by Eva Leigh
Nothing seemed right anymore. Nothing was certain.
The grasses rustled as Jane approached. She set a hand on Grace’s arm. “Love,” her friend murmured. “Your unhappiness is palpable. But I can’t fathom it. Mr. Fredericks wants to marry you. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I thought . . .” Grace swallowed past the hard knot in her throat. “I thought that’s what I wanted. But now . . .” She shook her head as she struggled through the quagmire of her emotions. They were a swamp, sucking her down into their depths, drowning her.
She said, “When I think about life without Sebastian, I want to curl into a ball and sob brokenly. I want to hear his thoughts on the preservation of cultures and species. I want to watch that endearingly silly smile bloom on his face when he thinks he’s being too enthusiastic about things. To not have any of that . . .” Her chest ached.
“You’ve talked quite a bit about Mr. Holloway,” Jane said gently. “But hardly said anything about Mr. Fredericks.”
“Oh, God.” Grace felt the blood drain from her face, leaving her more chilled than the cool night. “Thinking about him, I feel fondness. Nothing more. I . . .” She pressed her hand to her mouth. “I cannot marry him. Because . . .”
She blinked furiously. “My heart belongs to Sebastian. It always has.” Yet she’d been too foolish, too shortsighted, to understand that. By spending so much time with him these past weeks, she’d come to appreciate him even more. Her feelings for him had deepened and matured into something richer. “I wanted Mason, but it’s Sebastian I need.”
The realization made the sky overhead tilt, as if the cosmos itself spun out of control. She staggered, trying to keep her feet.
Now that she’d said it aloud, she understood it entirely. How whenever she was near Sebastian she felt her entire being lifted up, and how she spent every moment apart from him waiting, hoping, to see him again. She’d adored seeing him develop his confidence these past weeks, and it seemed as though, by learning how to manage his fear of strangers and new situations, he was more comfortable—which gladdened her.
“I love him,” she said suddenly.
Jane enfolded her in a tight hug. “Ah, my darling, I’m so glad to hear you say that. Because, you know, I’ve long suspected that you and Mr. Holloway were perfectly suited for each other.”
“You never said anything to me!”
“Or me,” Douglas added. “And you tell me everything.”
“Well, I thought it,” Jane said briskly.
“But it doesn’t matter,” Grace said, unable to keep the misery from her voice. “He doesn’t love me. If he did, he would have said so when I told him about Mason’s proposal.”
“That’s precisely why he didn’t,” Douglas said, raising his lamp for emphasis. “If he does care for you, he would step aside if he thought he was an impediment to your happiness. Just as he did.”
Grace looked back and forth between the Argyles. “Do you think so?”
“Douglas is a very sensible man,” Jane answered. “He married me, after all.”
“Tell Mr. Holloway how you feel,” Douglas continued. “He needs to hear it from you.”
“He might reject me again.” The words were acidic in Grace’s mouth.
“He won’t,” Jane said.
“But he might.”
Jane pointed to a glimmering light overhead. “That is the planet Mars. It might one day break free from its orbit and hurtle into the Earth. It might, but it likely will not. And if, by some chance, it does crash into our planet, do you want to face eternity without ever having told Mr. Holloway that you love him?”
Grace exhaled. “Why must emotions be so ruddy confusing?”
“Because they adhere to no scientific principle,” Jane said with a sage nod. She placed her hands on Grace’s shoulders. “Promise me that on the morrow, you’ll confess your feelings to Mr. Holloway.”
Could she? Risk him turning away from her, perhaps forever? That pain would haunt her for the rest of her days.
If she didn’t, she would be safer. But she wouldn’t have him.
“I will.” As soon as Grace spoke, a strange calm settled over her. This was right. This would work out. It had to.
Jane beamed, a jubilant expression shared by Douglas. “Wonderful. Now, will you help me find Arcturus?”
“Better that than look for Uranus,” Grace said, barely able to suppress a giggle.
Jane leveled a stare at her. “How long have you been waiting to say that?”
“All night,” Grace admitted.
“God help Mr. Holloway,” Jane said.
Chapter 24
Sleep proved next to impossible knowing what tomorrow would bring. Grace considered and then discarded the idea of writing out what she planned to say. Firstly, because she didn’t want to sound too rehearsed. Secondly, because she was reasonably certain she’d forget everything and wind up babbling nonsense at Sebastian.
It was with some relief that she greeted the dawn’s light peeking around her bedchamber curtains. She summoned a yawning Katie to dress for the day.
The breakfast room was mercifully empty due to the earliness of the hour. But that also meant that breakfast itself was in the process of being prepared, so tea and cold meat and cheese was brought up from the kitchen to tide Grace over. She hadn’t any appetite, yet made herself nibble on her food as a sign of appreciation for the kitchen staff’s efforts.
After attempting to read for a few hours, Grace summoned the carriage and directed the driver to take her and Katie to Howland Street.
Once they arrived, Grace realized that an unmarried young lady couldn’t very well go up to a bachelor’s lodgings. Even someone as unfashionable as she knew that.
“Please send the footman up, and ask him to bring Mr. Holloway down.”
“Yes, my lady.”
Never had five minutes seemed so very long as she waited. Her heart plummeted as the footman returned—alone.
“Beg pardon, my lady,” he said apologetically. “I knocked and knocked, but no one answered. The landlady weren’t around, neither, so I’ve no idea where the bloke, I mean, Mr. Holloway might be.”
“The Duke of Rotherby’s.” Yes, that made sense. They were good friends, Sebastian and the duke, and at the least, the nobleman might have an idea where she might find Sebastian.
“I heard His Grace was leaving for the country this morn,” the footman said with a contrite grimace.
“Blast.”
The servant cleared his throat. “Forgive my boldness, my lady, but if you’re looking for Mr. Holloway, the library seems a likely place. He’s always there.”
“Of course!” She felt rather foolish now, not having considered the Benezra. “We must go there right away.”
Traffic was unusually thick, but in due time, she found herself walking up the steps of the Benezra Library. She’d been here only yesterday—it seemed ten lifetimes ago—but it wasn’t unusual for her to return to the library six out of seven days.
After nodding a greeting to Mr. Pagett as he opened the door, she walked briskly to the circulation desk.
“Good morning, my lady,” Mr. Okafor said in a cheerful but quiet voice.
“Good morning, Mr. Okafor.” She swallowed as rising apprehension threatened to choke her. “Perchance, is Mr. Holloway here?”
“He was,” the librarian answered.
“Was? But is no longer?”
“I’m afraid not. He came in just as we opened and returned a number of volumes.”
Unease skittered along her limbs. “Is that so?”
“He’s off on one of his wanders, but when I asked as to when he might return to London, he had no idea. Are you . . . are you well, my lady?”
“I’m . . .” She braced her hands on the circulation desk as exhaustion caught up with her. Followed immediately by leaden disappointment. No, disappointment was too mild a word. It didn’t capture the bottomless sorrow that crumbled the earth beneath her feet, mak
ing her stagger.
He knew. Sebastian knew very well that, if she accepted Mason’s proposal, she’d leave England in twenty-eight days. By setting off on his wander, Sebastian had ensured that he wouldn’t be around for her departure.
He’d congratulated her on attaining Mason’s affections. That’s precisely what she’d wanted, precisely what she’d achieved, and to Sebastian, that meant that their involvement was no longer necessary.
At best, she was merely a friend to him. He couldn’t love her and also leave.
She’d never given Sebastian any reason to believe that it was he she cared for. All she’d talked of, all she’d focused on, was Mason. And of course Sebastian believed she had feelings only for Mason, and none for himself. Not with how she’d endlessly prattled on about someone else.
For a woman who prides herself on her intelligence, you’re so very, very stupid.
“Do you need some air?”
Her vision swimming, she gazed up at Mr. Okafor.
“Air. Yes. I—” She lurched toward the door, pursued by her own foolishness.
Rotherby glanced between the chaotic, muddy yard full of bulky and dilapidated coaches, his own handsomely sprung and elegantly appointed carriage, and Seb.
“Certain about this?” Rotherby asked above the din. “I can drive you wherever you wish. No need to bother with the discomfort of an anonymous mail coach.”
Seb gave his friend a rueful half smile. “To begin with, I don’t know where it is I’m heading. I plan on picking a vehicle at random and seeing where it takes me. It’s my custom.”
“I know that, but it’s just as easily done with my coachman. I can have him pick a destination at will.”
Seb pushed up his spectacles. There was no need to forgo them now. “In truth, I need the anonymity of a mail coach. To be amongst strangers with no idea who I am.”
“As it pleases you.” Rotherby looked as though he wanted to press the matter further, but he visibly bit back his words. The silence that fell wasn’t silent at all, filled as it was with shouts, horses’ neighs, and the clatter of wheels.
Rotherby’s footman handed Seb his battered pack, which he shouldered. It contained none of his rakish clothing. Seb had filled the rucksack in the predawn hours, stuffing it with his old garments and four anthropology books—everything from his previous life, when he’d dwelt in complacent ignorance, knowing nothing of his feelings for Grace.
Too late now. He might wear the clothes of Old Seb, but he wasn’t that man any longer. He knew now what it was to love, and to lose that love.
On the way to the coaching yard, he’d momentarily considered stopping at Grace’s home to say his final goodbye. Rotherby had even permitted him to direct the coachman to drive past Weymouth and Harley Streets. But in the end, he hadn’t the fortitude to see her face. He would have done something appalling, like beg her to abandon Fredericks and marry him. There were many reasons why this would have been a terrible idea, so when the carriage had slowed, he’d banged on the roof to signal not to stop. They’d driven on, to the coaching yard, where the next stage of Seb’s life was to begin.
“Sorry, old man,” Rotherby said gruffly. “Didn’t want things to turn out this way.”
“Likewise.” Seb faced his friend. “My thanks for . . . for everything.”
“We surely made a rake out of you.” The corner of Rotherby’s mouth turned up. “Quite a damned fine rake.”
“A hell of an experience.” He knew with certainty that writing a book, which would contain his observations on the structures and systems of the aristocratic elite, would involve an objectivity he’d never be able to achieve. Every line he penned would be about Grace, and that wound was far too fresh. It might never heal.
“Do you want news about her?” Rotherby asked.
“That way lies madness.” He might not be able to cauterize the injury, but he had to try. Otherwise, the rest of his existence would be an exercise in simply enduring rather than living.
Rotherby nodded. “I can’t feign that I know what you’re experiencing, but I hate that you’re hurting. That cursed woman,” he growled.
“No anger or blame.” Seb held up his hand. “Not for her. Not for anyone. Even Fredericks. I’ve learned that the human heart’s a willful beast, and it can’t be expected to obey or follow commands.”
“I’d horsewhip Fredericks in front of the Royal Society, but then, you’re a better man than me.”
“You’ll receive no argument from me on that point.”
Rotherby scowled good-naturedly.
Seb would be sorry to leave all of the other members of the Union of the Rakes behind, but it had been Rotherby who’d helped to guide him on this journey, even with his friend’s time so precious. And for twenty years, Rotherby had been his supporter, his staunch ally. That was something Seb prized above any first edition of a book.
Naturally, he couldn’t show or speak of this. Men simply understood each other.
Ah, the hell with it. When had adhering to codes of masculine conduct benefited anyone?
He wrapped an arm around a startled Rotherby’s shoulders and pulled him close in an embrace. “I’ll miss you.”
For a moment, Rotherby was rigid. Then, slowly, he raised his hands and patted Seb’s back. It wasn’t quite an unfettered display of affection, but it would take more than one hug to undo a lifetime of conditioning.
Still—it was encouraging when a passing man snorted in disapproval and Rotherby didn’t shove Seb away.
A coachman shouted, “Coach to Cramlington, Bedlington, and Morpeth leaving in five minutes. Get your arse aboard or cry in my dust.”
Seb released his hold on Rotherby. “Northumberland seems a good and distant destination.”
“Good journey, my friend. Hope you find some peace.”
Seb’s throat grew tight and thick. He gave Rotherby a nod, then strode hurriedly to join the queue shoving its way onto the coach. The jostling and noise, tremendous as it was, did not quite obscure his haze of pain.
He’d never sleep well again, knowing that Grace slept in Fredericks’s arms. He would unfairly compare everyone he met to her, and would find everyone else lacking. There was every likelihood that he’d never attain the peace Rotherby had wished him.
Even so, he had to try.
Chapter 25
“Thank you for agreeing to meet me.”
Mason managed a small, taut smile. He looked over at the specimen cases, with their rows of dead and preserved animals. “Am I to draw meaning from the location? You are no enthusiast of the British Museum, as I recall.”
Grace couldn’t achieve any sense of pleasure that he’d recalled what she’d said during their encounter from weeks ago. Everything within her was as lifeless and immobile as the creatures in the cases.
“Montagu House is a public place,” she said. “We can talk here without concern for propriety.” And Katie, immersed in yet another licentious novel, stood nearby.
He sighed. “I’ve a good idea what it is you mean to tell me. And it’s unnecessary. Your expression is quite articulate.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, hurting for him. “It wasn’t my intention to send false signals.”
He shook his head. “It was my interpretation. There’s no fault to be found.” Narrowing his eyes, he said, “Is it Holloway?”
“That’s irrelevant,” she said, her voice brusque.
“You’re right. Forgive me.”
His wounded expression couldn’t help but touch her. As gently as she could, she said, “We’re just not meant to be husband and wife. I . . .” Her chest burned, but she had no choice but to continue. “I do not love you, and to accept your proposal would be a terrible thing to do. To both of us.”
“Ah.” He pressed his lips together. “That is . . . not what I desired hearing. Not what anyone desires to hear.”
“If I could take your hurt away, I would.” She meant this sincerely. Never did she want to inflict damage on anyo
ne. But she had, and she’d need to live with the consequences.
“Your candor is appreciated,” he said sadly. “And helpful.”
Damn, she wished she could feel something for him. He was a good man, and one she’d wounded. “You’ll need to find another herpetologist for your expedition to Greenland.”
“So I will.” His brow furrowed, and he turned his hat around and around in his hands, as if he was deep in thought. Finally, he said, “Come on the expedition, anyway.”
She drew herself up, certain she’d misheard him. “Pardon?”
“We still require an expert on reptiles and amphibians. I don’t see why that cannot be you.” As he spoke, his voice became more energized, more eager. “You can bring a companion, that way everything is respectable. What do you think? Will you join me?”
“I . . .” She blinked, stunned. “It’s not quite accepted or normal, what you’re suggesting. An unmarried woman voyaging to a distant shore to pursue her scientific studies . . .”
“Precisely the reason why I believe you’d be the right person for the expedition. You’ve gone through your life without any worry what other people think about you. That’s commendable.”
“Not precisely.” She’d been hurt by society before, when she’d first come out, and she’d courted his good opinion, with ruinous consequences. In her journey, she’d hurt Sebastian and Mason. And herself.
“If you’re concerned,” Mason said, “that I am inviting you out of a sense of politeness, or that I hope I might win your affections despite your . . .” He coughed. “Despite your rejection, let me assure you that I’m guided only by my belief that you’re precisely the person this expedition requires. You’d be an asset.”
Her thoughts were a jumble. How to make sense of what he offered? It was an outlandish notion and yet . . . she needed to get away from England. Away from the place where she’d made such a horrendous mistake. There would be no chance of running into Sebastian, slim as that possibility was.