Rose slipped her arm back through Diana’s, leading her down the path that draped itself alongside the forest. Lord Harrington kicked up back to speed, limping, whilst Lady Harrington continued her strange, stooped walk. Ernest brought up the lead, his heart heavy with new understanding. Whatever had happened with Diana’s sister, it was a dark shadow behind everything else—the first of many injuries in a family that seemed on the brink of collapse.
Ordinarily, Ernest was an incredibly curious human—so much so that, often, Grace chastised him, telling him there wasn’t enough time in the day to learn all that he could. Regarding gossip, of course, Ernest cared very little. But this event in Diana’s life felt unlike gossip, in that it affected the inner psyche of this beautiful woman he felt, more and more, could be his soul mate.
He hadn’t a clue how he would learn about the wretched nature of Diana’s past. But as he sensed the Harringtons would remain on at his estate for the foreseeable future, he felt he had time.
Of course, there was a bit of a complication standing in his way. And that complication was surely already waiting for them at home, her stomach empty, her eyes hungry and spitting with anger. Grace Bragg.
Chapter 9
Grace Bragg arrived at her fiancé’s estate a good 30 minutes prior to the time she’d stated she would. This was her way: assuring everyone that she would show up whenever she wanted to, in a manner that indicated she ruled the situation, regardless of what they required or wanted of her.
Besides, in her mind, she already thought of herself as the lady of the Bannerman estate, the woman who would soon “rule” as countess beside the earl. She sniffed in the foyer, drawing a finger across one of the shelves and bringing up a bit of dust. This wasn’t the sort of thing she would find once she moved in. She was sure of it.
Now, she cut across the foyer, her ears pricked for the sound of her fiancé’s new-found family. The mansion was silent, echoing back her footsteps: a hint that no one was now in. She coughed slightly, a surprise to herself, and batted her eyelashes. Throughout the previous days, since these wretched country folk had moved in with Ernest, Grace had heard little from him. She felt this to be rather odd, especially as Ernest had sufficiently played his part as her fiancé in recent months—writing her a reasonable number of letters, as though they were in love.
Sometimes, when Grace felt particularly dark inside, she tried to pretend that she was actually in love with Ernest. She imagined him taking her—thrusting her against the wall, drawing his teeth across her neck. But always, in this daydream, she whipped her head back and blinked up at him—and was entirely unable to see his face. It was as though her mind refused to allow her to fantasize, fully, about Ernest Bannerman. Her heart simply didn’t want him.
But of course, her brain knew better, and this was what she had to rely on.
Grace perched at the head of the dining table. It had already been set with the finest of the Bannerman china, which reflected the early-evening, orange sunlight beaming in thought the window. When she’d been a girl, her mother had sat with her at a very similar table, tearing into her with words that informed her just how essential it was to find a man to protect her, to allow her all the finery in the world. Now, she folded her palms across her lap and blinked into the air. What on earth was Ernest doing, just then? What could he possibly be showing these humble folks throughout this early evening—knowing full-well it was essential for them all to change for dinner?
Propriety was simply Grace’s way. It was far more her religion than anything else. She cleared her throat as the cook marched past the dining room, forcing the woman to halt quickly. She spun her rotund head toward Grace, then bowed it, saying, “Good evening, miss.”
“Good evening,” Grace returned, her voice cold even to her own ears. “I was curious if you knew when the members of the house would arrive back from—wherever it is they’ve gone?”
The cook slid her thick hands across her apron. “I’m not terribly sure, my—my lady,” she said, stuttering slightly, for Grace wasn’t yet her master. “I know that they will be back in no time. Lord Bannerman never misses a meal, as I’m sure you know.”
“Yes. He’s quite like a child in that way.” Grace arched her brow. “Thank you very much.”
Now, Grace heard bumbling far in the distance. She cut her head back to gaze out the window, catching sight of Rose guiding a small team of people up the garden path. Grace burst up from her chair and moved closer for a better look.
Rose was latched to the woman Grace had seen a few nights previously, the one who’d been unconscious. They walked quickly at the head of the pack, whispering to one another—almost in a conspiratorial manner. Grace had never spoken with Rose in such a way. Certainly, she deemed Rose to be almost idiotic, wretched in her ability to pin-point anyone’s weakness and shove them to the ground with a single teenage word.
Now, Grace was surprised to feel a wave of jealousy. She tried to balk at it, to tell it how little such a thing mattered to her. But it wrapped itself around her throat and made it difficult to breathe.
Just behind Rose and the once-unconscious, now very much conscious woman, were the older, frail man, his sister, and Ernest himself. Ernest was brooding, his eyes cast toward the ground and his dark curls whipping back with the wind. From here, Grace took a strange moment to analyse his rather stunning beauty—his thick shoulders, his over-six-foot height, his ability to swagger, despite something within him seemingly awry.
Grace shoved her sudden feelings aside, reminding herself that any sort of romance, any sort of lust would shove her back, make her silly and dizzy.
But now—and perhaps she imagined it—the once-unconscious woman whipped back, looking at Ernest. Was it possible she was looking at anyone or anything else? No. It simply wasn’t. Rather, she halted for a moment, seemingly unable to breathe, gazing at Ernest.
And to Grace’s horror, it seemed that Ernest was gazing directly back.
They held one another’s gaze for a long moment, one of those moments that hadn’t proper words nor poetry. Grace had never looked at anyone in such a way, nor imagined that she ever could.
Now, Grace tore from her position at the dining room window and rushed to the back door, conscious of how reckless this movement truly was. She shoved open the door and stood in the entryway, a formidable creature overlooking these tired ones. Immediately, she brought her arms over her chest, crossing them, and beamed at Ernest.
Ernest was unable to look at Grace. His eyes were like fireworks, beaming up at her. He forced a smile on his face, but Grace knew better than anyone that this wasn’t his natural smile.
“Grace! How wonderful to see you,” he said, surging forward, past the once-unconscious woman. He reached for her hand and tapped his impossibly beautiful lips across the top of it.
Grace didn’t offer a shiver, nor a word of comfort. Her eyes were daggers. She attempted to fully inform him, with every fibre of her being, that she hadn’t the sort of patience he expected of her. Rather, she expected him to be loyal, despite their lack of love. They were honouring their fathers before them, for the good of their future. For the good of their families and their children after them.
Wasn’t that enough? Was he truly too idiotic to see that?
“You’re quite early,” Rose remarked, her voice tart.
Grace stretched out a false smile. “A lady is always a teensy bit early, don’t you agree, Rosie?”
Rose scoffed and burst up the steps, lifting her skirts to reveal her thin, teenage ankles below. The once-unconscious woman looked at Grace curiously, her eyes like those of cattle. To Grace, the woman could have been pretty, if only she hadn’t looked at her with such idiocy. This was her detriment. Perhaps her injuries in the fire had ruined her intelligence. Perhaps this was why Ernest looked at her with such passion—for truly, he was such an imbecile, only he could find such stupidity beautiful.
“Good evening,” Grace said, keeping the forced smile on her
face. She tapped down the steps with all the delicacy of a ballerina, then brought her hand toward the woman. From there, she noted that the woman was perhaps precisely her age—23 years old—and thus her perfect enemy. “My name is Lady Grace Bragg. I’m sure Ernest has spoken of me, as I’m his fiancée.”
The woman didn’t do a thing in response. She stood upright, blinking at her. Beside her, her Aunt Renata balked and cut forward, sputtering, “Oh yes, Lady Bragg. I met you that evening at the fire, don’t you remember? It was such a pleasure then, and I’m grateful we were able to meet again.”
Grace grinned, her eyes remaining on the woman before her. “Yes. But I wasn’t able to meet you, was I?” she continued. “You’ve been quite unconscious. We’ve all worried endlessly about you. Most notably, my fiancé, who hasn’t a reason in the world to care for you. Didn’t know your name a few days ago, did he?” She allowed herself to laugh—a bright, twinkling one.
“Yes. It was a horrific time for all of us,” the woman confirmed, her voice low, yet still feminine. She brought her hand out slowly, allowing Grace to link up with her. “My name is Lady Diana Harrington. It’s a unique pleasure to meet the fiancée of such a kind, good-hearted man. I’m sure you thank your stars every day for it.”
Grace yearned to scoff at the phrase. But she forced herself to keep her eyes steady. She nodded and then dropped Diana’s hand, marvelling at the electricity that still shot through it. “It’s a remarkable thing, meeting such courageous women,” she went on. “I assume you must be famished. Shall we retreat indoors, so that you can dress for dinner?”
She whirled around, connecting eyes with Ernest. Her nostrils remained flared as she cut past him. She knew he felt her anger, emanating off of her, altering the weather. How dare he belittle her, have eyes for another woman? Hadn’t he a clue with Grace Bragg would do for his title, for his house?
Of course, he did. She assured herself of this as she entered the drawing room beside the dining room, waiting for the final call for dinner. A nameless maid arrived with a glass of wine, which Grace drank in three quick gulps. She swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, both loving and hating the severity of her own anger. How could she stop it? Better yet, how could she use it?
Chapter 10
Diana entered her adopted bedroom 15 minutes prior to dinner. Her fingers quaked as she reached for her hairbrush, whipping it through her curls and blinking at herself in the mirror. She willed herself not the cry. Grace Bragg—Ernest’s fiancée—was far more beautiful than she’d expected. This had been stupid on her part, as, of course, an earl would marry a gorgeous, evil-eyed blonde woman. That was the sort of world in which she lived.
Diana wished she could take greater care in planning her appearance that evening. As it stood, however, all her things had been lost in a fire—and she was left to pick from the very small selection Ernest and Rose had put together for her. She stitched up the back of a black dinner dress, feeling as though she was in mourning (something she’d done frequently previously, of course). A shadow passed over her heart.
After finalizing herself—as best she could—Diana creaked open the door. To her surprise, she found Rose lurking beyond, tapping up and down the hallway. She whirled around, scowling at Diana, and said, “I’ve been waiting for you!”
Diana laughed, unsure of how to read the situation. “I’m sorry?”
Rose burst toward her and gripped her elbow. “Don’t you see the way she’s looking at you? Like you’re fresh meat. You have to watch yourself.”
“She’s absolutely fine,” Diana said, allowing her shoulders to sag. “Really. This is your brother’s fiancée. The future lady of this house! She’s accustomed to acting a certain way within these walls, and I must allow such a thing.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Rose chirped. “My brother is already falling for you. I see it, and you know it.”
Diana switched her weight. She blinked at Rose, marvelling at the way in which, already, Rose spoke to her with such familiarity. It felt akin to having her sister back, which made her heart surge with complicated emotions. Love. Sadness. Regret at all she’d been unable to have with her real sister.
“You have to stay strong tonight, Diana,” Rose continued, her voice lowering. “I know you have triple the intelligence of that witch. If you show yourself to be so prosperous, so honest, so sure… I can’t imagine that Ernest will think of anything but you.”
Diana crept her lips into a subtle smile. “You really think it’s so simple? In our society?”
Rose lent a volatile shrug. “Life shouldn’t be caught up in all these rules, all these expectations…”
And just before Diana had a chance to say it, Rose continued. “I know that you surely think me idiotic and young. You surely think—she’s only 15 years old. What could she possibly know? But perhaps that’s the beauty of being so young, don’t you think? I haven’t yet built up the idea that all of this has to exist. It doesn’t yet own a plot of land in my innocent brain.” She said the word ‘innocent’ with relish, as though she knew precisely how not-so-innocent she truly was.
Diana sighed. She spread her hands across her belly and glanced toward the stairwell. As if on cue, Grace’s voice rattled up the steps, echoing from wall to wall. The base of Diana’s spine shivered.
Rose stepped toward the sound, her expression falling. “I suppose the show must go on, then.”
Diana followed her. She struggled in yanking her own shoulders back, lifting her chin. Her mind raced to all the learnings she’d had as a younger woman—how to walk, how to dance, how to speak a variety of different languages. Perhaps due to the severity of her injuries, she struggled to articulate if she’d ever been intelligent, if she’d ever had anything meaningful to say.
Perhaps she could just blaze through the rest of the evening on niceties alone. Despite the horror that Grace seemed to exhibit within her, Diana knew how to be kind. This had served her well throughout the years; it would be the only thing she could lean upon.
Rose and Diana entered the dining room moments later. It felt a bit like entering into a lion’s den, in which the only rules were animalistic and charged with anger. Grace’s eyes burned into Diana, seemingly noting her every move. Diana flashed a smile, praying she looked at least half-decent.
Her aunt and father both beamed at her, with Aunt Renata whispering, “You look much better, darling. The fresh air must have done something marvellous for you.”
Diana swept into her chair and laced her fingers together anxiously. “Perhaps it’s best if we take frequent walks, especially as the weather grows warm,” she said, feeling Ernest’s eyes upon her. She felt that within her words, she was asking—pleading with him—to walk with her, to talk with her, out along the edge of the trees. The romance that surged within her made her blood rush across her face. She found it rather difficult to breathe.
“What good news, that you’re recovering so quickly!” Grace said. Her voice was flat and stony. “I know that my dear earl wanted nothing more than to ensure you awoke. I couldn’t imagine what might have happened, had you not.”
Diana flashed her eyes toward Grace, recognizing that the woman had actually, horrifically, brought up the fact of her potential death. Her heart sank, yet she ensured her smile didn’t waver. “I can’t imagine a better place to return to health,” she said.
The meal arrived: roasted duck, roasted potatoes, a variety of greens. Each glowed with oils and butters. Again, Diana’s stomach ached with perpetual hunger. It seemed she would never recover fully from those three days of not eating—and she was prepared to make up for lost time. However, when a maid dished the glittering duck across her plate, Diana again turned her eyes toward Grace, noting that the woman seemingly had nothing to do but stare directly at her. Diana’s appetite dropped immediately. She wouldn’t be caught stuffing her face in full view of this woman.
Grace spun her head toward Ernest as forks clattered atop plates. She turned her expressio
n to one of doe-like excitement. “Darling, I meant to tell you,” she began, bringing her hand across Ernest’s lower arm, near his hand, “just last evening, our cook made your absolute favourite—quail. I so wanted you there. It always fills me with such pleasure, knowing how happy you are when you’re filled with healthy, vibrant foods.” She giggled to herself. “I suppose that’s why I want to marry you, isn’t it? What a sap I am.”
A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance) Page 8