by Jo Beverley
“Yes, I think you are right.” Why did they have to come this Season? If only…
No, she was glad she’d met David. He’d made her feel so many new things. And she was certainly glad Aunt Kate had met Mr. Wilton again. Had they worked out their differences? She wished she could have stayed to find out, but surely Aunt Kate would write. Well, she’d come to the wedding…
Grace bit her lip hard. The next time she saw Aunt Kate, she’d be preparing to walk down the aisle at the village church to marry John.
She felt like a noose had dropped over her head.
“Even though you didn’t know about the Wiltons,” Papa was saying, “Katherine certainly did. I’m shocked she didn’t tell you to avoid them. It was to save her from Dawson’s uncle that I married her off to Oxbury, you know. The woman must be dicked in the nob if she thought I’d countenance any sort of contact between you and a Wilton.”
“But, Papa, I don’t understand.” Grace studied her father. He looked smaller than she remembered. Older. Had he changed so much in the short time she’d been gone—or had she changed? “Why do you dislike the Wiltons so intensely? Surely it is not merely because Lady Harriet preferred Lord Dawson’s father to you? That happened so long ago.”
Papa scowled at her. “I do not choose to speak of it. It is enough for you to know that I do dislike them.”
Grace should have felt anger, but she had no room for any emotion besides the deep, leaden sadness of leaving David. Still she was not going to let her father hide in silence.
“No, Papa, it is not enough. Your hatred of the Wiltons ruled Aunt Kate’s life and now it is ruling mine. You owe us—you owe me—an explanation.”
Papa frowned and dropped his gaze to study his hands. He said nothing for so long Grace gave up hope he would respond. She swallowed her annoyance and turned her attention back to the scenery.
“I was young and in love,” Papa said finally. He spoke so quietly, Grace hardly heard him over the creaking of the carriage.
“Yes. You were young—it was over thirty years ago.”
“Some things aren’t changed by time, Grace.”
Some things—like her feelings for David? Would they never fade? They must. She couldn’t live forever with this heavy black cloud shrouding her heart.
“I understand that, Papa, but this was hardly more than a brief dream, wasn’t it? You only knew Lady Harriet for part of one Season. A few dances, a handful of conversations. You didn’t know her at all.”
Just as she hardly knew David.
And Aunt Kate had hardly known Mr. Wilton, yet their love had endured.
Papa spread his hands. He looked almost helpless. “I loved her.”
“You were infatuated. You were only…what? Twenty-five?”
“Your age.”
“Yes, but now you are fifty-six.” She wouldn’t still pine for David when she was so old, would she? She pushed down the panic that threatened to overwhelm her. She would get over her feelings. She would marry John, have children. She would remember David fondly, without rancor.
“It doesn’t matter,” Papa said. “It doesn’t matter how old I am. It’s like it happened yesterday.”
Oh, God. Grace squeezed her eyes shut. No. She rested her head against the squabs, turning slightly so he wouldn’t see her tears.
She would not think of David, she would not—but memories of him were all that filled her heart: his eyes crinkling when he was amused; the warm, deep sound of his voice; the touch of his lips. But even more than those things, she remembered his concern for his uncle, his willingness to put his past hurt aside to bring some peace to his grandmother, the way he’d held his tongue when she had so needed him to do so in Lord Motton’s entryway.
He understood her as no one had before.
“Lady Harriet was everything I wasn’t.” Papa spoke quietly again, almost as if he were talking to himself. Grace turned her head to watch him. He was looking out the window, a slight smile curving his lips.
“She was lively and inventive. Quick and bright. Everything sparkled when she was present. She was like a star, fallen to earth—and I was a lump of coal.” He sighed and shook his head.
“Wilton was much the same. It was clear why they were attracted to each other—like to like. But they were too much alike. Wordham—Harriet’s father—thought Harriet needed steadying; Wilton was too flighty. Wordham wanted Harriet to marry me.” Papa at last looked over at Grace. His eyes were full of pain. “But Harriet wanted Wilton.”
He leaned toward her, his voice growing more forceful. “If Wilton hadn’t convinced Harriet to run away with him, she would have married me. She’d be alive today.”
Grace leaned forward, too. “You don’t know that, Papa. Lady Harriet died in childbirth. If you had wed her, she might have died with your child…as Mama did.”
Papa looked startled, as if that thought had never occurred to him.
Grace reached out to touch his knee. “Didn’t you love Mama at all?”
He cleared his throat. He looked flustered. “Your mother was a fine woman. Very pleasant. We rubbed along tolerably well.”
Grace sat back. “But you didn’t love her.”
“I was fond of her.”
“But you didn’t love her.”
Papa hunched a shoulder. “Love causes no end of pain and turmoil. Affection—or respect—is a better sentiment for marriage. Compatibility, such as you have with Parker-Roth, will get you through the years.”
Until death do they part. The words popped into Grace’s mind unbidden. She had always thought they were sad; now they sounded like a goal. After year upon year of polite, boring matrimony, finally a release.
“I do wish you would visit Standen, Lord Dawson. Talk to Grace.”
“I can’t see how that would help, Lady Oxbury.” David had been on his way to take his leave of his grandmother and had interrupted Alex and Lady Oxbury in the green parlor. Fortunately they’d been exchanging only a kiss—a rather heated kiss, true, but at least all their clothing was still properly fastened.
“I just cannot believe she is consenting to marry her neighbor. There must be some misunderstanding.”
“Believe me, Lady Oxbury, there was no misunderstanding.” And Grace had been correct. They had known each other only a very short time. They were just caught up in lust; the feeling would wear off in a month or two.
“Still, it would be worth a trip to see her, David,” Alex said. “Likely she spoke in haste and almost immediately regretted her words.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s it.” Lady Oxbury smiled up at Alex as though he’d just said something brilliant. “Grace can be somewhat impetuous at times. With her father surprising her like that, showing up on Lord Motton’s doorstep with no warning, who knows what odd thoughts were going through her head?”
“You should go, David. What can you lose? If Lady Grace is adamant, at least you’ll know beyond a shadow of a doubt that she does not wish to wed you. But if you discover she regrets her decision or that it was all a misunderstanding, then you’ve won years of happiness.” Alex grinned down at Lady Oxbury in a completely besotted way.
David closed his eyes briefly to keep from rolling them. Why did he have to be subjected to such a large dose of April and May today of all days? Not that he wasn’t happy for Alex and Lady Oxbury. He was. He just didn’t care to feel that happiness right now. He had too much misery to occupy him.
“Yes, well, I’ll think about it.”
“You’d best not think long, Lord Dawson. My brother can be very determined when he has a mind to be.”
Alex nodded. “It would be hell to arrive just moments after the vows were said to discover Lady Grace had been pining for you and had wed the neighbor in despair.”
“Yes, of course. I promise to give it serious thought. At the moment, however, I am in search of Lady Wordham. I wish to bid her farewell; I’m off for London today.”
“London?” Alex frowned. “It should be Devo
n.”
“Yes, well, I have some business to attend to in Town that cannot wait.”
“I think you’re making a mistake, David, but if you insist on doing so, I’ll ride with you. I’m leaving shortly myself.”
Now that he made note of it, he saw Alex was dressed for travel. If he went with him, he’d be badgered every step of the way to alter his course for Devon and Lady Grace.
“You go ahead, Alex. I don’t want to delay you. I’m not certain how long I’ll be with Lady Wordham.”
Lady Oxbury smiled. “It is so wonderful you’ve reconciled with your grandmother, Lord Dawson.”
“You should call me David, Lady Oxbury, since we are shortly to be related. And yes, it is wonderful. I can thank your niece for pushing me toward that reconciliation.” No matter how much pain he was in because of Grace now, he couldn’t forget she had helped him see the futility of clinging to old hurts.
And clinging to new hurts? Should he put aside the pain of his last interview with Grace and ride for Devon?
Ridiculous! He did not care to ask for her rejection again. He was not a complete fool.
“You don’t happen to know where I might find Lady Wordham, do you?” The sooner he spoke to his grandmother, the sooner he could leave this benighted house party.
“I think she’s in the rose garden, David.” Lady Oxbury smiled. “And, please, you must call me Kate.”
“Not Aunt Kate?”
She laughed. “I think Kate will be sufficient.”
“Very well, Kate. Thank you, I will go look in the rose garden and leave you two to resume the activity you were engaged in when I arrived—though I would suggest you close the door this time.”
Lady Oxbury—Kate—flushed. Alex laughed.
“Good idea,” he said. “You may close it behind you when you leave.”
David smiled as he pulled the door shut. At least one Wilton had benefited from this infernal Season.
Lady Wordham was sitting on a bench in the rose garden, her face turned up to the sun.
“Careful, Grandmother. You’ll ruin your lovely pale complexion.”
Lady Wordham laughed and patted a spot on the bench next to her. “Come sit, David. I promise to be good and put up my parasol, even though the mid-afternoon sun feels wonderful on my old bones.”
David sat and smiled at his grandmother. “Is that why you are sitting out here by yourself—to enjoy the warmth of the sun?”
She reached over and patted his hand. “That and to have some quiet in which to think.” She leaned closer. “Do be careful of those Addison girls. One or the other of them means to trap you into marriage.”
He laughed. “I think the only thing that has kept me safe so far is the fact they both wish to compromise me. They keep foiling each other’s plots.”
“Well, I must tell you, I don’t care for either of them.” Lady Wordham looked away to examine a rose. “Lady Grace, now…she seems like a very nice girl.”
David repressed a sigh. First Alex and Kate, now his grandmother. Was everyone at this gathering—aside from the Addison twins, of course—trying to match him with Grace? “Lady Grace left, Grandmother, did you not hear? Her father came and took her back to Standen.”
“I did hear, of course. When are you leaving?”
“Now. I only tarried to say good-bye to you.”
Lady Wordham grinned. “Don’t waste time sitting with an old woman, boy. Go on.” She patted his hand again. “Go after the gal. I want another great-grandbaby before I die.”
He coughed, hoping to dislodge the sudden lump in his throat. “I’m leaving for London, Grandmother. Lady Grace made it clear before she left that she wasn’t interested in my suit.”
His grandmother’s mouth hung open for a moment. Then she snapped it shut, sat back, and frowned. “Balderdash. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous in my life. The girl is obviously madly in love with you.”
He shrugged. What was he to respond?
Lady Wordham leaned forward and tapped him on the knee. “No. No, you must be wrong. I’ve observed you both. By my age, one has learned a thing or two. I know she feels something for you.”
He tried to laugh. “Annoyance, perhaps.”
“Don’t be an idiot. The girl loves you. Go after her. Find out what the problem is. You can’t let silly pride stand in the way of happiness.”
He was not going to argue. He leaned over to kiss her weathered cheek. “I’ll see you in London.”
She grabbed his hand and looked intently into his eyes. “David, I know the pain of letting pride keep me from someone I love.” She laid her hand along his jaw. “Don’t be a fool like me, grandson. Go to her.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“It is. Well, it may not be easy, but it is simple. Just go.”
He stood and tried to smile. “I will think about it.”
“But will you do it or will you be pigheaded like your grandfather and deny yourself this love?”
There wasn’t an answer that would satisfy them both, so he just bowed and left.
He was waiting for his horse to be brought round when Miss Smyth found him in the entryway.
“Not you, too?” He bit his lip, but the words had already been said.
“Et tu, Brute?”
He scowled at Miss Smyth’s parrot. “I didn’t know Theo had studied the classics.”
“He has a very eclectic collection of phrases; he’s rather like a magpie that way, hoarding odd bits of things. Well, he’s very like my Uncle Theo, of course. That’s where he learned it all.” She looked at his greatcoat, then glanced at the door. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes. I’ve said good-bye to Lord Motton and thanked him for his hospitality; I thank you, as well, of course, for acting as his hostess and organizing…everything.”
He suspected Miss Smyth had organized a few too many things. Frankly, he’d been hoping he could sneak away without attracting her attention. He was sure what she would say, and he was rather tired of being urged to go to Devon. Couldn’t people comprehend that Grace’s father had given him the cut direct and that Grace herself had indicated her wishes concerning him very clearly, so clearly even a dunce such as he could understand?
Miss Smyth was frowning. “You should go to Devon, you know.”
“Miss Smyth, you do understand Lord Standen would probably have me shot on sight?”
The woman snorted. “I’m sure that’s illegal. You’re a peer.”
“And Lady Grace informed me in no uncertain terms she has absolutely no interest in furthering our acquaintance.”
“Oh, she didn’t mean that.”
He was sorely tempted to tear his hair out by its roots. “She is marrying her neighbor.”
Miss Smyth waggled her finger at him. “Only if you don’t get on your horse and ride posthaste to the rescue.”
“She doesn’t wish to be rescued.”
“There is no need to shout, my lord.”
“Sorry.” He took a sustaining breath. “The fact of the matter is Lady Grace is content with her situation.”
“And if you believe that, you are a bigger dunderhead than I thought.”
“Dunderhead! Numskull! Blockhead!” Theo apparently was full of synonyms for idiot.
He was not going to shout at a parrot, so he contented himself with a glare. Theo fluffed his feathers and glared back at him.
A footman stepped inside. “My lord, your horse is ready.”
He nodded at the man, keeping himself from falling on him in gratitude only by an extreme exercise of will. “Ah, yes. Well, I must be going. Thank you again, Miss Smyth, for your hospitality.”
“It won’t have done any good if you let Lady Grace marry her neighbor. Go to Devon for God’s sake, man! Show some backbone.”
Arguing with Miss Smyth—and her parrot—was clearly futile. Retreat was his best course of action.
David nodded politely and fled.
Chapter 20
“Papa
, I cannot marry Mr. Parker-Roth.”
Papa looked up from The Morning Post, a forkful of poached eggs suspended halfway between his plate and his mouth.
“Ridiculous.” He completed the fork’s trip, chewed his eggs, and washed them down with a mouthful of coffee. “Of course, you’ll marry Parker-Roth.”
“No. I cannot.” Grace pushed her plate of cold toast away from the edge of the table. She couldn’t eat; her stomach was in far too much turmoil to even consider ingesting anything. “I thought I could when I left Lord Motton’s estate. I thought I could when we rode over to the Priory yesterday to see John. I even thought I might be able to go through with the wedding after I took a turn about the garden with him and listened to him drone—I mean discuss all his infernal—that is, interesting plantings.”
Grace paused. She was breathing so quickly she was making herself dizzy.
“But I can’t. I just cannot do it.”
“Nonsense. You are merely experiencing maidenly nerves. Once the wedding and the bedding are behind you, you will be fine.”
Her stomach lurched, threatening to disgorge its limited contents onto the breakfast table. She pressed her hand firmly to her mouth and breathed steadily through her nose. She moved her fingers far enough away from her lips to allow a response.
“No.”
“No what?” Papa had gone back to his paper as if the subject were closed.
“No, I will not be fine.” There. Her stomach had subsided to a slow churn. She lowered her hand and focused on her father. “I have thought about this all night, Papa. I hardly got a wink of sleep. And I have come to the firm conclusion I cannot marry John. It would not be fair to him.”
Papa waved a hand in her direction and turned to a new page in the newspaper. “Don’t worry about that. I’m sure Parker-Roth doesn’t care.”
“I cannot imagine John doesn’t care that I’m in love with another man.”
“You’ll get over that.”
Could she be hearing Papa correctly? A man who had harbored a grudge against an entire family for over thirty years because the woman he’d loved had rejected him, the man who had told her as recently as a few days ago that he still loved that woman—this man was telling her she would get over being parted from her own love?