imperative.” He passed some coins into the man’s hands, then closed the door. Her uncle moved back into the parlor and resumed his seat. “Well, we should know more soon.”
“Laurence, I…” Aunt Dorothea said, her usual garrulous constancy missing. “Should we not return to Somerton? Lord Chatham can come there to collect Gracie, if he wishes to keep a closer eye on her. There’s no reason we ought to be here now, waiting on the man to appear. If he can’t face us himself with his accusations, surely he realizes he has no footing with them.” She blanched, and her voice verged on desperation.
“I’m sorry dear. I know this is difficult for you. But we’ve traveled here, and so we’ll wait.” He squeezed her hand. “Give the man a chance. Perhaps he’s changed.”
Grace turned her head away so they wouldn’t see her reaction. She brushed away the single tear that fell from her eye. No, Father hadn’t changed. If he met last night with Barrow, Grace would soon be married. But not to Lord Alexander.
~ * ~
Alex was fit to be tied.
The entire morning had passed, and still Peter allowed the marquess to remain locked away in his chamber. Nothing could be solved without at least conversing with the man, so why hesitate?
His family sat around him in the dining room, preparing for luncheon. Derek and Sir Jonas had also joined the family, as they often did while in London, and Gil had even ventured out from the privacy of his chamber for some company. Gil sat next to Sir Jonas, and they were having a quiet discussion amongst themselves. Conversation sprinkled about the room, with delighted mirth emanating from his sisters as Sophie filled Char in on all the details from the ball the previous evening.
And Alex seethed. Heat rose from his head until it had to be visible to the rest of his family, with little trails of steam trailing upward to the ceiling.
“Lord Leith created quite the little bit of gossip last night when he danced three sets will Miss Faulkner,” Sophie gushed to Char, whose eyes widened to saucers. “She swears to me that he’s practically a brother to her and there’s nothing there, so there’s no reason for anyone to talk. But I’m not so sure…”
“She’s already well on the shelf, so I don’t know why anyone would gossip about her anyway,” Charlotte said. “She’s far longer in the tooth than you.”
“Charlotte,” Mama warned with narrowed eyes.
“It’s true,” Charlotte muttered.
Sophie raised a brow. “Miss Faulkner and Lord Leith dancing three sets in a night is no more scandalous than it would be for me and Lord Sinclaire to dance three sets in a night.”
Derek hastily looked away from her, feigning interest in a gilded rococo plasterwork design on the far wall.
“Does that mean this has happened?” Alex growled. Derek may well be his closest friend, but he wouldn’t stand for such behavior with his sister.
“It doesn’t matter one whit if it has,” Sophie replied and kicked Alex beneath the table.
He grabbed her hand and squeezed, glaring.
“Let her go,” Peter said. “Don’t take your anger out on your sister. For that matter, it’s high time you quit your brood.”
“Quit my brood,” Alex ground out. “I’ll quit brooding when there’s good reason to quit. Not before.”
Derek stifled a laugh, but then quickly sobered.
“And what do you find so funny?” Alex’s belligerence threatened to explode. “Maybe you should leave.”
“Alex!” Sophie said. “Lord Sinclaire is practically family. You ought not to treat him so.”
“Why not? You just kicked me beneath the table. And apparently he’s been dragging your reputation through the mud while I’ve been away. I haven’t laid a hand on the insolent bastard, although if he does not remove the grin from his face in the next moment or two I’ll see to it he has no reason to smile.”
Mama raised her hand for peace. “Children, if you do not start behaving as the adults you seem to believe you are, I’ll send you all to the nursery and let Mrs. Pratt deal with the lot of you.” She turned to their guests. “I apologize. It seems my offspring have forgotten their manners.”
As the footmen entered to serve luncheon, Chatham came through the opposite door. “I apologize for my tardy arrival, Your Grace.” He executed a miniscule bow first to Mama and then to Peter.
Peter stood to greet him. “There’s no need for an apology. Please, join us.” He indicated a chair between Derek and the dowager. Silence prevailed as Chatham joined the table. The sibling squabbles disappeared as though forgotten.
A twitch formed behind Alex’s eye. He filled his plate and tried to eat, but his appetite had fled. He should wait to speak with Chatham. It would be an improper conversation to have with his entire family present. And if negotiations turned south, he didn’t want Mama or his sisters to hear the foul language which might spew from his lips. They deserved his respect.
He didn’t heed his own advice. “Lord Chatham,” he said, “I understand why you rejected my suit toward your daughter yesterday, but would you not agree circumstances have changed in my favor?”
He could kick himself.
He needn’t bother. Sophie took care of that for him. He winced in pain. She hit the exact same spot as earlier. He leveled another glare at her across the table, and her eyes issued a threat of more violence.
Chatham chewed and swallowed, then took a drink before speaking. “How so? You are aren’t suddenly titled. You have no property. How are you more suitable today?”
“I referred to the situation with Lord Barrow more than to my own position. Surely a connection to the Hardwicke family, to the Duke of Somerton, would prove desirable. Besides, any further association with Barrow would only open you up to investigation as well.”
“Bah. I’ll find some other man for her. She’s a prize, you know. Nonetheless—” He stopped himself and looked around for a moment. “I apologize, there are ladies present. I assume you know to what I refer and I don’t need to speak the words out loud.” He took another bite of his pheasant and didn’t bother to swallow before he continued. “There’s no reason for me to entertain your pursuit.”
Gil tried to speak but coughed instead. Once the fit subsided, he said, “Lord Chatham, you might wish to reconsider.” He paused to catch his breath. “Lord Alexander will not be without property for much longer. He’ll inherit my estate in Somerton upon my death.” Another bout of coughing overtook him. He held a handkerchief to his mouth, which came away bloody when the coughs ceased. “As you can see, that won’t be too far in the future. One of your complaints against Lord Alexander is now baseless.”
Chatham passed Alex a squinty-eyed look. “He has no title. And he won’t also inherit a title in addition to your property when you pass, will he?” The marquess laughed at his crude joke, but soon sobered.
Alex’s heart sunk to his toes. He had been sure Chatham would acquiesce after the situation last night. But he hadn’t given the man enough credit for cruelty. He turned away in dejection and wished he could leave the room. Why had he ever brought the subject up in front of his family and friends? This was his problem, not theirs.
P
eter interrupted his thoughts. “Lord Chatham, I would ask you to reconsider your decision.” His voice was soft, controlled. Cold.
Alex’s head jerked around. He couldn’t sit idly by, yet again, and allow his eldest brother to rush in and save the day. Peter spoke over him before he could say as much.
“Under the current circumstances, wouldn’t it be wise to align yourself with a family the Regent respects and trusts? Suspicion of treason is not a matter to take lightly.” Peter stroked his chin with his right hand. “He hasn’t brought you in for questioning yet, but that could change. Your character is already in question based on your prior associations with Barrow and your desire for a connection with him. Otherwise, the Regent would not have requested that I keep an eye on you.” He leaned forward and stared straight into Chatham’s eyes. “A marriage between your daughter and my brother might actually save you.”
Chatham slammed his glass against the table, sloshing the liquid over the sides and onto the pristine cloth. “But he has no title!”
Alex shoved his chair away from the table. “So a title means more than your reputation? Your freedom?” He paced through the room. “More than Grace’s reputation or happiness?”
“And you think you can make my daughter happy, is that it? You think you know better than I do what is best for her?”
“Yes, I do. You’ve ignored her for far too long.”
“I have done the best I could for her.” His chin quivered. “When the scandal broke out, I ordered her to stay put in her chamber, so she wouldn’t have to face society in her shame. But then her aunt and uncle came along and stole her right out from under my nose, stole her from my house!”
“If the Kensingtons took her from you as you claim,” Peter interjected, his voice steely, “then why did you not make such an accusation last night before the gentlemen from Bow Street? I asked them about it when I met with them yesterday afternoon. They have received no such report. It would have been a perfect opportunity to level your charge. Of course, one would think such a charge ought to have been reported long ago.”
“Why, well…er, they were occupied with dealing with the traitor!”
“And you have not reported it before now because…?”
“Because I had hoped to bribe them to return her through a ransom from Barrow, if you must know. He was going to pay for her return, since she carried his child. Now I have no idea how I’ll convince them to return her without bringing in the authorities. I had hoped to keep it all quiet, so they would not suffer more than necessary.”
Alex burned to rip the bastard’s head from his shoulders. “They never kidnapped her, and you know it. And she has been far better off in their care than she would ever be with you, or with Barrow.”
“Better with the Kensingtons, has she been? Then how, pray tell, did you get your greedy paws on her? What sort of chaperones have they been for her? But what more could I expect from the whore, than she would throw herself at the first young buck who caught her eye?”
Alex flew across the room and grabbed Chatham by the throat, pulling him up from his seat. “You will not call Grace a whore in my presence.” His words were controlled, even if his actions were not. “And you will apologize immediately to my mother and sisters for using such foul language in their presence.”
Chatham gasped for air, and his face turned a dangerous shade of blue.
He wanted to break the man’s neck. He wanted to hear the bones snap beneath his hands.
Derek placed a hand on Alex’s arm and gave a firm tug. “Let him go. He can’t apologize if you refuse to let him breathe. Let go.”
He loosened his grip and backed away. The marquess placed his own hands where Alex’s had just been and rubbed while he tried to catch his breath, falling to the floor in his efforts to do so.
Alex looked around the room at his family and friends and winced at the expressions he saw: shock, sadness, a touch of fear. And pity.
He couldn’t handle the pity.
Alex took one more look at Chatham where he was crumpled on the floor, still rubbing against his neck. Then he left.
He needed air.
He needed to cool off and look at the situation with fresh eyes.
He needed to get foxed. No…
He needed Grace.
Chapter Twenty-One
As Grace and her aunt and uncle finished their tea, the messenger once again knocked at the door to Uncle Laurence’s townhouse on Curzon Street. He guided the man inside, and nausea swept over Grace when she recognized him. Her trembling had to be visible. Had he found Father?
“What else have you discovered?” Uncle Laurence asked. “Have you found Chatham?”
“I’ve not found Lord Chatham yet, no sir. But I can tell you more of his dealings last night.” The messenger looked eager to continue, but waited for a signal from Uncle Laurence. “You see, he was not only seen with the Earl of Barrow at the ball, but he also spoke with the Duke of Somerton.”
Grace felt faint. The Duke of Somerton? But he was Lord Alexander’s brother. Why would Father have spoken with him? And was the earl involved too?
“Some say he left with the duke, but others weren’t so certain.” He pulled out a paper and passed it to her uncle. “There’s His Grace’s address. He may be able to give you more information.”
“Excellent. You’ve done good work today.” Uncle Laurence passed the messenger a fistful of coins. “If you discover anything else, let me know immediately.”
He closed the door behind the messenger and turned to Grace and Aunt Dorothea. “Well I suppose we should pay a visit to the Duke of Somerton then. It’s not yet too late for a social call, and I’ve not seen the man in far too long. It has been years since he resided at Somerton Court.”
“But Uncle,” Grace said, then faltered. What had she intended to say? She scrounged for something to say. Anything at all, really. “Wouldn’t it be better if you paid the call to His Grace by yourself? Aunt Dorothea and I can stay here. Surely someone ought to wait for more news from your messenger, or possibly for Father to arrive here looking for me.” They looked astounded by her scrambling. “And won’t His Grace be put out by having so many visitors arrive without an invitation? Surely only one of us would be better.”
Her reasoning was paltry even in her own estimation, but she wanted desperately to avoid the duke. He was bound to remind her of Lord Alexander. Something she would far prefer to avoid.
Or even worse, Lord Alexander could be there with his brother. She hadn’t seen him since he left Bath, and all indications pointed to his having returned to London with Lord Rotheby. She missed him more than she ever imagined possible. But seeing him again would only give her hope when truly, she had none. Her future had been decided.
And the possibility of seeing both Lord Alexander and her father together—Grace would prefer not to even think of that.
“Now why would you think it better to call on Lord Somerton without us, Gracie?” asked her aunt. “What fustian nonsense. No, we shall all visit the duke together. I daresay he would ask after us if we weren’t there. Certainly he’s aware you’ve been staying with us. After all, he is Lord Alexander’s brother you know, and we’ve been friendly with his family for quite some time.”
Yes, Grace knew.
“And it is a perfectly acceptable hour for all of us to pay a social call. He won’t be put out at all. Really, your father has done you a great disservice by keeping you so sheltered all this time. One might think you had no understanding of society whatsoever.”
As usual, there could be no arguing with Aunt Dorothea. Grace resigned herself to something she would far prefer to avoid. She didn’t dare feign optimism at the task, and feared her dread of the impending meeting showed on her face.
The combination of longing and trepidation grew as she secured her bonnet. She must be daft to experience so many emotions—conflicting emotions, at that—all over a simple visit, a mere social call.
They boarded Uncle
Laurence’s carriage. A visit to the Duke of Somerton would wait for no one, after all.
For the entire journey there, Grace could not bring herself to look at either her aunt or uncle. She dreaded walking in to the Hardwicke family home and seeing a room full of people who all looked like Lord Alexander. Had he not once told her they were all uncommonly tall, and all bore some shade of ginger in their hair? And there were so many of them.
Really, if she must meet the man’s family, would it not be better to do it an individual at a time? But why must she meet them at all, since she had refused his pursuit? This was all highly bothersome.
As the carriage rounded the corner, a home far grander and more regal than her father’s London home came into view. Number three, Grosvenor Square stood tall and proud. White Grecian columns stood as sentinels next around Palladian porticos and tall, arched windows. The gardens were precise rows of color situated against the backdrop of soft grey stone and brick. This home would rival even the most elaborate country homes such as she’d seen in Somerton and Bath in elegance, if not in size.
She felt thoroughly insignificant next to it—much as she was doomed to feel in the presence of its inhabitants.
His Grace must be quite an imposing figure, indeed, to own such a lavish residence in Town. Images of ton balls held here, like the one she had attended last Season, flashed through her mind, filled with all the glittering extravagance her imagination could muster. Such an event held here would be immaculate, perfect—everything in its place, no detail missed, nothing forgotten. It would be exquisite.
She admonished herself for daydreaming of things she would never see. A ball at Hardwicke House? With her presence? Grace pushed the thought as far aside as she could manage.
As they pulled to a stop before the structure, a tall man dashed out. Was it him? Could it be Lord Alexander? Tingles of pleasure and trepidation coursed through her body and the air around her felt alive. But before she could determine his identity, he was gone.
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