by Wendy Vella
CHAPTER TWO
The guests numbered many, and the wedding breakfast was situated in a large banquet room with two rows of tables groaning with the weight of the food being feasted on and wine being copiously consumed. Grace picked at the delicacies in front of her; she had no appetite and in fact was feeling light-headed. Her gown was heavy and the air hot and stifling. She longed to escape to her room, wherever that may be, and remove it, then tear off the corset and inhale deeply.
She'd entered the huge townhouse behind her husband with her knees shaking, looking around at the grandeur that was to be her home. There was no clutter or mess, nor did she see a great deal of color or warmth. Grand, curved staircases swept upward from the left and right, starting at the black and white tiled floor that was polished to such a shine, that Grace could see her pale face in each square. A huge chandelier dropped from the ceiling and she wondered which poor servant had the task of trying to clean that.
“Would you care for a sweetbread, my Lady?”
“No, thank you.” Grace swallowed the nausea that rose in throat as the servant spoke.
Why had he done this? Why host this big wedding breakfast with all these people when the marriage had been forced upon him? She may not have spent a lot of time in society, but Grace understood it's rules, and that a lavish ceremony was often what happened at the weddings of noblemen. Yet this was different, neither of them wished for the union. Therefore, surely it would have suited the circumstances to be married quietly and be done with it. After all, it was not a cause for celebration for either of them.
“Is there a problem with the food, Grace?”
“No,” She shook her head as the earl questioned her in that cold, clear tone. “It is wonderful, thank you, my Lord.”
“And yet you’ve eaten nothing,” he added.
“I am not hungry,” she said, wanting to snap at him to leave her alone. My appetite has vanished due to the fear of what is to become of me, she added silently. Grace was not comfortable with the unknown; she liked to have her life mapped out to ensure there were no surprises. It seemed that was about to change.
"If we are to make the best of this situation perhaps you should make more of an effort, Lady Attwood. After all, it was not of my making."
"And as I have explained, Lord Attwood," Grace said through her teeth, "I did not desire this union any more than you, and unlike you I cannot simply smile and offer pleasantries when my life is now filled with uncertainties."
He looked at her for several long drawn-out seconds, and Grace thought that perhaps he was not used to people speaking to him as she had.
“Very well,” was his only reply before turning away from her once more.
Grace doubted she would see much of him anyway. After all, what did they have in common? And hadn’t Ruth said that important men like the earl had little time for anything that was not important? Grace was definitely not important.
A terrible thought slipped into her head. Would he send her away to the country somewhere, so he did not have to see her? Would she see Harry or Ruth again? He could do that to her, Grace knew. The power was all his now and she had no say in her future.
“Is there a problem, Grace?” He was looking at her again, his face cool and emotionless. “You made a sound.”
“I-I… Will you send me away?” Grace knew it was not the place for this discussion, but suddenly it was vitally important to her. “I know that when the season finishes I will leave, but will you send me away soon? Will I ever return to London?”
The calm look on his face slipped away at her words, and then he blinked and was composed once more.
“I don’t believe that now is the time to discuss that, Grace. Perhaps we shall do so in the morning.”
Not a yes, nor was it a no, but now that the thought had crawled into Grace’s head, she knew it would simmer away in there until she had an answer. Yet, she could not push for one here in front of all these people, so she said nothing further.
In the large room lined with impressive paintings and mirrors, she felt his eyes brush over her occasionally while she sat in silence over the next hour. No one spoke with her. Even Harry and Ruth were seated somewhere she could not find them. People approached the table, and then left after a few words with the earl, but never her. He never mentioned her or drew her into the conversation, and she thought that rude, which in turn made her angry and that helped her cope. Women glared at her when she looked around the tables, sending furious hate-filled looks her way, which she tried to return with an implacable gaze until finally the guests started to take their leave.
Grace's head was pounding, and she was sure she would cast up what little food she’d eaten if she did not remove her corset with some expediency, as her breathing was growing weaker by the second. Standing as the nausea took an ominous roll around her belly, she left the table without speaking to the earl. She found Harry and forced a smile on her face as she bid both he and Ruth farewell.
"I will call upon you tomorrow, Harry, and please remember to take your tonic tonight so you sleep easily," she added.
"You'll call upon me tomorrow?" The look of relief in her cousin's eyes told Grace she had said the right thing.
"Of course. I told you that my marrying the earl only changes where I sleep at night, nothing further."
"There, you see, Harry?" Ruth said taking his arm. "All will be right once again."
She didn't cry as she watched them walk away from her, the only two people in this large world who belonged to her. Grace felt very small and alone at that moment.
Finding a set of stairs that would hopefully take her toward the location of her room, she started walking up them.
The house was huge, and as grand upstairs as it was below, however there was a great deal more color, she was relieved to note. Walls were painted in soft colors and bordered in gilt edging. Paintings hung in gold frames, and ornaments sat on shelves and in cabinets. Thick Rugs that ran the entire length of the hall muffled her footsteps as she walked..
Where was one of the many servants that had walked in and out of the dining room she had just left? She was now desperate to reach her room, as her head was pounding furiously.
She opened and closed doors on the second floor, looking for a room that might belong to her. Her head was beginning to feel odd, and she had a nasty feeling this was what happened before you fainted. Grace had never done that before, and when she did, she wanted privacy.
“May I be of assistance to you, Lady Attwood?”
The woman who approached was not dressed in maids’ clothing, but a fancy gown of pale pink silk. Her blonde hair was elaborately pinned to her head and dotted with small matching blossoms. She was everything Grace was not, and undoubtedly one of those women who had usually ignored her on one of the few occasions she had frequented society.
“I-I…” Grace didn’t want this woman to know that she had no idea where her room was, because she was sure that if she told her, this news would be gossip fodder for many by night fall.
“I am Miss Whitlow, the earl’s cousin.”
“Pleased to meet you.” Grace gritted her teeth and managed a passable curtsey without moving her head too much.
“You are unwell?” The woman drew closer until she had Grace’s hand in hers. “Let me help you.”
“I-I fear that for the first time in my life, I am about to faint,” Grace whispered.
“Come, let me take you to your rooms then.”
Miss Whitlow placed an arm around Grace’s waist and helped her along the hall. The door she opened led into a huge room that Grace was sure would make her mouth drop open if she were not struggling to stay upright.
“Come now, the bed is through that door.”
“Dear lord, I'm certain this room is bigger than the house I grew up in,” Grace whispered, which made Miss Whitlow laugh.
“Will you allow me to remove your gown, or shall I call for your maid?”
“If you would rele
ase the buttons, I can manage the rest.”
Grace was beyond caring that a woman she had become acquainted with just a few minutes ago was about to see her undergarments; she just wanted to take a deep breath.
“Goodness, this corset is tight,” Miss Whitlow said as she worked on the knots, after she and Grace had removed the dress. “It’s a wonder you didn’t pass out some time ago.”
“I’m a determined sort, and the thought of London society having more to gossip about on my behalf kept me upright.”
“Yes, well I can imagine that would keep anyone going.”
The corset suddenly loosened and Grace took a deep breath before she pushed it from her body and slumped onto the bed.
“Oh, the blessed relief,” she sighed, now in just her shift. The itching had stopped and she could fill her lungs with air. “I can never thank you enough, Miss Whitlow, and apologize for my behavior.”
“Apologize?” The woman wrinkled her nose. “What have you to apologize for?”
“For what I did to your cousin, when I’m sure, like the rest of society, you felt he should not be marrying a woman such as I, but one more like…” Grace searched for a suitable description and her eyes fell on Miss Whitlow. "You," she added. "Also for causing you the inconvenience of having to coming to my aid."
The woman tilted her head to one side and studied Grace briefly.
“Did you expect me to walk past you?”
“Yes.” Grace could still hear the accusations that had been flung at her head the night she had tripped on the table leg and landed on the earl’s large solid body. Scandalous behavior for a young lady, to have thrown herself at a man so far above her. The earl should walk away from her; it’s no more than she deserves, the hussy.
“You’re shivering, my Lady.” Miss Whitlow took Grace’s hand and urged her to her feet, and then pulling the covers back helped her beneath them. “You stay here and I shall call for your maid and some tea to warm you.”
“Grace,” she said, huddling under the covers. “My name is Grace.”
“That’s a lovely name,” Lady Whitlow said, pulling the covers up to Grace’s chin. “And you shall call me Beth.”
“Sh-should I?” Grace asked.
“Yes, and now I shall leave you to sleep and soon you will be back to rights, and then we shall get to know each other better.”
“We will?” Grace knew she sounded foolish but she was surprised the woman would want to get to know her better.
“Yes, we will.”
She watched Miss Whitlow leave the room then and sighed as the door closed softly. Grace let her eyes wander slowly around the room. It was big; at least three times the size of her room at Harry's house. The sitting room they had passed through had been big as well. Closing her eyes as sleep pulled at her, Grace thought that a few minutes of rest would help her to cope with what came next in her life… whatever that may be.
CHAPTER THREE
Nicholas sat in his study with his boots on one corner of his desk while his three friends rested theirs on various other pieces of furniture. His wife had disappeared when he wasn't looking and not returned, and he hoped she had found her way to her rooms.
His wife.
Dear lord, he was married, and to a mousy spinster with terrible taste in clothing. He'd been surprised when she'd spoken so directly to him today, telling him she had not wished to be his countess, because he'd believed her a shy bookish type. Of course her protestations were simply a lie… weren't they? Nick kept seeing the utter devastation on the faces of Grace and her cousin Lord Harrington when he'd refused to yield to their request that he not marry her. It had all been a ploy, of course. It was not possible that they were actually telling the truth.
“I know she does not deserve my sympathies, but I felt sorry for your new wife today, Nick. She looked lost and lonely at the church, especially when the guests all surged forward to speak to you, but said not one word to her,” Marcus, Viscount Needly, said. "I still find it hard believe she is of such a calculating nature."
"What is done is done, Marcus; we must move on from here." Nick thought again about that night when his life had changed… and not for the better.
He'd wanted a few minutes peace, some time alone away from the pressures of the ballroom. He was sick of woman fawning all over him and men with little or no common sense. He had heard Miss Grace Esselte enter the room, and risen to see who it was, and at that moment she'd tripped, and the rest was history.
"Well, she definitely caught a husband well above anything she would have achieved without trickery." This was from Leo, Marquis of Vereton, who was seated before the fire with feet balanced one on top of the other, as he stared morosely into the depths. "Whey-faced little creature that she is."
"She's my wife, Leo, have a care how you speak about her," Nick said softly. He may not want to be married to Grace, but she was now under his protection. He would not stand for anyone speaking ill of her in front of him, even his closest friends.
The horror on Grace's face when she’d realized what she’d done that night at the ball kept coming back to Marcus. There had been no calculating smile, only genuine fear. Was she that accomplished an actress that she could look that way? Pinching the bridge of his nose, he wondered why these doubts were plaguing him. It made no difference; he'd had to marry her, it was his honor at stake also.
"You would stand up for her? The woman who threw herself at you?" Leo looked disgusted.
"She is my wife, and one day the mother of my children. I cannot have others speaking of her in derogatory terms, therefore neither shall I," Nick added.
"Her cousin's an odd fish, too. He was at Eton with my cousin, and spent most of his time translating things, if I remember rightly," Marcus said.
"He begged me not to marry her," Nick said slowly before he could stop himself. The wine was loosening his tongue.
"He did what?" Leo looked stunned. "Surely you jest?"
Shaking his head, Nick remembered the interview. "Lord Harrington said, and I quote, 'My cousin has no wish to marry you, Lord Attwood, therefore we shall retire to the country to avoid further scandal upon your name, and you need never see her again.'"
"You did not believe him, surely, Nick?" Marcus said. "He had to have been in on the plan."
"At the time I didn't, but the more I am in their company, the more I wonder if she simply tripped. Because she's never once shown anything but horror at the prospect of marrying me," Nick gave voice to his thoughts.
"She's just a bloody sneaky woman, and like all of them, an excellent actress," Leo added.
“Please remember that she is my wife, Leo.” Nick knew he’d been thinking those same thoughts, but still he would not accept them from anyone else, even the men he knew better than himself.
As children they had formed a friendship, as their fathers had before them. Twice a year their families had gathered, and it was those memories that to Nick were the fondest. They had run over their estates; climbing trees, fighting, and doing anything they could get away with without raising the ire of their nannies.
Nick still remembered the day Marcus had decided they must have nicknames. They had fashioned swords from branches and were battling the enemy, so he had given them names for the brave soldiers they were.
Nick was Gallant. Valiant, was Marcus, Lord Needly. He was tallest of their group, with blond curls and bright blue eyes that made woman flock around his coat tails. Like Nick, he had a serious nature and was slow to anger. Noble was Leo, Marquis of Vereton, a man with a quick wit and equally quick temper. He had eyes the color of midnight and hair to match, and a deep distrust of woman that stemmed from a broken heart at the hands of the only woman he had vowed to love. Lastly came Valorous, Jacob, Viscount of Hatherton. With dark hair and green eyes, he was the gentlest among them, and appeared to have an inexhaustible supply of calm. Until you crossed him or someone he cared for anyway, then he was a man to be feared.
They had experienced a l
ot together over the years, and their bond of friendship had never waned, only strengthened. Behind the lines in France, they had survived because of that bond, and now they had banded together again to help those who could not help themselves.
"Well, may I suggest you see about begetting an heir, then you can settle her in the country, Nick," Leo said. "We have work to do, and you are often gone for days at a time and late into the night. If your wife has half her wits, she may be the one to realize that you are one of the Lords of Night Street, and none of us wish for our identities to be known."
"Crudely put, Leo, but actually a wise idea, loathe as I am to agree with you. One of us had to marry at some stage; Nick has just come first," Jacob said. "Therefore, why not get an heir now? Chances are that if she is pre-occupied with her child, she will pose no problem for us, even if she stays in London."
"You all seem to have a great deal to say about my marital life, yet not one of you has ever achieved such a state," Nick said.
"We are not dim-witted enough to get trapped like you," Leo drawled.
"Dim-witted I may me, but I can still ride my horse in a straight line without ending up on my backside, with half of society watching me," Nick said.
"My horse was spooked," Leo protested.
"And if your equestrian skills were as sharp as ours you would have held your seat," Nick added.
"I am not one to notice the cut of a woman's gown like the rest of you," Jacob interrupted their discussion as Nick caught the small ornament that Leo threw at his head and placed it carefully on his desk. Trading insults with these men was as natural as breathing.
"However, I have to admit your wife looked hideous in the mud-colored dress today," he said bringing the conversation back to Grace.
"Not sure how you're going to rake up the enthusiasm to bed her, old man," Marcus said, pouring himself more brandy. "Perhaps you should drink a bit more, that may help."