by Amy Quinton
“That is all I expect to have to say on this subject. You are quite dismissed, and in the interest of peace, I do not care to see your person again ere I leave.”
* * * *
Grace raced up the stairs completely unmindful of the other guests. She watched her steps to avoid any missteps, as was her habit, and had just reached the landing when she decided she would chance a look over her shoulder to see if Lord Middlebury or Uncle George were following. She ran into a solid wall at the top of the stairs.
Strong arms reached out to stop her from tumbling back down the way she had come.
Am I destined to be manhandled all day long?
With her hands up and pressed against the warm barrier in front of her, she looked up to see Dansbury grinning down at her. She was relieved it was him and not someone undesirable like His Grace. The wretched liar. Dansbury, by contrast, was the quintessential gentleman. He was also nice, funny, and witty. Why couldn’t he make her feel the way the duke did?
“Lord Dansbury. Thank you. I was not paying attention and…” She stopped talking when she heard his low chuckle.
He had a lovely smile. There seemed to be an overabundance of handsome men about the place this week. If she had been looking for a husband, she might have had several candidates from which to choose. This one was friendly, and therefore, she felt completely safe in his presence. And since she was decidedly not looking for a duke—er, husband—she was pleased to see him.
“Miss Radclyffe, I am quite certain I asked you to call me Dansbury yesterday, and I believe you agreed.” He paused briefly, “And I’m glad we ran into each other…”
She rolled her eyes at his attempt at humor.
“I am devastated we aren’t going to be able to have our planned ride in the morning. I was looking forward to it.”
She smiled at his pretended devastation; his grin, however, showed he was being playful.
“Yes, it is unfortunate, but I guess these things happen. His Grace certainly couldn’t have expected he would have to depart his engagement party early for an emergency summons to his home.”
Dansbury raised one brow. “Of course.”
He had a rueful grin on his face then, and she wondered what he was thinking. Before she could foolishly inquire, they arrived at her door in time to meet Bessie on her way out.
“Grace, I’ve heard the news and was wondering if you would be back soon. We’ve much to pack, but don’t you worry, I have everything in hand, and am just off to retrieve a few things below stairs,” reported Bessie upon her surprise at seeing them as she was leaving.
* * * *
Dansbury smiled at Bessie. Clearly, she was a friendly sort and he was suddenly glad Grace had Bessie in her life. He had noticed the cruel way in which Lady Swindon and Lady Beatryce treated Grace. Their rude comments were so perfectly subtle that most others never recognized the insults behind them. Ambrose certainly hadn’t noticed, which perplexed him. Ambrose was clever. How could he not see the true nature of the woman he planned to marry? Perhaps he simply didn’t ‘see’ Beatryce at all? Or didn’t want to?
Dansbury genuinely liked Grace. She was beautiful, witty, and nice. His thoughts left him uneasy. Ambrose was his best friend and seemed to have some sort of…well, something…for Grace. She seemed to get under his skin at any rate. If so, he would never…Well, only time would tell.
“Grace, I must be off to pack my things. Thank you for walking me nearly to my room. Perhaps I may call on you in London?”
She laughed. Then bit her lip in consternation. It was an unconsciously sensual act. Dansbury kept a tight a rein on his thoughts, refusing to be distracted by the sight. And he was attuned to her posture, her tone of voice. His senses sharpened. She was preparing to lie.
“I’m afraid that’s impossible, my lord, for you see, I’ve received a letter from a close friend who is sick…in the country…and rather than go to London I’m off to…Yorkshire instead…Indefinitely, I’m afraid.”
Right.
He grabbed her hand and pulled her completely into her room. Once inside, he shut the door with a decisive click.
He looked at Grace consideringly for a moment before he smiled, bussed her cheek, and said, “Grace, my darling, don’t ever change, but, really, you make a terrible liar. Now, out with it, and the truth this time, if you please.”
Chapter 11
Near Stonebridge, West Sussex…
Two Days Later…
Stonebridge raced his horse, Abacus, the remaining ten miles to Stonebridge Park, seat of the Dukes of Stonebridge for the last four hundred years. The brisk wind made his eyes water as he sped across the acres of open field surrounding his home. The run had him breathing hard; the cool air burned his lungs as he inhaled, but it was a pleasant blaze—as if he were clearing out built-up congestion from being cramped in an enclosed carriage for too many hours. The exercise was invigorating, and he felt clearheaded for the first time in a week.
At the top of a small rise, he reined in his mount to catch his breath and take in the view of the house and immediate gardens spread out before him in the shallow valley below. The glass from the upper stories of the eastward facing façade sparkled in the early morning sun, though he was too far away to make out the leaded lines in the glass of some of the lower floors. The stone near the roof began to glow orange as the dawning light slowly crept down its side. The slate roof was a motley of color and still glistened from the early morning dew fall. Having spent the best years of his youth here, it truly was a heart-warming sight to behold. This view of the house and grounds, from the rear as he approached from across his land, was quite different from the view of a guest or rider approaching via the main drive. There, the tree canopy was thick and the inner courtyard before the house appeared suddenly, cozy and inviting, yet hiding the true depth and scale of the house. He had always loved that aspect of Stonebridge Park—it made visitors feel welcome because they weren’t overwhelmed by the size of the estate all at once. Not that he had many opportunities to entertain as he kept his life here separate from London society. No, the guests he invited here were more along the line of friends, local villagers, and tenants to his estate. In his view, it was vastly more important for them to feel welcomed than any high-strung dandy or marriage-minded mama from Town—most of who would prefer the house to stand out in all its glory so as to impress the unimpressible.
As he continued to take in the view, he forced his breathing to slow by taking deep breaths through his nose—the cold air bit at his insides but felt crisp, not unlike the sensation one gets after smelling eucalyptus.
“Well, Abacus…It’s good to be home, eh, old man?”
His horse whinnied and bobbed his head as if concurring with the sentiment. If only people could be so enthusiastically honest. He patted his mount’s neck. “We’d best not dally, my friend. We have a lot to accomplish and a short amount of time.”
After one final survey of the view before him, he picked his way home. He smiled serenely as a sense of peace and calm came over him; then he smiled more deliberately as he realized how little, comparatively, he’d thought about her since he’d left Beckett House. Obviously, he had made the right decision by leaving the house party early. Here he could think clearly upon his course of action without unwanted distraction and temptation influencing his thoughts. Oh, sure, Swindon was in a decided huff over his precipitous departure, but he had no doubt he’d be able to smooth things over with the man upon his return to Town.
He guided Abacus directly to the circular front drive. Normally, he would have taken the horse directly to the stables and rubbed him down himself, but time was of the essence, and his staff was fully capable of seeing to the horse’s needs. So, after a quick nose rub of apology to his steed, he handed off the reins to a waiting footman and bounded up the stairs to the open door and his butler awaiting from within.
“Your Grace, may I offer felicitations on your recent engagement?” prompted his butler, Boneswaith
e.
“Actually, Boneswaithe, you may not, my good man. For in truth, I am not yet betrothed as anticipated, but I thank you for being aware of and remembering the reason for my recent visit to Beckett House.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Grace.”
“Oh, it’s nothing to worry over, Boneswaithe, for it will happen soon enough to be sure. It was only that I was called away unexpectedly before I could accomplish the deed, is all, but again, I thank you for your concern.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Welcome home, then. I have taken the liberty of having a bath prepared. Everything should be ready anon.”
He laughed. “My good man, you amaze me with your wealth of knowledge and your understanding of my needs before even I am aware of them myself. I am only surprised you didn’t know of my engagement status before even I became aware that it wouldn’t happen this week as planned…”
And if the butler was aware his master behaved cheerfully out of character, he did not acknowledge it.
* * * *
“Remind me…oomph…again why I…oomph…agreed to accompany you on this ill…oomph…advised journey?” queried Grace as she, Dansbury’s Aunt Harriett and Dansbury himself were violently jostled about as their carriage rolled over a particularly rough patch of road in West Sussex.
Dansbury laughed—between similar grunts of discomfort—at Grace and her feigned indignation over their possibly ill-advised trip to Stonebridge Park. Aunt Harriett, who was tucked into a corner sleeping soundly, continued to snore, blissfully unaware of the appalling state of the back country road.
He decided Grace’s question was rhetorical, and since he was still unsure as to the advisability of the trip himself, kept silent. Besides, he was preoccupied thinking about the chaos he was stirring up.
First, there was the murderous harangue sure to be heard from Ambrose when he discovered his unexpected guests—particularly Grace. Then, there was Grace’s ire when she found out he had deliberately misled her as to their intended destination. She thought they were travelling to Aunt Harriett’s house in Bath, not Stonebridge Park.
Auntie wasn’t aware of their true destination either, but she could be counted on to find the whole thing a great lark and watch eagerly for events to unfold. Still, he was glad that Stonebridge Park was near enough to Bath so as not to alert her to his scheme in advance of their arrival, though he strongly suspected his aunt was not fooled anyway. She was quite clever that way. In fact, he was positive he hadn’t deceived her in the least, but for once, she was going along with him and not attempting to stir up trouble the likes of which she was quite capable—and often inclined. In any event, Harriett would be quite content to stay a few unforeseen days at the Park as long as she had her coffee—and perhaps a drop or two of whisky. For her pains, mind.
Then there were the possible repercussions from Grace’s uncle, Swindon, for Dansbury had taken it upon himself to send a note to the earl informing him that Grace would be accompanying Aunt Harriett to London for the season, which would be the case if all went according to plan…eventually. It was sure to tweak the earl’s nose at any rate. He had yet to broach that subject with Grace at all. He hadn’t even hinted about it. But did she really have a choice? She was riding in his carriage, which was definitely headed to London after their visit to the Park.
Again, Harriett wasn’t a concern, for she was sure to be overjoyed at the prospect of sponsoring Grace in London for the season. In fact, though she didn’t yet know it, she'd conveyed as much to the earl in her own note, reinforcing Dansbury’s decision to bring Grace to London. Had he mentioned he was a good forger?
As such, everything would be cleared up and perfectly respectable. Eventually.
Back at Beckett House, after hearing a full report of her uncle’s tirade and knowing the suggestive (yet questionable) evidence against his character—not to mention knowing Ambrose well enough to know he would never have said the things her uncle implied—Cliff had decided it might be detrimental to Grace’s well-being should she remain behind at Beckett House. He had no real evidence to which he could point as justification for his actions, only his gut—which had never led him astray…when it mattered. Thus, his plan to bring Grace and Aunt Harriett with him to Stonebridge Park had been hastily conceived.
He had been cautious with his words so that he purposely led Grace to draw her own conclusions about their intended destination without outright lying to her. Further, he had been vague in response to her numerous questions and had relied primarily on her trust in him to persuade her to make the journey. It hadn’t been easy. She wasn’t inclined to trust him so effortlessly, clever girl—they hadn’t known each other but a few days after all—but in the end, he had been more persuasive than she was wary (one of the many reasons he excelled at his line of work). Besides, her maid, Bessie, liked him and Grace had been willing to forgo her own reservations on account of her faith in her maid’s ability to accurately judge a person’s measure. Thank God. And Aunt Harriett was a perfectly suitable chaperone making the entire trip respectable.
Obviously, he had given neither Grace nor his aunt the real reasons behind his hasty decision—nor had he imparted any information regarding his mission and the role he and Ambrose played for the Home Office.
That was three days ago. Now he was late for his meeting with the team at the Park, but they were almost there. It was a matter of minutes.
Time to pay the piper, as they say…
* * * *
Grace was relieved when the coach made a turn onto an obviously better maintained stretch of road. The road here was shaded by dense trees with a heavy canopy overhead. It was lovely to behold. She could easily imagine she was headed to a secret place and found herself daydreaming about who might be so fortunate as to live here. From what she could tell, they were on the property of this mysterious friend of Dansbury’s, whose name, for some reason, he would not divulge, for the purposes of staying a night there before resuming their journey to Bath. She suspected Cliff was being evasive with his answers. In truth, she was sure Dansbury was being deliberately elusive, and she even wondered if he wasn’t taking her to the duke’s estate on the sly, but maybe that was merely wishful thinking. Besides, there was no help for it now. She had made her decision to leave with him and there was no point dwelling on the wisdom of her choice when it was too late to do anything about it.
For three days, they had travelled the countryside and in some respects her last morning at Beckett House seemed further away than so little time might suggest. She tried to come to terms with the way she and the duke had parted company. But ever since she learned he had not proposed to Beatryce, her heart seemed to beat much faster than normal. She was fidgety and restless and couldn’t understand why. Stonebridge had made it perfectly clear they had no future, and upon further reflection, it was obvious that becoming a duchess, or, more likely his mistress, would be disastrous. Not that she would seriously consider becoming either.
Then why am I so edgy and excited?
That man, Stonebridge, was a cold fish and a—a nincompoop. Yes, a cold nincompoop. She nodded her head in satisfaction at her ability to recognize that behind the handsome exterior, he was nothing to be admired. He was moody, cold, authoritative, hot, passionate…
She should just face it, when he wasn’t cold, authoritative, and moody, he was…he was splendid. He made her insides quiver, and when she was with him…well, he was marvelous. Sometimes.
Then there was her uncle’s explosive tirade followed by Dansbury’s surprising suggestion (and her astonishing agreement) that she disregard her uncle’s orders and venture forth with him, Dansbury, to Bath.
So who was this adventurous and reckless person? She felt outside herself. She wasn’t worried about word getting back to her uncle. The servants at Beckett House were loyal to her and desired her happiness. Her uncle would never know she wasn’t sitting quietly at Beckett House awaiting the family’s return—whenever that might be.
&
nbsp; Her musings were interrupted by a change in the scenery as the coach pulled out of the tree canopy and into the quaint little courtyard in front of a welcoming Tudor-styled country home. The front façade and entry was framed by towering trees and shrubs, replete with a flowering garden and myriad pathways darting off from the main courtyard, which encircled a small but impressive two-tiered fountain. The house did not seem imposing or overtly massive, but she suspected there was more here than met the eye judging by the length and careful maintenance of the main drive.
The coach had barely pulled to a stop before Dansbury leaped from the carriage with a sudden burst of energy. For the past few minutes, he had seemed tense, yet calm and thoughtful. Not his usual, easygoing, charming self.
He scanned the door and front windows before barking out a “Wait here.” Then purposefully, with long-legged strides, he made his way to the front door.
How curious!
Dansbury had just put his foot on the first step leading up to the entry, when the door opened, but it was no butler waiting to see him inside.
“It’s about bloody time you arrived. What the hell took you so long?”
Stonebridge, dressed casually sans cravat, waistcoat, and jacket, barked out his question but followed it with a quick smile and a slap on Dansbury’s back, welcoming. That is, until he spotted her.
From across the small courtyard, she could see his demeanor change from friendly and relaxed to forced and stiff. Dansbury didn’t even turn around. The liar.
The duke whispered something brief in the deceiver’s ear before jogging down the steps with a confidence she envied. Dansbury just walked inside, leaving her to the mercy of the duke.
She warily watched his approach. To say she was surprised to see him would be an understatement, but she hid her shock and faced him with a confidence she didn’t feel. Hopefully he would not cause a scene in front of Lady Harriett.