Inspired by Grace

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  “Forgive me, sir,” she addressed the magistrate. “I was resting when you called.” She brought her hands back down at her sides and curtsied.

  Mr. Cornwall made a slight bow, and Gavin motioned for everyone to sit down. They all took their seats. Mr. Cornwall began, “Miss Iverson, did Mr. Broadbent give you any money in the time that he courted you?”

  A strange look flashed in her eyes, and she tilted her head to the side. “I fail to see your meaning, sir,” she responded.

  “I see,” Cornwall muttered. He looked down to make some notes on his paper. “He claims you conned him out of a thousand pounds over the course of several months. Do you deny it?”

  “Did he say why I would do such a thing?”

  Gavin couldn’t help but notice that Grace hadn’t directly refuted the statement.

  Mr. Cornwall frowned. “Apparently you were in dire financial straits and could not access your dowry until after your marriage.”

  “Well, the same could be said for many debutantes,” Grace replied. “Why on earth would I take money from him? And what would I spend it on? A few dresses? A thousand pounds would buy dozens of wardrobes. I had no need for a thousand pounds. He is lying.” Just hearing her say it was a relief. Gavin sighed quietly, but apparently not quietly enough, because it drew her attention, and he was the recipient of a very dark look.

  Cornwall turned to Gavin and asked, “Have you provided any financial support to Miss Iverson?”

  “No,” Gavin insisted.

  “And have you given things to her? Supplied her wardrobe perhaps?”

  “Certainly not. My mother has purchased some dresses for her, but I have never given Miss Iverson so much as a farthing. And she has never asked me for one. How do these questions pertain to Lord Randall’s death?”

  “Well, it seems that Miss Iverson is a swindler,” Cornwall announced. Gavin heard Grace gasp beside him. “Three years ago she conned Broadbent out of a thousand pounds. When he confronted her about it, she ran away to Sussex. He never saw her nor his money again—not until last night, that is. And Lady Monique claims to have heard Miss Iverson attempting to blackmail Lord Randall to the tune of five hundred pounds. It appears that is why she joined him in the carriage last night. I am afraid to tell you, Your Grace, but Miss Iverson has probably been playing on your sympathies to pad her pocketbook.”

  Grace jumped up from her chair, her face turning an immediate deep red. “Blackmail Lord Randall? How? I hardly knew the man! When he offered me his carriage, I could not even recall his full name! This is preposterous! Gavin, it is a lie. I swear it.”

  Gavin stood as well and walked toward her. “I know, Grace. Sit down. I do not doubt you in any way.”

  “Yes, you do! You doubted me at the ball. And you doubted me again just now. I heard you sigh!”

  “Please, sit down, Gigi.” Gavin guided her to the sofa, and he sat beside her and took her hand in his. He gave her a reassuring look and then turned to Cornwall and stiffly said, “This is unbelievable. How can you make such an accusation?”

  Cornwall pulled out his notebook. “Your Grace, I have confirmed it with both Mr. Broadbent and Lady Monique,” he explained, “as well as a Timothy Gardner.”

  “Tim?” Gavin asked in surprise. “My footman? Where does he come in to all this?”

  Cornwall began to read from his notes. “Let me see, ‘I have seen Miss Iverson in private company with the duke on more than one occasion.’ He agrees she has used her womanly arts and allurements to entrap you into proposing.” Cornwall looked up and added, “He says he discovered the two of you in, shall we say, improper circumstances in the music room a few days ago. Is that true?”

  “This is outrageous! How can—” Grace began, but Gavin’s eyes pleaded with her to stop.

  “Yes,” Gavin admitted, “I admit he walked in on something a few days ago, but Miss Iverson did not entrap me. I have known her for years. I love her, and I cannot imagine a life without her by my side. She has accepted my suit regardless of my being a bacon-brained ninny. I will give you my word as a duke that she is no swindler. Is that clear?”

  Mr. Cornwall seemed unconvinced. “If that were all the evidence, Your Grace,” he continued, “then I would dismiss Broadbent’s claims. But you should know, Your Grace, that Mr. Gardner produced bank notes signed by Lord Randall in the amounts of—let me see—three hundred forty pounds. He says he found these notes in Miss Iverson’s chambers early this morning.”

  Gavin’s face paled. But how can that be true? Why would she have Fresden’s bank notes in her room? He turned to look at her, trying to hide his confusion. “Grace?” he whispered.

  Grace’s eyes filled with tears. She stared at Gavin as they spilled onto her cheeks, her pain written on her face. Then she ripped her hand away from his. “I see,” she muttered. Gavin felt panic rise in him. She stood up and wiped away her tears and turned to face Mr. Cornwall. “Sir, I swear to you, I had nothing to do with those bank notes,” she declared icily. “Have you checked the signatures?”

  Cornwall flustered a bit. “No, not yet,” he said. “It was my intent to see how you reacted to the facts—”

  “How I reacted to the facts? What facts are you speaking of, Mr. Cornwall? All you have is the word of a meddling footman, a lying suitor, and a mistress! And based on that, you have accused me of murder, blackmail, and theft!”

  Cornwall sputtered, “I was not accusing you, madam.”

  “By gads! Yes, you most certainly were!” She cursed under her breath. “I will not submit myself to this scrutiny a moment longer,” she protested. “If either of you wish to doubt my integrity further, you can find me at my sister’s house.”

  “Grace!” Gavin ran after her, but she kept up her pace and walked right out the front door. He had no choice; he quickly found Robison and asked for her pelisse and bonnet. He caught up to her two blocks down the street.

  Her hair had fallen down around her face, and she held her arms tightly to block out the chill from the October wind. The skies threatened a drenching at any moment. He already felt a few drops on his face. He gently draped the pelisse around her shoulders, and she slowed her stride and then came to a complete stop. Wordlessly, she put on her pelisse and bonnet, shoving the loose hair in.

  A burst of lightening reminded them of the storm’s impending arrival. He could literally see the sheets of rain moving toward them. He took her hand and pulled her into the nearest store. It was a bakery, and it smelled like cinnamon. It smelled like Grace.

  He guided her toward the back, where there was an empty table. “Sit down, Grace.”

  She was obedient but refused to look at him. He took her chin in his hand and guided her face in his direction. Their eyes locked, and he looked in her eyes. There was every kind of pain imaginable in their blue depths.

  “Blue as bluebells in rain or shine.”

  “Stop it, Gavin.”

  “I love you, Grace. I swear to you that I know you are innocent. I know that you are no mercenary. I am sorry.” She pulled away from his reach but made no reply. “I will prove that those bank notes were forged,” he continued. “Timothy was about to be let go, and he knew it. A few days after you arrived, he was found in a compromising position with a housemaid. I thought I had fixed the situation. But a real duke would have fired him on the spot. My mother was right; I have done nothing worthy of a duke’s title.” He was so ashamed that he wanted to look away, but he was a weak man. Her glossed-over eyes turned back to him, filled to the brim with unshed tears. They were searching his for something. Whatever she was looking for, he would give.

  *****

  Grace listened to his impassioned self-depreciating speech. This was not the overly confident man-boy she had always known. He seemed to ache with grief over his brother’s and father’s deaths. It was just how she ached when she thought of her mother and father. As she looked in his eyes, she saw a glimpse of the suffering he endured over the last six months. She recognized an el
ement of desperation.

  “Please, Grace. Give me another chance.” He stopped talking and just looked at her. How could she deny him the deepest desire of her heart? The ache inside grew until she could hold her tongue no more.

  “Do not fail me this time, Gavin. I cannot endure it again.”

  “And if I can prove you innocent?”

  She owed him honesty. “I still do not know if I can marry you. You must understand that.”

  “Thank you. I do understand. But come back to the house with me. Please do not go. Do not leave me like this.”

  She took a deep breath and nodded. He possessively took her arm in his and covered her hand with his other hand. His grip was strong and confident. They hurried toward Willsing Manor but did not beat the rain, which quickly turned into sleet. He tried to shield her from the worst of it, but it was coming in sideways, and Grace could have sworn it was seeping into every crease of her gown. Her slippers were soaked through.

  She had not realized how far she had walked. By the time they reached Willsing Manor, there was not a dry bone in her body. Her nose was icy, and she could not feel her toes.

  They entered, and a sneeze suddenly snuck up on her; she couldn’t hold it back.

  “Bless you. You should have a warm bath.” He helped her remove her saturated pelisse and bonnet, and she sneezed again.

  Robison announced, “Mr. Silence is waiting for you, sir.” Gavin nodded and then informed the housemaid that Grace would need Charlotte and hot water for a bath immediately. As Grace started to head upstairs, Gavin put his hand on her arm. “Thank you for giving me another chance. I will not let you down. Not this time.”

  We shall see.

  *****

  Gavin watched her walk upstairs. Robison handed him a hand towel, and he dried his face and hair. “Send my man up to my chambers. Tell Silence to meet me there too.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.” Robison motioned to one of the footman, who went directly to the servants’ quarters.

  He turned back around to Robison. “And I wish to speak with Tim in the library. Tell him I will see him when I see him; he is to wait there, and not leave, until I come. Is that clear?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  As he was heading upstairs, Silence caught up and said, “Good, you are home. I caught Cornwall on his way out. He told me everything.” He then seemed to take in his saturated appearance and added, “Should I wait outside while you change?”

  “I am not shy if you are not.”

  Silence snickered a little and followed him up to his chambers. Gavin struggled with the wet cravat. Silence took a position at the window and said, “Your man will not appreciate the state of that knot in your cravat. Silks have a tendency to be devilishly stubborn.”

  Gavin pulled harder in frustration.

  “I take it Grace is the source of your dispute with that garment. Perhaps you should leave that particular entanglement to Winston and tell me what has you all tied up.”

  Gavin rolled his eyes and started pulling off his jacket. “I will lose her if I cannot prove her innocence. How much did Cornwall tell you?”

  “About Broadbent’s accusation that she was mercenary. And about how your man supposedly found bank notes in her chambers.”

  “Yes, but I do not see how Tim could have found them. He is never supposed to be in that part of the house. He is only a footman.” He threw his jacket on the bed and then thought better of it and moved it to the ottoman. Winston would not appreciate wet clothing on the bed.

  Gavin continued talking while he worked on his boots. “Besides, a few days ago, Tim was found cavorting with a housemaid. I reprimanded him and put him on probation. Since then he has done nothing more than serve meals and haul dishes to the kitchen. Mrs. Bearl and Robison have made sure of it.”

  “So then the bank notes were falsified.”

  “There is no doubt about it. We just need a way to prove it. Do we have Fresden’s signature or Broadbent’s handwriting anywhere?”

  “Both regularly placed bets at White’s. His name would be sprawled all over the books. Cornwall and I could verify it within a half hour. He was headed in that direction. What else?”

  Winston’s knock was heard, and Gavin gave the command to enter. “Winston, you tied a devilishly tight knot, and I am in a hurry.”

  He lifted his chin while Winston went to work. He turned his head toward Silence. “If I can get Tim to admit he planted those bank notes, and you can prove that Broadbent forged Fresden’s signature, I might have a chance of winning Grace back.” Gavin paused. “She withdrew her consent.”

  “Really?”

  “More or less. I really made a mess of things at the ball. I have always been too hasty to follow my emotions. But she is different. She uses her head. She is probably drafting a pro and con list about me as we speak. If I cannot make her think with her heart, and quickly, I might lose her,” he sighed. “I can see what she is planning. As soon as I sort out this murder charge, she intends to walk right out that door and leave me forever.” Winston removed the last of the confining garment, and Gavin pulled his shirt up over his head. Avoiding looking at Silence, he added, “She thought I believed Cornwall’s accusations.”

  Silence walked around into his line of sight, tilted his head to the side, and then dropped his jaw. “Kingston! Do not bother defending yourself,” he reprimanded. “I can see the guilt in your eyes!”

  Winston gasped and froze. Gavin took the new shirt from Winston’s out-stretched hand and hastily threw it over his head, if for nothing else but to break the accusatory glares Silence and Winston were giving him.

  “You are done for now,” Silence warned.

  Gavin turned to Winston and said, “Hurry please. I have a great deal of work to do.” Then turning toward Silence he said, “Perhaps I let out my breath a little too loudly when she finally denied the accusations.”

  Silence whistled. “Well, I have work to do as well. And you might consider practicing your groveling.”

  *****

  Part of Grace was grateful to be back at Willsing Manor. But the last twenty-four hours had been so demanding. She feared the stress of it was wearing down on her, even making her ill.

  She and Gavin had come to a compromise of sorts. Along the freezing walk back, he had begged her to stay one more night. He said that all he needed was another day to clear her name and prove he was trustworthy. He had again tried to apologize, but she would not have it. It only confused her more to hear him try to explain it away. She was torn. Her heart felt as fragile as ice upon a lake after the first hard freeze. It was so much safer to hope for an undeniable freeze, to break things off irrevocably with Gavin, rather than risk falling through into the freezing water.

  As Charlotte helped her into the bathwater, she pondered her predicament. Trusting Gavin again went against every instinct. All her life, she had never depended on anyone but herself. She was a strong woman who never so much as wanted a lady’s maid. And look at what she had become in such a short time. After one week at Willsing Manor, I can’t even dress myself anymore.

  How could she have let down her guard so willingly? And she had to admit that she had done it willingly. She always loved Gavin, but she had let her love for him change from childhood friendship into a desperate longing, an overwhelming need.

  The thought struck her with such power. She needed Gavin! She was not the kind of woman who needed anyone! She was not some simpering female who measured her self-worth by whose arm she was on at the moment.

  She shook her head. There was no way she would ever need a man. It was too much risk. She had risked giving her heart to Gavin, and he had assumed the worst. He had assumed that she had not kept her virtue with Mr. Broadbent. He had thought her a fortune-hunter.

  And when Cornwell had accused her of trying to blackmail Broadbent and Lord Randall, he had held his breath as if his very life hung on her answer. His relieved sigh had destroyed her last bit of hope for their happily-ever-
after. It hurt her deeply. And that kind of pain she could do without! Lord Randall and Broadbent were both sinister, greedy men. But what they did to her was nothing compared to the pain she felt when she remembered how Gavin had doubted her, not once, but multiple times.

  And now he knew what had happened in the carriage. She wondered if he only apologized for what he said at the ball out of guilt. Does he pity me now? Does he feel guilty his angry words pushed me into that carriage? Is that the extent of his love—pity and guilt?

  It certainly felt like it. And she was not going to start a marriage based on that.

  I love him too much to let him do that. He deserves better. He deserves someone who is not bathed in scandal. By now all of London probably knew of the incident with Lord Randall. And from the sounds of Mr. Cornwall’s questioning, more lies were being added to the story every hour. How could she bind herself to the Duke of Huntsman and tarnish his reputation like that? Even if he was sincere and had only acted stupidly out of jealousy, his life could be ruined by her scandal.

  As she stepped out of the bathwater, she saw that Charlotte had laid out another fine dress, one she had not worn yet. She looked at the pale ivory muslin with the silk forest-green ribbon at its waist, and she knew she could not wear it.

  “No, Charlotte. I want to wear the dress I came here in.” She had made her decision. She would leave.

  “The gray one? But I could not remove all of the dirt from your fall.”

  “Yes. That is what I came here in; that is what I will leave here in. I shall not be taking those new dresses with me.”

  “You are leaving, miss?”

  “Yes. Please start packing my trunk with the things I brought from my sister’s house. Everything that the duchess bought me may be sent to charity.”

  “Oh, no, Miss Iverson! Please do not go—”

  “The gray dress, Charlotte.”