by Wendy Vella
"Speak, Vidal!"
"I believe she left on foot."
"What!" Nick climbed to his feet. "She left on foot?"
"That is my understanding, my Lord, her maid accompanied her."
He couldn’t believe it. His wife had sat across from him drinking her tea at the breakfast table, then excused herself and left the house. She hadn't mentioned she was leaving; she just gone.
"You may go now, but let me know the minute she returns, Vidal."
Had she gone to her cousin’s, or the rosy-cheeked friend’s? He knew nothing about Grace other than the fact she spoke five languages. But what he did know, was that his countess should not have left the house on foot.
He left for his appointments; still seething at the irresponsible behavior of his countess, and when he arrived at Night Street thirty minutes later his mood had not improved.
The building was inconspicuous from the front, just a small gray stone square, nestled between two similar facades. The front door was white with a small black 14 on it. Lawyers, accountants, and other men of the London business world inhabited the street.
Nick did not knock. Removing a key from his pocket, he inserted it and then entered, closing and locking the door behind him. The hallway was narrow and opened into a small reception room that housed four chairs and a desk, behind which sat a man.
"Perkins," Nick said, nodding to him.
"Lord Attwood, good day to you." Perkins lowered his head back to his work after this greeting, and Nick moved deeper into the house. Opening another door, he then descended into the basement.
He heard the rumble of voices as he drew nearer his destination, where he saw his three friends, all seated at a large round wooden table.
"Hail, Gallant, the married amongst us!" Jacob said with a smile, which fell from his lips as he noted Nick's scowl.
"One day you've been married and already you look like so many other men of that state," Leo said. "Your scowl would also suggest the marriage is still not consummated, although… perhaps it has been and it was such a disaster—"
"She left the house this morning after our morning meal, with her maid, on foot, telling no one of her destination," Nick cut him off.
Marcus whistled softly.
"I am of course not disputing that what she did was wrong, Nick, but I feel I must say that she is possibly unaware of how she should behave as your wife," Jacob added. "She has lived, from what I gather, with her cousin and no female to guide her. Perhaps she believed you would not be concerned with her behavior."
"She is an adult, Jacob, she should have known this was unacceptable," Nick said. "I can't have my countess walking about London when no one in the household is aware of where she has gone; it is just not done."
"True," Marcus said. "But it is only one day after your wedding. I'm sure some people are as yet unaware of your nuptials."
Nick closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I did not want a wife, but had believed the one I did end up with would be manageable and undemanding. I seem to have that wrong."
"Just tell her how you expect her to behave; I'm sure she'll understand," Marcus added. "She hardly looks the type to be challenging."
"Yes, perhaps you are right. I shall talk with her this evening."
"Thank you." Leo slapped Nick on the back.
"For what?"
"Reinforcing why I have no wish to marry."
Nick grunted something uncomplimentary and then took his seat at the table.
Night Street had started when Jacob's sister had been abducted and the four of them had found her. It had been three tense days, but they had realized soon after, that the skills they had learned fighting for their country, should be used to assist those who needed it.
Perkins ran the office, screened all prospective clients, and acted as the go-between for the four lords. It was imperative their identities stayed secret, as anonymity was a key factor in their success. They'd solved many cases, ranging from stolen jewels to abduction and murder, and word had quickly spread. They were now inundated with inquiries to hire their services. They charged a small fee that was donated to charity.
Nick tried to concentrate on business, and their next case, but his head was focused on Grace. Where the hell was she? He would have a great deal to say to her when he returned home.
He'd been married one day and already she was causing him angst. Well, it would not last. He'd put a stop to it this very day!
"Even though you have employed someone to find those letters, I think perhaps I shall call at this address," Grace said, looking at the card in her hand for another investigative service. "After all, they have a very good reputation, Harry, and it can't hurt to have more than one pair of eyes searching."
Grace put the card on her desk and began buttoning up her coat in preparation of her departure after a full day of work. She was still very concerned about the stolen letters that she had been translating.
"If it will make you feel better, Grace, then do so." Harry waved a hand at her. Still seated at his desk, he was busy working on a French play that he was translating into English.
"I wish I could remember exactly what they said," Grace added, pulling on her bonnet. "I cannot remember anything odd about them, and like I have said repeatedly since they were stolen, why anyone would want them?"
"We cannot ask Mr. Zavorski that until he returns from Russia, Grace." Harry placed a finger on the line he was working on before looking up at her. "It is my hope that before he does, we will once again have them back in our possession and you can complete them." Harry's hair stood up from his head, as it often did when he was working.
"I don't think Mr. Zavorski will be very happy, Harry. In fact, my earlier worry that he is a dangerous man is stronger than ever. Please do not speak with that man alone, should he pay you a call when I am not here.”
"He did nothing to make you form this opinion of him, Grace."
She looked at her gentle cousin and thought again how worrying it was that she was not at his side to stop him falling into the hands of someone who would take his kind nature and use it against him.
"Please, Harry, just send word to me if he arrives and I am not here; that is all I ask of you."
He climbed to his feet and patted her head, which he often did when he thought she needed soothing, like a small puppy.
"Don't worry, my dear."
Grace gave up. "It is time for you to have your meal, then relax for the evening with a book. I shall return in the morning and we can begin our investigations again."
"Thank you, dear." Harry kissed her cheek. "It is a relief to know you will be back, and as you stated, not much has actually changed, only that you no longer sleep here. Shall I call the carriage for you; the skies look as if they are darkening?”
"It is only a short trip, Harry, don't fuss. I have Bessie with me." Grace remembered Ruth's words then, 'they will be interested in you now, Grace.' This would be her last walk through London she thought. A final goodbye to her freedom, and the life she had once lived. Tomorrow she would bring the carriage to Harry's, which should make her friend happy.
Grace gave Nipper a hug and then let herself out the door with Bessie on her heels. Looking upward, she saw a few storm clouds. Perhaps they should have left earlier. Well, it was too late for that now. Grace struck out for the earl's house and wondered if it would ever be her house.
The rain started ten minutes into their journey, and soon carriages were trundling by, splattering them. By the time she reached the earl's residence she was shivering and covered in mud.
She knocked on the door, which was soon opened by Vidal.
"G-good afternoon, Vidal," Grace said, hurrying inside. "I shall remove my boots and coat before I take another step," she added, struggling with the ties of her bonnet, as the rain had knotted them. "I would not want to track mud and water over your floors."
"I shall help you, my Lady." Bessie quickly took off the bonnet and Grace handed her,
her wet coat and gloves, then bent to remove her boots.
"I shall prepare a bath, Lady Attwood."
"Only after you have dried yourself, Bessie," Grace added as her maid hurried away with the wet things.
"So you have returned."
Grace had been shaking out her skirts, but her hands stilled as she looked to the top of the stairs, where her husband stood glowering down at her.
"Good afternoon, my Lord." She curtseyed.
"I wish to speak with you, now, Grace. Please come to my study at once."
He did not wait for her reply, just walked away.
"I-I, um, is there a problem?" Grace looked at Vidal, who was giving her a sympathetic look.
"I believe Lord Attwood was unaware you were leaving the house this morning, my Lady," Vidal said.
"Oh dear." Would he stop her from leaving the house now? She should have spoken to him this morning and told him she was to go and see Harry, and would do so most days.
"Sh-should I change first, Vidal?" Grace said, looking down at her damp muddy hem.
"I would not advise it, my Lady," Vidal said gently. "I shall bring a tea tray to the earl's study shortly. It is situated up the stairs and three doors along on the right hand side."
"All right. Thank you, Vidal."
Grace started up the stairs and made her way down the hall with her heart thumping heavily in her chest. She knocked on the door.
"Enter!"
The word was barked, so Grace took a deep breath and then opened the door to walk inside.
"Shut it, please, Grace." He rose briefly, and motioned her to a chair before his desk.
"I-I will stand, my Lord, as my skirts are damp."
"You will sit," he said in a clipped tone, so she did, as he did not appear to be in a negotiating mood.
He did not wear a jacket, only shirtsleeves, and this was the first time she had seen him dressed that way. It made him look softer. Of course this was not the case, yet he did appear more approachable.
"Where have you been today?"
He was angry, his dark eyes glaring at her.
"To visit with my cousin, my Lord."
"And you did not feel that anyone should be notified as to where you had gone… on foot, for—" He looked at the clock on the wall over the top of her head. "—six hours."
"No," Grace said. He waited for her to elaborate, but as Grace was nervous and did not wish to antagonize him further, she said nothing else.
"No," he said softly. "You wish to offer nothing further?"
Grace nodded, which seemed to make him angrier, as he rose to his feet and braced his hands on the desk, leaning on them toward her. It was an intimidating pose, and Grace swallowed, trying to ease the dryness in her throat.
"Countesses do not leave the house and fail to return for six hours without telling anyone where they have gone," he said. "It was irresponsible and foolhardy, not to mention dangerous, Grace."
"I was in no danger, my Lord."
"What if something had happened to you and no one was aware of your identity?" He was growling now.
"I had my maid with me and was with my cousin the rest of the time," she said quickly, hoping that would appease him.
"You walked, Grace, there and back…along streets I would rather you did not frequent, in conditions that are at best termed, bleak.
"H-how did you know that?"
"Are you telling me you didn't walk?"
She shook her head. "No, I did walk, but—"
"Well it matters not then how I know, only that I do. You will not walk the streets of London again."
"Do you?" Grace said and then instantly wished she hadn't.
"Do I what?"
She had to tell him now she'd started. "Leave the house alone, without telling anyone where you are going."
"It is different for me," he said slowly. "And after what happened to you at the ball, I would think you would be aware of just how fragile a woman's reputation is. Furthermore, you are now my countess and what you do reflects on me. Therefore, I will not have you leaving this house without alerting me as to where you wish to go and with whom, then I shall determine if you may do so."
Grace had a temper. It rarely surfaced, but when it was tweaked it was not easy to rein back in. And he had just tweaked it.
"I will not be kept away from my cousin or my dog, my Lord." Stay calm Grace, nothing good ever came of you losing your temper.
"You'll do as I say," he growled, no longer the composed earl she had believed him to be. His eyes blazed and his body became stiff with rage. "And as your cousin is quite possibly responsible for your reckless behavior, I think time away from him would benefit you."
Pompous ass. Grace clenched her fists.
"I told you not to marry me, told you I had no wish to do so, but you insisted, and now I must adhere to the rules you set me." Grace tried not to yell, tried to maintain a semblance of calm. The problem was, she had lost the ability to hold her tongue the moment he had told her that Harry was responsible for her behavior. Harry was her savior, the one person who truly understood her.
"You have obviously been allowed to make your own decisions, which I assure you will no longer be the case."
The anger inside her was so strong, Grace's vision blurred. She tried to breathe, tried to inhale a large deep breath to calm her down before she spoke, but failed.
"Lord Attwood, I will not let a man who cares nothing for me dictate my movements for the remainder of my life." She sounded shrill and cared not one whit. He would not do this to her. "I will not be kept from my cousin!"
"I am now the man who will dictate your actions, not your cousin," he said in a low deep voice. "You bloody well will do as I say," he went on, surprising her by cursing, "and tomorrow we will address the issue of your new clothing, as I will not allow you to walk about dressed in those rags a day longer!"
"How dare you!" Grace cried. "Not everyone is raised to understand the cut of a coat or how many folds to wear in your necktie."
"As you have just chosen men's fashion to make your point I think in fact it strengthens mine. However," he lifted one hand as she opened her mouth, "just because I do not choose to dress in the fashion my grandfather did, does not make me a dandy!"
"I do not dress like my grandmother," Grace said, looking down at her dress.
"No, I should imagine your grandmother would never have stooped to dressing in such a rag."
"Pompous ass!" Grace screeched, getting to her feet. "You are like all the rest of the noblemen I know. Arrogant, self absorbed, with not a care for anyone but themselves!"
They were roaring at each other now, their anger out of control as they both gave vent to the feelings that had ridden them for days. Hurtful words filled Grace's head, bitter nasty words at the injustice of her situation. She swallowed several times to try and keep them inside.
"Let me go then, let me move back to my cousin's, and I shall leave London for the country and you can annul the marriage."
"You wish to be ruined, have society turn their backs on you, and live your life in disgrace?"
"It would be no worse than the fate that awaits me wed to you!" Grace cried, running for the door. Once there she stopped and looked at him one last time. "My cousin saved me, Lord Attwood, when I had no one. I will let not let you keep me from him."
Wrenching the door open she then fled, picking up her skirts and running, ignoring the roar of her name coming from behind her. She just prayed her door had a sturdy lock on it.
CHAPTER FIVE
As Nick looked at the empty doorway through which his wife had just fled, he realized that Grace had been telling the truth when she'd said she had no wish to marry him, as had her cousin. In his arrogance he had not believed her; after all, wasn't he a wealthy earl? Wouldn't any woman want to be married to him?
Christ, when had he become so vain?
Disgusted with himself, anger still flowing through his body, Nick leaned his head on the back of the
chair and closed his eyes.
She really hadn't wanted to marry him, but he'd insisted. Honor had been one reason, but there was more to his determination to marry Grace than just that, and he was only now realizing what that was. For years, his aunts and grandmother had demanded that he marry, throwing eligible woman into his path until he'd dreaded seeing them. They'd demanded he produce an heir, so their livelihoods would be secure should anything happen to him.
His evenings had been spent avoiding society mothers who had hounded him, presenting their daughters for him to inspect as if they were prime pieces of cattle, and so when the opportunity had presented itself, he'd taken a wife who he believed would make no demands of him. A woman he could wed and forget, a mother to his children and nothing more. Instead, he'd married Grace.
He still couldn't quite believe what had just happened. Yes, he'd been angry, and perhaps he'd also been high-handed, but he was feeling his way in this marriage, just as she was. When she had simply said no when he'd questioned her about where she had been, his anger had flared.
Grace had walked into his office with one side of her hair down, the other up, her dress crumpled, her skirts splattered with mud and water, and her feet clad only in stockings, and he'd felt completely at sea. How did one deal with a wife such as the one he had?
"I have tea, my Lord," Vidal said, appearing in the doorway.
"Take it to the countess. She is in her rooms."
"Very good, my Lord."
What the hell was he supposed to do now? Her attack had surprised him. He'd thought she'd just lower her head as he pointed out the error of her behavior today, but no, she'd yelled back at him.
Nick had never had a woman speak to him like that before; it was unsettling, especially when it was your wife.
My cousin saved me, Lord Attwood, when I had no one. I will not let you keep me from him.
How had Harrington saved his cousin, he wondered.
Nick had actually not wanted to keep Grace from her cousin, even though he'd said he felt Lord Harrington was responsible for her behavior. He shouldn't have said that, but she'd angered him, and he'd struck out at her just as she had him. It was not like him; he was usually calm and reasonable and it took much to anger him. He needed to talk to her again, try to find a common ground between them so this anger and resentment did not smolder and grow.