Inspired by Grace

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  Gavin could not find Grace anywhere. He asked Eliza if she had seen her; she only remembered that Grace had been dancing with Lord Carter. He headed over to Lord Carter and tried to find a polite way to interrupt a conversation about a bill in the House of Lords.

  “Pardon me, but I believe Miss Iverson reserved the next dance for me. Have you seen her?” In truth, he had probably missed the waltz that he had promised her. His self-castigation was at its worst.

  “I was dancing with her, but then I escorted her to the refreshment table as she was feeling unwell. I believe Lord Randall Fresden offered her his carriage.”

  “Thank you.”

  Gavin made quick progress around the room, scanning furiously for Grace. She was definitely not in the ballroom. Neither was Lord Randall.

  Gavin felt a twinge of anxiety creep down his spine. Fresden was the last man he wanted enjoying Grace’s company. He had a less-than-stellar reputation. He regularly kept a mistress or two, and Gavin personally knew of two ladies who had mysteriously disappeared from society after being courted by him. Rumors were that he had convinced them to run away with him, promising an elopement to Gretna Green, but yet he remained a bachelor. The girls were shunned from society, of course, but Fresden seemed unbothered by their plight. He often made bets at White’s on how fast he could ruin a new debutante.

  Gavin tried not to panic, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Grace was in danger. He walked toward the entrance to speak with the footman. “Have you seen a beautiful redhead in a blue-and-silver gown? Her hair was braided around the crown with ringlets.”

  “Yes, sir. She left about ten minutes ago. She looked a little pale, and a gentleman helped her into the carriage.”

  “Which gentleman? What carriage?”

  “I am not sure. I can ask Mr. Hershey. He was the one who ordered the carriage.”

  “Yes, please get him right away. A lady may be in danger.” Maybe he really did only offer his carriage, Gavin tried to tell himself.

  The minute it took to retrieve the butler was excruciating. In the meantime, he asked the other footman, who was eyeing his pacing with pity, to get the Kingston carriage ready. “On second thought, just saddle Harrison’s horse.” He knew that Harrison rarely took his phaeton or carriage when he could ride, and he undoubtedly had the fastest horse there.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  Another minute went by, and finally the butler came from the ballroom. “Mr. Hershey,” Gavin stated, “it is paramount that you tell me where Miss Iverson went.”

  “I believe Lord Randall offered his carriage to escort her back to Willsing Manor. She left about ten minutes ago. Is there a problem?”

  “Where is Lord Randall now?”

  “I do not recall him coming back inside. Perhaps he went for a stroll in the garden?”

  “I highly doubt that,” Gavin muttered under his breath.

  Mr. Hershey led the way outside to speak with the grooms. “Which way did Lord Randall’s carriage go?” Mr. Hershey asked.

  “That way, sir,” the groom pointed. “Toward Mayfair. Willsing Manor, I believe.”

  “Was she alone?” Gavin asked desperately.

  “No, sir,” the groom replied. “It looked that way at first, but then at the last minute, a gentleman got into the carriage with her.” Fear coursed through Gavin’s body like a tidal wave. Why is Grace in a carriage with Fresden?

  Mr. Hershey stepped closer and asked, “Is Miss Iverson in trouble, Your Grace?”

  “I do not know. As privately as possible, please let my mother know that I have escorted Miss Iverson home. And get Harrison’s horse ready immediately.” The groom was dispatched to see to the horse, and Mr. Hershey left to inform his mother.

  Gavin quickly reentered the ballroom, spied Silence and Harrison from across the room, and motioned to each of them. Silence excused himself from his group and made his way over. Harrison quickly cut his way through the crowd, and they both arrived at Gavin’s side at the same time.

  “What is it?” Harrison asked.

  In low tones, Gavin said, “Miss Iverson left fifteen minutes ago with Lord Randall, in his carriage.”

  Silence asked, “While we were in the garden?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Th-this is n-not g-good.”

  “Kingston,” Silence muttered, “if she knew his reputation, she would never willingly ride in a carriage with him—”

  “I know,” Gavin said. “I do not have a good feeling about this.”

  Silence frowned, deep in thought. “I think it is time to summon the magistrate, Kingston.”

  CHAPTER 16

  “You must know how much I admire you.”

  “Lord Randall, kindly remove your hand.” You have to be brave, she told herself. Do not be afraid. He can sense fear.

  “Miss Iverson, may I call you Grace?”

  “Absolutely not! We have only just met! You, sir, can have no reason to admire me. You know nothing about me.”

  “Ah, but I do!” He brushed his fingers against her cheek, but it was not tender like Gavin’s touch. His fingers were rough as if he did manual labor.

  Keep him talking. “What do you know about me?”

  “For starters, I know that I will be paid handsomely to escort you home.”

  “Who has paid you handsomely?”

  “A mutual friend of ours.”

  As soon as he said it, she remembered seeing them together. “Mr. Broadbent,” she whispered automatically. Why had she not remembered this fact before entering the carriage? Stupid girl!

  “Beautiful and intelligent. Yes, Broadbent said that about you. He needed a little help tonight. It seems he has plans to evade a certain friend of yours who has been inquiring about his personal affairs.”

  “What friend of mine? I had not seen Mr. Broadbent for three years until tonight.”

  “Ah, but your new friend, the Duke of Huntsman, is rather too curious about Broadbent’s immediate future. Broadbent is about to inherit a fortune when his uncle passes, and he cannot have any interference right now.”

  “His uncle? But Broadbent has only one uncle, and they were not close. Whitmore, I believe his name was.”

  “He goes by many names.”

  He was beginning to slide closer. She turned on the bench and faced him, putting her hand on his chest to stop him. “What other names?”

  “When his estranged uncle Whitmore takes his last breath, Broadbent will become the Earl of Longmont.”

  She couldn’t help but gasp! Broadbent’s uncle was the man responsible for the death of Spencer and Gavin’s father! But before she could process the information further, Fresden leapt forward with such speed and force that she was pressed against the side of the carriage. It took all her might to push back. She had spent many years wrestling Gavin and Spencer as a girl, and she knew how to defend herself. She had to get out of the corner. She used the heel of her hand to hit him in the neck. Her blow left him coughing and gasping for breath.

  In the moment she had bought herself, she threw aside the blanket, freeing up her legs, and scrambled to the other side of the carriage. All she had with her was a handkerchief, a bottle of her cinnamon toilette water, and a small sewing kit—a necessity, according to Charlotte, in case she had a “fashion emergency”. The man kept coughing, but she knew she was running out of time. She quickly reached into her reticule and pulled out the small pointed scissors. They would have to do.

  “You wretched thing!” he sputtered. “I never have qualms about sullying a woman, but you have just made this a sport!” He reached across the carriage and grabbed her arm. His grip was tight and desperate.

  She said, “I warn you, Lord Randall, leave me be. I will not speak of this to anyone.”

  “Who would even believe you?” he sneered. “Everyone saw how you let me take you home without so much as a farewell. I could not have planned it better if I tried.” His other hand gripped her dress sleeve, and in one lightning-fast
move, he ripped it off her shoulder. His grin widened, but she dared not adjust her dress for fear of revealing the hidden scissors tightly gripped in her fist. He hissed, “Now there is not a person alive who will not know you are a ruined woman.”

  Just as he sprang at her again, the carriage lurched to a halt, and the sound of the wheels grinding against gravel pierced her ears. Her back slammed against the front of the carriage, and Lord Randall landed in her lap. She immediately felt warmth on her hand and thighs, but the night was dark, and she was not sure what happened.

  Fresden started coughing and sputtering. He made an awful, high-pitched noise and slid to his knees. She screamed and tried to extricate herself, but his weight was too heavy. She pushed and pulled and managed to get a knee up high enough to push him with her foot. The man was making the most terrible gasping noise. As she kicked him off, she remembered the scissors in her fist. They must have pierced his throat as he fell. His ghastly coughing continued. She realized it was the choking sound of a man drowning in his own blood.

  The door of the carriage swung open just as Fresden collapsed with a gasp onto the carriage floor. It should have been too dark to tell who was at the door, but she would know those broad shoulders anywhere.

  “Gavin!”

  *****

  “Are you all right? Did he hurt you?” Gavin could only see that the man was on the floor and struggling for breath. Grace was hunched in the far corner, but the moonlight from the window allowed him to see her silhouette showing the rapid rise and fall of her shoulders.

  “I am well, but I think I may have killed him.”

  Relief rushed through him. Her voice quivered slightly, and he wished only to comfort her.

  Gavin grabbed the man’s collar and tried to pull him out. Fresden was no small man, and the angle of being halfway in the carriage made leverage slightly complicated. Gavin finally dragged him out by the shoulders, not caring a bit when his legs thudded lifelessly to the ground. Even in the faint moonlight, he could see the man had a gaping wound in his neck. Blood was still gushing from it. From the amount on his clothes, Fresden didn’t stand a chance. Gavin had seen enough bloodshed in the navy to know that.

  He climbed into the carriage to assess Grace. “Gigi, I am so sorry. What happened? Are you all right? Do you need anything? Harrison is right behind me with the carriage, and he is bringing Silence.”

  She did not say anything right away. Finally she replied, “Silence will be nice.”

  “Of course he will be nice. What do you mean?”

  “You said Harrison will be bringing silence. I hope I never hear another sound again. Oh, I will never forget the sound of him choking!”

  All of a sudden she burst out in tears. The sound of Grace crying was something that he would never forget. It was heart wrenching and morose. Her sobs came from some place deep and protected, an area of Grace’s heart that she never let anyone see, not even him.

  Gavin sat down next to her, pulled her to his chest, and held her. He rocked her as her body heaved with the force of grief. It was as if she were feeling everything she had ever held back during her entire life. Very brief gasps of breath only resulted in another audible moan that spoke of pain and anguish. His eyes filled with tears as he rocked her. She clung to him as if he were life itself, and he promised he would never let anything happen to her again.

  He heard a carriage pull up beside them. Apparently so did Grace, because she quickly pulled away and started fumbling around in the darkness.

  “It is just Silence and Harrison. Do not fret.” He still hadn’t fully released her, but she began pushing on him, and he gave way. She rummaged in the darkness on the floor and picked up a blanket. “Are you chilled?” he asked.

  “I am indecent,” she sniffed, panic in her voice.

  “Here, take my coat.” He removed his garment and placed it around her shoulders. It was then that he noticed her dress was torn. What happened? Did Fresden do that? By this time, he heard both Harrison and Silence outside. He exited the carriage.

  “Grace is well, but she is in a state of shock.”

  “Wh-what happened? Fresden is d-de-dead.”

  Behind him, he heard Grace exiting the carriage as well, and he turned around when she spoke, “I . . . I do not fully know. The carriage stopped suddenly and he fell . . . It all happened so fast. But then it was all in slow motion. I must have. . . no . . . I . . . Did I kill him? Oh dear!”

  Her voice shook as she sobbed, “There is so much . . . I cannot go to prison! Oh, that sound!” Grace put her hands up by her ears as if the noise was still occurring, and that was when Gavin noticed the bloody pair of scissors in her hand. She swayed forward then backwards, one way and then another, as if rocking herself.

  Silence said, “Miss Iverson, even in this darkness, I can see you are about to faint.”

  Gavin stepped forward, putting one hand under Grace’s arm, offering support. She shrunk back a bit from his touch, but it did not deter him. He placed another hand on the small of her back and started guiding her toward Silence’s carriage.

  “Grace, there is no reason to make sense of it now,” Gavin reassured her. “Let me take you home and get you cleaned up.”

  “Yes, Miss Iverson,” Silence added, “Let me handle this. Of course we know it was an accident. Perhaps you could give me those scissors in your hand.”

  Grace’s eyes bulged out of her head in panic. Gavin could see that it was mere minutes before she would collapse. It was a very good thing that Willsing Manor was less than half a mile away.

  She looked down at the scissors in her hand in disbelief. She quickly dropped them and began wiping her bloody hand on her dress. But Fresden’s blood had seeped into the delicate creases of her skin and would not wipe away. Her sobbing began anew, but there was something ghostly about her wails this time.

  Gavin hurried her into the carriage just as the magistrate arrived. As they passed his carriage, Grace’s screams could be heard clearly and distinctly: “I killed a man! I am a murderer!”

  *****

  Gavin had ordered a bath and hot tea for Grace and gave explicit instructions for Charlotte to return and report her condition. His heart ached for her. And he knew the cascade of the evening’s events had all started with his own stupidity. She only left the ball early because of his careless words.

  How could he have imagined that Grace was ensnaring him for his title? She had not brought up money, not once, the entire week. And how could he have believed she had been intimate with Broadbent? What was I thinking? Jealousy was truly a cardinal sin. Its repercussions rippled through his aching heart.

  And now Grace was tangled up in this mess. Why had Lord Randall targeted her? What was her history with him? Was there a connection to Broadbent, her former suitor, hidden in all this? Surely she knew nothing of Fresden’s reputation or of Broadbent’s connection to the earl, he reasoned, but he knew he was only trying to convince himself— like a monk who tries to talk himself out of admiring a beautiful woman.

  Gavin was still in the habit of doubting a lady’s loyalty. There had been too many women who presented false fronts, all eager to earn the title of duchess. But he tried to push away his suspicions. He couldn’t doubt Grace’s loyalty again. Not now, not when she needed him.

  *****

  About half an hour later, Robison entered to notify him that Mr. Cornwall, the magistrate, was here to see him. Gavin pushed the heel of his palms against his eyes as counter pressure against the building tension.

  “Show him in,” he instructed.

  Gavin adjusted his cravat and tried to shake the unease he felt in meeting with a magistrate at such a late hour. He stood as Silence led Mr. Cornwall into the study.

  “Please, have a seat. I have been expecting you. Would you like a drink?”

  “Thank you, Your Grace. A glass of port would be welcome about now.”

  Silence cleared his throat. Gavin awkwardly clarified, “Unfortunately I cannot offer you por
t. I can summon a fresh pot of tea.”

  Mr. Cornwall seemed confused. Gavin watched his eyes glance around the room at all the typical bachelor’s study tokens—the chess game, the well-stocked library, and a beautiful painting of the sea, but no decanter of amber liquid. Gavin could see Cornwall’s mind silently piecing the clues together.

  “My cook works miracles with hot chocolate. No liquid offers more fortification than hot chocolate,” Gavin weakly offered. Mr. Cornwall brows furrowed together slightly. “And we keep a wide range of teas.”

  Mr. Cornwall finally broke his silence. “Tea,” he grumbled. “A strong tea.”

  Gavin nodded his head to Robison, who had been waiting patiently for the command. He turned back to Mr. Cornwall and again offered him a seat.

  Gavin watched the magistrate take out a pencil and a sheet of paper as he sat down. “I was hoping to speak with Miss Iverson. Will she be joining us?”

  “No,” Gavin replied. “I am afraid she is indisposed. No doubt you heard her hysterics as we passed your carriage. Her lady’s maid is attending to her now. But I can assure you of her innocence. I have known Grace all my life, and she has never lost control like that before.”

  The magistrate’s eyebrow rose slightly, and he jotted something down.

  Silence scooted forward in his chair and said, “What the duke is trying to say is that Miss Iverson is distraught about the accident.” Silence gave Gavin a pointed look.

  “You say she lost control?” the magistrate inquired, eyeing Gavin.

  Gavin finally understood the implication of what he had said. “No. I mean only that tonight’s events have been very trying, and she is overwhelmed at present. A good night’s sleep will help her sort things out.”

  “Pardon me, Your Grace, but I do not wish her to ‘sort things out’ as you say,” Mr. Cornwall protested. “I want the truth, not whatever story she is concocting to ease her guilt. A man has been murdered. It is my duty to seek justice.”

  Silence was much better at this than Gavin was. Gavin gave him the subtlest of looks that indicated that he wished him to take over. Silence cleared his throat and said, “Absolutely, Mr. Cornwall. But as a gentleman, I am sure you agree that the fairer sex must sometimes be handled delicately in such matters, no?”