“Thank you for being willing to let us take him in, Eliza,” Grace said.
“How could we not? It is not that poor boy’s fault, and it hurts me so much to see people mistreated for things they cannot help or change.” She moved toward the front door. “I should go check on the children.”
After Eliza entered the house, Damon exhaled, a rough outpouring of breath. “It is hard to see such a boy. It is like looking into a mirror from a time long ago.” His shoulders slumped.
Grace slipped her arms around his neck, hugging him closely. It was a tender embrace, one of intimacy, not of passion. He clung to her, pressing her head into his chest with his hand.
“If we can save him …” He broke off.
“We have. We will. He will have a better childhood than you, Damon. Because we can give him love, can we not? We can give him acceptance. And I think you and I should be the ones to do so. He should be ours.”
He leaned back, his eyes soft, watery, as they met her own. “You would do that? Make a boy not of your own blood, not of your own station, part of your family? Love him?”
“Part of our family, and yes. I may not have the same struggles as he does, as you have, but I know what it is like to feel as if one doesn’t belong.”
He drew her close, nuzzling her hair with his lips. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, my angel, my own personal Grace, but I will never let you go.”
She moved her head up, fastening her lips to his. The sweet kiss swiftly grew into something more, and his hands laced through her hair, holding her to him. He groaned as she pressed herself against him.
A moment later, he broke off, panting. “As much as I would like to continue this, perhaps the front lawn of Clarehaven is neither the time nor the place.”
She giggled, looking behind her at the house.
“I suppose you are right.” She grabbed his hand. “Come, Your Grace. Let us check on Geoffrey. And then,” she said, “perhaps we could spend some time in the library.”
Her cheeks flushed even as she said the words.
He threw his head back and laughed.
Chapter Thirty
Clarehaven, Hampshire, England – Late May, 1814
A week later, Grace paused in the middle of selecting gowns for Daisy to pack. Sorrow filled her at leaving Clarehaven once more. It was her home and she’d treasured her time with her siblings. And Damon, of course.
But returning to London meant she and Damon were one step closer to being wed. Thank heavens! Despite multiple suggestions about the library and even an invitation to her chamber, Damon had put her off, insisting they wait until after they were married.
“I did not take you for such an old-fashioned gentleman,” she’d said one night while stealing a kiss in the hallway.
“I did not either, to be honest. But I neither relish getting caught by your family, nor risking any more damage to your reputation should I indeed get you with child before we are wed.”
“You did not care about that the first time,” she protested. Having tasted Damon once was not enough; she was eager to try again.
“I was not thinking with the right appendage at the moment.”
She bit her lip. “Do you regret it?”
“Heavens, no!” he exclaimed, dropping a kiss on her brow. “I am sorry if I led you to think that. In fact, I can hardly wait to repeat it. Again. And again. And again. But I have lived my life under the shadows of dishonor and rejection, and I will do all I can to lessen that for you.”
“Even if I don’t care about those things?”
“Even then.”
“Damon, my reputation is already in tatters. Indeed, we do not even know what kind of reception I shall face upon our return.”
“We will make it clear the fault lies entirely with my uncle.”
“But you know yourself that will not be enough, do you not?”
He grimaced. “It must be enough. There are certain advantages to being a duke, even one rumored to be as demonic as I, and that is that we can get away with things others cannot. As ridiculous as that may be.”
Grace chewed on her lower lip. “Have you had any word from your uncle?”
“No.”
“Do you think—” She swallowed hard. “Do you think perhaps I did kill him after all?”
“Were he dead, we’d have heard. But, no—my man Hobbes sent a message that Fillmore had been seen in a gambling hell in St. Giles, so, no, the bastard still lives.”
“He can show his face in London? Does this mean people do not know what he did?”
“It means certain gambling hells will look the other way in the name of lucre.”
“Oh.” She sighed.
“Though it isn’t Malford money he’s spending on the gaming tables; I cut off his funds weeks ago.”
“Do you think Daphne has seen him? He is her father, after all. Would he make contact?”
“I sincerely hope not, for her sake as well as his. She must know he shall never redeem his honor, must know it is better to sever all ties with him.”
“Knowing in the mind and knowing in the heart are two different things, Damon. He was horrible to you, but you yourself said he doted on Daphne. I don’t know how she has taken his most recent behavior, nor how she feels about breaking connection with him completely.”
“We shall find out soon enough, I suppose.”
Daisy moved about the room, retrieving hair ribbons and shoes, bringing Grace back to the present. The maid had taken a shine to Geoffrey, delighted when Grace reluctantly decided, given the great upheavals in both of their lives recently, it would be best for Daisy and Geoffrey to remain at Clarehaven while the family returned to London to finish out the Season.
Deveric and Eliza had elected to come to town, as well, to show support for Grace and Damon and to celebrate their wedding. Frederick had begged to stay behind with Geoffrey, thrilled to have a companion with whom to play, but the two younger girls, Rose and Isabelle, would accompany Eliza and Deveric in one carriage, while Damon, his two sisters, Emmeline, Rebecca, and Grace would ride in another, larger one.
An hour later, all was ready.
“Goodbye, Geoffrey,” Grace said, her throat thickening with emotion as she knelt before the boy. “We will return as soon as we are able.”
“’Tis all right. I have plenty to do, especially with Frederick and the puppies.” The boy threw his arms around her, his eyes watery as he hugged her.
He was a bright boy, and once he’d seen that nobody here teased him for the movements he made, he’d come out of his shell, proving himself to be a talkative, engaging young man. She’d even made progress with teaching him how to read, lessons she looked forward to continuing once they were together again.
But now it was time to go. Waving goodbye to Daisy, she followed her sisters into the carriage.
The coach was of good size, but three people squished into each side still made for close quarters. Not that Grace minded; she was nestled against Damon, Rebecca to her other side.
Both her sisters conversed easily with Cassie and Sephe, so Grace relaxed, happy to remain quiet herself. Damon slung his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer into him, absent-mindedly rubbing his thumb along the fabric of her sprigged muslin at her shoulder. The motion was so soothing she almost hoped the carriage ride would never end.
Because the closer they got to London, the closer they got to her mother. And Fillmore Blackbourne.
Matilda Mattersley rushed down the steps of Claremont House, an unusual display of emotion and vigor for her. She enfolded Grace in her arms. “Thank God you are all right,” she breathed into her ear.
After a moment, her mother stepped back. “I hope you were not upset by my decision to remain in London, my daughter. I wanted to combat any talk here, and knew you would return shortly.”
Grace clasped her mother’s hands. “It was fine, Mama. I was with Deveric and Eliza. And Damon.”
At the mention of Damon’s n
ame, her mother’s lips tightened, thinning even further as the Duke of Malford exited the carriage after the Mattersley and Blackbourne sisters.
“Malford,” she bit out, barely dipping her head.
“Your Grace,” he responded, his face implacable. Grace reached over and took his hand.
“Mother,” she said as she drew him near her. “I assumed Dev sent word. Damon and I are betrothed. We have returned to London to show all is well and to celebrate our wedding.”
“Indeed?”
Grace met her mother’s hawkish gaze directly, refusing to give ground. “Surely after all that Fillmore Blackbourne has done, you can see that he, not Damon, is the true devil in the family.”
Damon made to interrupt, but she stopped him. “I love him, Mama. And he loves me. And we will be married, and happy, whether you wish it or not.” She finished her speech with a stomp of her foot.
Matilda was silent.
Grace’s glance flitted to Damon, who betrayed no emotion, but kept his eyes on Matilda.
At length, the dowager duchess dipped her head in assent. “It is for the best, I suppose, to quell any lingering scandal.”
“It is for much better than that, Your Grace,” Damon said, his voice even. “Grace is the greatest treasure I have ever been given. I know I do not deserve her, but I will work every moment of my life to make her as happy as she makes me. I understand that your impression of me has not been a favorable one. That is true for many people. I hope, however, that over time you will learn to see me not as others do, but as your daughter does, so that I may prove to you I am no longer the Demon Duke, now that I have this angel by my side.”
Matilda inhaled sharply, pursing her lips as she looked back and forth between the two of them, then at the siblings standing around witnessing the exchange.
At length, the faintest of smiles spread across her face and her spine visibly relaxed. “Well said, Malford.” She gestured toward Eliza and Deveric. “If you make my Grace half as happy as Eliza has made my son, then I shall be indebted to you forever.”
Grace heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God.
The siblings moved around them and up into the house.
“Have you heard anything of my uncle?” Damon asked the dowager.
“There are rumors.” She frowned. “That he is in London. But he has not appeared at any social functions.”
“If he is here, I shall find him.”
“What will you do?”
Damon hesitated. “He killed my father and my brother. Justice shall be served,” he finally said. “One way or the other.”
The next week evaporated like morning dew. Although news of Grace’s return brought numerous callers to see her or at least find out the gossip, the Mattersleys refused every one, saying they were occupied planning a grand ball for the coming Saturday night.
According to Emmeline, members of the ton were speculating wildly as to the nature of the ball, especially since it had been added to the calendar at the last minute. Some thought it an engagement ball, while others insisted a Mattersley would never agree to wed the Demon Duke, scandal or no scandal. Many presumed it an attempt to show all was normal and to deflect attention from Grace.
Grace snorted when she heard that one. “If we wanted to keep attention from me, why on earth would we host a ball?”
Emmeline shrugged. “Though naturally everyone wishes to attend, and so are cancelling other engagements.” The delight in her sister’s eyes was unmistakable. Would she never tire of the social whirl, of the matchmaking opportunities?
Grace herself was less lackadaisical. Questions and rumors swirled about her disappearance and subsequent return. Would marrying Damon be enough to dispel them, to maintain her reputation? She wasn’t worried for her own sake; being with Damon was all she needed, even if they were banished from polite society.
But her sisters, Damon’s sisters, Damon’s cousin—their own prospects could be tainted by the scandal. Or ruined. She didn’t want that.
Her mother had proved a surprising ally, having gone from rejecting Damon to, if not exactly gushing about the match, at least announcing her staunch support.
“If he is what you truly want, my dear, I am at peace with it. I like the way he looks at you, much the same as Eliza looks at Deveric.”
She’d waved off any concerns about Grace’s reputation. “If there are any benefits to having been such a firm advocate for propriety and decorum all these years, it’s that I have good relationships with my fellow matrons. I know who spreads gossip and who sets the tone for what is and isn’t allowed.”
That was certainly true. At one point, the dowager duchess had even been invited to serve as a patroness of Almack’s.
“I’m far too busy,” she’d claimed.
Emmeline said the real reason their mother declined was that their father’s mistress often frequented the place, working to get her own daughters launched onto the marriage market.
Grace had gained new appreciation for her mother this week. In the past, the two had often clashed over Grace’s future, but now that Grace had Damon and knew the depth of her love for him, the pain her mother must have endured while her husband had cavorted with other women was unfathomable. If Damon were to stray, Grace didn’t think she would survive it. And yet her mother had and had found ways to thrive.
As they decided the details for the ball, Matilda came alive, her face aglow with excitement as she discussed the dinner menu or the music or Grace’s gown.
Maybe it was not too late for her mother to find the kind of happiness her children—at least some of them—had found.
Grace mentioned the notion to Emmeline and Rebecca after dinner that evening.
“Mother? Marry again?” Rebecca’s puckered forehead expressed her views.
“I don’t see why not,” Emmeline said. “She’s still a handsome woman. It sounds like a marvelous plan.”
“You would,” Rebecca retorted.
“I’m already generating a list in my head of available widowers. Oh, this shall be fun indeed!”
Grace and Rebecca exchanged a look as Emmeline clapped her hands and raced from the room.
“If nothing else,” Grace reminded her sister, “it will keep Emme too occupied to find you a husband.”
Rebecca laughed. “An excellent plan!”
Chapter Thirty-One
Claremont House, London – Early June, 1814
Her nerves on edge, Grace pulled at the sheer overdress fluttering down over numerous delicate ivory petticoats.
“Ethereal!” Madame le Bec, the modiste, had exclaimed at the final fitting for Grace’s new ball gown. “A dress fit for an angel.”
Madame le Bec, whose beaked nose fit her name, had insisted on a bodice in the deepest plum, a plum matching the flowers the dressmaker had added to the hem of the gown. “It does the most beautiful things for your dark eyes and hair, ma petite.”
The sleeves of the bodice, if one could call such narrow bands of fabric that, hugged her upper arms, yet left her shoulders completely bare. The gown wasn’t indecent compared to many dresses other ladies wore, but still, to have so much of her skin revealed, it was almost as if she were naked. Goose pimples peppered her skin at the thought, or rather at the thought of Damon’s lips dropping kisses along the exposed flesh.
Bess, thrilled to have her mistress back, had spent extra time on Grace’s hair, weaving it into an intricate braid that she then pinned up into a bun, with a chain of delicate ivory flowers woven throughout. Soft ringlets, achieved with curling papers, framed Grace’s face, accentuating her cheekbones.
“You look like a Greek goddess,” the maid exclaimed.
Grace secretly felt like one, too. Aphrodite, perhaps? She smoothed her hands over the gown. What would Damon think when he saw her?
Damon. She hadn’t seen him since their arrival back in London. What was he doing? How had he been? Were people assaulting him for information about his uncle? Laying blame on him for the who
le situation?
She hoped not.
She knew the reasons for staying away from him, knew it was better not to draw attention to herself, or to him. Her mother was truly excited to announce their engagement at tonight’s ball, and considering the difficulties Matilda had had in accepting Damon, Grace wasn’t about to do anything to reverse that.
Still, oh, how she missed him. So many things she’d wanted to share with him, only he wasn’t there. She read numerous novels during her week in hiding, but how it hurt not to be able to discuss them with Damon. She hadn’t even had a chance to give him the Gibbon books. She longed for that winsome side grin, his incredible light blue eyes, the crinkling of his brow when he concentrated.
She squared her shoulders. Tonight. She’d see him tonight. In less than an hour.
Exiting her chamber, she descended the stairwell to the foyer, where Emmeline and Rebecca spoke animatedly with one another. Emmeline stunned, as usual, in a frothy green concoction that emphasized her emerald eyes. Rebecca wore a simple dress of pure white, which complemented her dark hair and blue eyes.
“Oh, aren’t you lovely?” Emmeline exclaimed when Grace reached them. “Isn’t she lovely, Rebecca?”
Rebecca nodded but couldn’t get a word in before Emmeline went on. “I can’t believe you are betrothed, dearest sister. Damon is quite the catch, handsome and titled. If I could, I’d steal him for myself!”
As if you could handle him. No, he is not the right one for you. Not like he is for me. “I’m glad you have decided to leave him to me,” Grace said, giving her sister a smile. “I fear if I had to compete with your effervescent personality, I should no doubt come out the loser.”
Matilda glided into the room, resplendent in a dress of evening primrose, its deep yellow hue accentuating her still-dark hair and hazel eyes. How wonderful to see her mother happy and relaxed. The dowager duchess should reside in London year-round; it was obvious she enjoyed Town living far more than the quiet life at Clarehaven.
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