Inspired by Grace

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  Shall change his color white;

  And if ever I prove false to thee,

  The day shall turn to night, my dear,

  The day shall turn to night.

  He continued to play and listen to her sweet voice, but the beauty of the song was nothing compared to the beauty that sat next to him. He could tell the song was nearing the end. He tried to focus on what she needed from him as he accompanied her. He noticed that every time it repeated the last line of the verse, she very nearly whispered it, so he played softer to match the emotion she expressed.

  O don’t you see that mil-white dove

  A-sitting on yonder tree,

  Lamenting for her own true love,

  As I lament for thee, my dear,

  As I lament for thee.

  The river never will run dry,

  Nor the rocks melt with the sun;

  And I’ll never prove false to the girl I love

  Till all these things be done, my dear,

  Till all these things be done.

  There was a distinct crack in Grace’s voice as she sang the last line. He looked over to her, and their eyes met. Her blue eyes begged him to reassure her. He felt inspired to do more than that. He took her hand and brought it up to his lips and kissed every knuckle softly.

  “My dearest Grace, I have no words. Believe me when I say, you inspire me. Have no fear tonight when it is time to sing. I will be right beside you listening to your every word as if you were singing to me.”

  She looked away briefly, and for a moment, Gavin thought she was about to admit that she was singing to him, that she loved him just as much as he loved her.

  But instead, Grace seemed to collect herself and said, “It is a beautiful song, is it not?”

  “You are the one that made it beautiful. Sing it as you just did, and you will leave everyone speechless.”

  She stood up from the bench. “Thank you, Gavin. We should return before we are missed.”

  Looking directly up at her, he said, “That is impossible.”

  “We have only been gone a few minutes.”

  He patted the bench and said, “But I miss you already.”

  “You are such a flirt.”

  He grinned at her and winked. “And you love me for it.”

  She looked at him and gave a subtle smile as she left. “Your self-worth is entirely too exaggerated. Think what you must.”

  Oh, I will, he jokingly thought. God give me patience before I devour her beautiful lips again with my own! There was no doubt he had felt moved by the words and meaning of the song, but, in truth, he was nearly driven to distraction just sitting next to her on the tiny piano bench. At least when she sang for everyone she would be standing. He wouldn’t feel the warmth of her body or be distracted by her breath rushing past his ear.

  He shook his head in disbelief. This snail’s pace of her heart’s awakening might very well be the death of him. Be patient, he reminded himself. It’s only been four days since you ran into her. And instead of jokingly praying for patience, he humbly bowed his head and earnestly prayed to be the kind of man she deserved: kind, patient, considerate, and, above all else, a friend. He felt his heart beat hard at the last words of his prayer. She needed him to be a friend—the kind of friend that never failed her, the kind of friend that would stand by her and hope for her every happiness. He closed the prayer and realized that it was the first time he had prayed since his father and brother died.

  Listening to her sing, he had been touched by how much she needed him, but now it dawned on him just how desperately he needed her. He was beginning to wonder if what he felt all these years had been love. It was nothing compared to what he felt for her now.

  CHAPTER 9

  Grace thought she had slipped into the parlor unnoticed until she saw Silence sidle up behind her. “Strange, do you not think,” he murmured, “that the guest of honor and the host should disappear and reappear at the same time?”

  She turned around to see the grin that she could hear in his voice. “I do not know what you mean. A hairpin come loose, and I needed to replace it. Are you saying that Gavin left at the same time?”

  He grinned wider. “No need to be sly with me, Miss Iverson. But I am not the only one watching you tonight. I just thought I would remind you of that.”

  “Thank you. I am well aware that far too many eyes are on me.”

  She glanced around the room and saw Gavin looking back at her sweetly; she couldn’t help but smile back.

  Silence sipped his tea, hiding his smile, and added, “I see some eyes are more welcome than others.”

  Grace took a deep breath and managed to control her embarrassment from making itself known in her cheeks. Being a fair-skinned ginger made hiding one’s emotions difficult, but she was not about to let others, not even Gavin’s close friends, be misled. “Silence, Silence,” she replied. “I assure you, the familiarity you may think you see is entirely proper. Gavin has been my friend, and nothing more, for many years. He told me as such only a few minutes ago.”

  “Oh, I see! While he was assisting you with your hairpin?” Grace felt a blush warm her face. She didn’t think it was possible for Silence to smile wider, but he did. “My apologies, Miss Iverson,” he said. “I see from the color in your cheeks that I have either angered or embarrassed you; neither was my intention.”

  Luckily Mr. Harrison joined them just then. Silence bowed and left grinning. Mr. Harrison did not say much, just the usual pleasantries. It gave her time to put Gavin and Mr. Silence’s words behind her. It dawned on her why Mr. Harrison had come to stand by her when the duchess reentered the room and the butler announced dinner.

  Mr. Harrison offered his arm. “I sh-sha-shall be happy to escort you to din-dinner.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Harrison.”

  It was no surprise that her seat was in the middle of the table. Mr. Harrison was to her left, making her think that his confidence in escorting her to dinner was perhaps due to some prior knowledge of the seating arrangements. Seated next to Silence, on Grace’s right, was Sylvia Tremonton—who looked very displeased to discover Gavin had been seated as far away as possible from her. Grace couldn’t help but gloat a little. But her satisfaction was short-lived; Grace would have liked to been seated closer to the duke herself. As it was, conversation with Gavin would be impossible.

  Across from Grace was the flamboyant Mr. Woods, a dandy if she had ever seen one. The two guests seated on either side of him were both unfamiliar to her. The blonde-haired gentleman to his left was strikingly handsome and kept flashing her bold, flirtatious looks. The lady to Mr. Woods’s right was clearly married if the extravagant ring on her left hand was any indication.

  As each course was brought out, Grace tried to participate in the conversation. But she spent most of her time answering questions about her ties to the Kingstons. Luckily many of the guests had already heard the story of Gavin knocking her down in the street, so she only had to fill in the details. It wasn’t hard to elicit laughter when she described how His Grace had somersaulted over her and landed directly under the belly of a horse. She had to admit that it did make a good story. The more she talked about how Gavin hadn’t changed since his youth, the more she felt at ease.

  By the time the roast duck and lobster tails were served, she had learned that the handsome man next to Mr. Woods was Mr. Patrick Under. If she remembered right, Gavin had described him as a spineless man who would let Grace direct the very breeches he wore each day. After a whole meal with him, she added “noncommittal” to that description. He seemed to agree with every opinion shared, even that the creamed peas and onions had just the right amount of pepper—a ridiculous comment she had said to test his compliant nature as she could taste no pepper in them at all. Mr. Under was just as Gavin had described him. He wouldn’t do for her at all.

  Mr. Harrison, on the other hand, improved upon further acquaintance. His stutter bothered her less than she thought it would. For the remainder of th
e meal, she focused on getting to know him more. He did not deliberate his replies excessively long when asked a question, and he seemed to truly listen to her answers. There were times she found herself laughing outright at his wit. She could see why Gavin called him a friend.

  Miss Tremonton as good as ignored her during dinner—and the feeling was mutual—but Sylvia was all ears whenever someone inquired about Grace’s connection to Gavin. Then Miss Tremonton was only too eager to join in. Her pointed questions on that topic could only be described as underhanded barbs. It was evident that in Sylvia Tremonton’s judgment, Grace did not stand a chance to . . . to what? What was I about to say? Win Gavin’s heart? It wasn’t even remotely possible.

  Unfortunately every conversation topic seemed to lead her thoughts back to Gavin—a subject that was far too tender an area to dally with. He had welcomed her into his home to help her find a husband. Clearly he wasn’t interested himself in filling that role. But what about his promise to marry me if I end up a spinster? Her heart filled with hope for an instant. But she was hardly a spinster yet. And she could never accept a man who made her an offer only out of duty.

  Sometimes a tiny thought tickled her mind, reminding her about that kiss in the music room. One moment she would let her heart hope for a future with him, and the next moment she was listing off all the reasons why he saw her only as a friend. None of it was very reassuring.

  She kept thinking back to the kiss. She knew him too well to believe he was a rake like his brother, Spencer, but he was too smooth in his compliments to believe he was as inexperienced as she was. His expert, urgent lips verified that fact. His kiss and his words had felt calculated, overly-confident. Every time, her thoughts led her to the same conclusion—that he had kissed many women in just the same manner. Perhaps he was even comparing her inexperience to theirs. And every time she reached that conclusion, she needed some serious self-soothing. It bothered her that she had let herself get her hopes up. She knew better. She knew better than to trust anyone again.

  As the guests stood to begin the typical separation of sexes after dinner, she chided herself for deliberating on Gavin’s kiss like that. It was a topic she usually successfully avoided thinking about; doing so while at an important dinner was remarkably unwise. Mr. Woods had already circled the table and was offering to help her up. She accepted his attention graciously. But as he pulled out her chair, his quizzing glass dropped from his face and hit her in the side of her neck. It took all of her self-control not to giggle; she couldn’t stop her lips from forming a smile.

  He mistook her smile as genuine interest and proudly accompanied her to the music room, where the ladies were already gathering. The sight of him strutting around like a peacock was rather funny, and her grin widened even more. She sobered up a moment too late when she realized he was bending down to kiss her hand, as if her smile was an indication that the half-hour separation would be torturous. The idea of hanging on his arm like an ornament for the rest of her life was unbearable. He would never do either.

  She managed a brief curtsy to relay her thanks. Gavin was ushering all the men toward the library, and for some reason, he looked pensive and withdrawn. But at the last minute, before he closed the music room door, he glanced her way and gave a subtle wink to reassure her.

  Almost immediately the ladies began discussing the gentlemen, debating who had looked the most dashing. It was not surprising that Mr. Woods’s name came up, but Grace was stunned that they shamelessly ranked each man’s appearance against one another.

  Soon a formal vote was cast on which man was to receive the title of “the Shiner”. “The Shiner”, Grace was informed, was the lucky man deemed by the single ladies to have “outshined every other man in attendance” in both gentlemanly grace and attractiveness that evening.

  Grace listened quietly to the ridiculous rules. It was hard to believe the ladies cared so much about such superficialities as fashionable clothes and a stylish demeanor. She shook her head and jokingly whispered to Eliza, “I assume your brother has never won, correct?” Unfortunately, there had been a lull in the room’s conversation buzz, and more than Eliza heard the comment.

  Miss Tremonton replied, “Actually, Miss Iverson, His Grace has been voted ‘the Shiner’ at many balls. It must be difficult for you to judge these matters, you being so new to cultured society. But I have had the chance to dance with him, as many of these ladies have—although perhaps me more than any other in this room—and he is the finest dance partner I know. There is no equal to him. Just because he dropped his fork at dinner tonight does not mean that he lacks all grace.”

  Grace anxiously glanced at the hostess. But instead of disappointment, Grace saw something in the duchess’s eyes that gave her confidence to speak her mind. “Forgive me, Miss Tremonton,” Grace replied. “I had not noticed he dropped his fork.” It felt satisfying, but as soon as she said it, she regretted it. She was no simpleton, and Miss Tremonton was not someone she wished to make an enemy of.

  Grace quickly stood and walked across the room, welcoming a private discussion with Miss Woods. She minimally attended the conversation and did not care in the slightest that the topic revolved around Miss Woods’s brother. Grace was forced to admit that yes, his blue eyes were very handsome and yes, his dark curls did indeed fall across his forehead in a very attractive manner.

  See, Grace? You can be attracted to more than blonde curls and chestnut-brown eyes. Unfortunately, this only brought back to her mind the image of Gavin’s eyes as he asked, “Do you trust me?” She repressed the urge to groan aloud. She glanced at the clock and hoped that there were only a few more minutes to pass in this tedious manner.

  Relief could not have come sooner or been more welcome. As the men trickled in, the ladies seemed to float from one seat to the other in a calculated way. It was like a game of chess. Sylvia moved toward Gavin, leaving a wake of disappointed ladies. Miss Woods moved toward Mr. Lewis. Two or three were waving fans and batting their eyes at Mr. Silence. The only person left was Mr. Harrison. Grace had always considered herself the queen in the game of chess, one who could move in any direction. Although she would have liked to find safety with Gavin, the property claim being signaled by Miss Tremonton’s eyes and her death grip on his arm was unmistakable. Grace sighed and gave an encouraging look to Mr. Harrison.

  As he approached, he said, “I see you have sur-survived the separation of the sexes.”

  “Just barely,” Grace replied with a smile.

  “Well, I am glad to h-h-h-hear it. I understand a certain title is given to the most handsome gentleman. Dare I ask who is the lu-luck-lucky winner this evening?”

  She laughed outright, leaned toward him, and whispered, “Mr. Lewis is the lucky gentleman. It appears you know more about the ways of London’s ladies than I do! You must tell me all about it. I admit I am rather astounded that such petty games are played as if the title meant something!”

  He chuckled, “Ah, but it does, Miss Iverson. When the title passes to someone new, all the ladies’ attentions are diverted to the lucky winner. Wh-what gentleman, besides Kingston, does not wish to receive the prized attention of the most el-elig-eligible deb-deb-debutants?”

  This intrigued her. She led him a few paces away to ensure privacy and asked, “His Grace does not wish for the title?”

  “Now, there is a ques-question that has two answers. I am sure you know K-K-Kingston’s feeling about titles.”

  “Yes, I know he does not relish being a duke.”

  “Nor does he relish the attention of ladies who see him only for his title. So, if the title of d-du-duke is too much, imagine if he were to re-re-receive the title of ‘the Shiner’ too.”

  Grace thought she understood. But something wasn’t consistent. “But Gavin has always enjoyed female attention––”

  Mr. Harrison did not stutter with his next statement. “And he still does.”

  What did he mean? She forced herself to ask, “Then why does he shy away
from it now? Why does he no longer wish to marry?”

  “Miss Iverson, that is a long, complicated story. Might I interest you in a ride tomorrow morning to discuss it? It would be a pl-pleas-pleasure to take my new chestnut mares around town with you at my side.”

  “I would enjoy that very much.”

  “Not mo-mo-more than I.” She thought it was sweet that his cheeks colored slightly. Maybe Mr. Harrison was more agreeable company than she realized. She had truly enjoyed having dinner with him.

  The duchess encouraged all the guests to take their seats, and the music performances started. When it was her time to perform, Gavin played flawlessly. She did just as he had suggested; she thought of the only man she ever thought of when she sang that song. She couldn’t quite forget the many eyes that were on her, but she was pleased to discover that it was easier to sing for a crowd than to sing an intimate performance for Gavin. When they had practiced, she had felt her heart slipping little by little. She had nearly told him how much she loved him. She would have to be more careful.

  He may have thought that kiss was just like any other kiss from any other woman. But to her, it had sealed her fate. She would never marry. The two of them had that much in common now.

  CHAPTER 10

  Gavin was trying very hard not to stare at Harrison and Grace from across the room. There seemed to be a growing regard between them, and he did not like it. Harrison was a fine man and a good friend. But he wasn’t right for Grace. For one thing, he stuttered. Knowing Grace, that didn’t bother her in the slightest; that rankled him even more.

  “Excuse me, Your Grace,” murmured his butler. “There is a pressing matter with one of the footmen.”

  It irritated him that the man insisted on using the blasted title in front of guests. Robison usually obliged him with a simple “Kingston”. But Gavin was somewhat glad to have an excuse to leave the room prematurely. “Bring him to my study,” he directed.