A Seductive Lady Rescued From Flames (Historical Regency Romance)

by Emily Honeyfield

  Diana peered at him, unable to smile or acknowledge the joke. Ernest’s own false smile faltered. He blinked down at his breakfast potatoes and eggs, seemingly recognizing how ill-suited he and Diana were to converse like this, as though nothing had happened between them.

  What a wretched thing it was, being alive.

  Ernest and Rose led the Harringtons to the carriage, which Grace’s uncle had sent over for them. That morning, the plan was to meet once more with Lord Bragg, get a final tour of the estate, and then see him off on his journey. It was a fine plan, one that brought Lord Harrington a great deal of joy. But Diana felt as though she was being shoved down a strange timeline, one she couldn’t comprehend.

  It was just another tragedy in a string of tragedies.

  “Good luck,” Ernest said to them, as he cut the carriage door closed. “I’m sure we’ll be seeing one another soon.”

  “And good luck with your engagement!” Aunt Renata chirped.

  Ernest seemed to hold Aunt Renata’s eyes for a moment longer than was necessary, leaving Diana to question—had Aunt Renata and Ernest exchanged words about Grace, about Diana herself?

  She wouldn’t put it past her aunt to dig into her mess.

  “I’ll tell Grace that you’re thinking of her,” Ernest told them, his voice grey and formal. “I know she’ll appreciate it.”

  Then, he closed the door the rest of the way.

  As the carriage slipped away from the Bannerman estate, Lord Harrington muttered under his breath, “What an idiot.”

  Diana didn’t have the energy, nor the bravery, to ask him what he meant. She figured she already knew.

  Chapter 18

  Ernest and Rose walked back into their estate alone, both listening to the crumple of rocks beneath the carriage wheels. Ernest slipped the door closed quietly behind them, and they stood in the foyer for a moment, quietly staring at the shining marble floors.

  “That’s it, then,” Ernest said, his words lined with finality.

  Rose looked at him with shining, tearful eyes. “I don’t know how you can live with yourself.”

  The words felt like a smack. “Hey. Rose…”

  She turned and scampered down the hallway, her hands flailing behind her. Ernest rushed after her. “Rose! You can’t just say things like that to me. You know the nature of this situation. It’s not as though there’s anything I can do…”

  Rose bucked around at the entrance to their father’s study—the room that was technically Ernest’s study, now. “You’re entirely free to do whatever you want to do, Ernest. You can’t possibly think that I don’t understand. I was there when Father died. I listened to him as he told you what he wanted you to do. But, Ernest, he was absolutely out of his mind with illness! Besides telling you who to marry—besides telling you how to live out the rest of your days—he also thought Mother was in the room, and he talked to her frequently! You remember that, don’t you?”

  Ernest’s memories of those weeks were foggy. “Did he?”

  “Yes! Anything he said, he probably wasn’t aware of. What can I possibly tell you to make you believe this?” Rose reached forward and squeezed Ernest’s wrist hard, cutting her nails into his skin.

  This was a tactic she’d used frequently when they’d been children: something that caught his attention, regardless of what sort of fight they were in.

  “Grace is a horrific woman. She’s going to make your life a living hell. And yet, you’re allowing it to happen. Why? Is a dead man’s honour really so powerful for you?”

  “I don’t expect you to understand,” Ernest murmured.

  Rose rolled her eyes with such theatrics, Ernest felt sure they might fall out of her head. She cut back into the study—his study!—and then slammed the door in his face. The shock of it rang through Ernest’s body. He stepped back, panic overtaking him.

  Was it possible that his 15-year-old sister had more wisdom than he did?

  That afternoon, Grace appeared for tea and spread out various elements of her wedding planning for Ernest to see. It had been a long time since the pair of them had been alone together, and Ernest couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the strange hollowness between them.

  Grace spoke to him with a sterility that reminded Ernest of a doctor and a patient. It seemed she was telling him the prescription of their upcoming wedding, rather than revealing it to him in an overflowing, emotional, beautiful way.

  “Are you all right, Ernest? You’re looking a bit pale,” Grace said, drawing her chin against her fist. She blinked at him, analysing him. “What happened this morning? The Harringtons left, didn’t they?”

  “You already know they did,” Ernest pointed out, finding himself hostile and strange. “They’re currently making a home at your uncle’s.”

  “So kind of him to offer,” said Grace, sneering. She flashed her hand across Ernest’s on the table. Her skin was cold and clammy. “Now, listen to that. The house is empty, but for the staff members and your sister. Isn’t it marvellous, knowing that our future will exist here? And within just a few years, your sister will be paired up with some unfortunate fellow, leaving us to our lives together.”

  Ernest thought he caught a hint of sarcasm in her words.

  “And you’re telling me that’s exactly what you want?” he asked her. His heart thudded unhappily, as though it was underwater.

  “It’s everything I’ve always wanted,” Grace returned. “How could I ever want anything else?”

  ***

  The following evening, Grace and Ernest were guests of honour at a high-profile party at the stunning estate of the marquess, located closer to the central heart of London, near Richmond Park. Grace spent the evening primping at Ernest’s mansion, whilst he and Rose read silently in the study. Rose hadn’t given her brother many words since their fight the previous day, yet seemed resigned to sit next to him. As she flipped the page of her book, she murmured, “I wonder how many more years it’s going to take her to get ready? Would you like to make any bets?”

  They heard Grace’s light footsteps in the hall. Ernest stood slowly from his chair, taking in the last words on the page. Rose didn’t look up as she said, “Here we go. Off for another brilliant night of your life.”

  “Can you just try to be happy for me?” Ernest said, hearing the doom in his own voice.

  “Absolutely not,” Rose affirmed.

  Ernest cut out toward the hallway, finding Grace in the foyer. She was dressed spectacularly, as was her custom: a light green frock that bounded over her breasts, making them surge high on her chest. The gown made her neck look long and thin, yet powerful, and her powder made her cheeks glow. She curtsied for him, clearly aware that he was taking in her beauty. How could one not?

  The one thing Ernest couldn’t say, of course, was that her beauty actually made his stomach turn over. Her beauty felt like the origin of her evil. It was the only thing she lived for. And, in a sense, because he’d agreed to marry her—er, asked her to marry him—her beauty had become the only thing he could cling to, as well.

  Of course, in his mind’s eye, her beauty had nothing on Diana’s.

  “What do you think?” Grace demanded, fishing for a compliment.

  Ernest cleared his throat. “You look ravishing, darling.”

  Grace beamed at him, trotting up to dot a kiss on his cheek. The kiss felt chilly, like a fresh wind had just crept in off the moors. He tried his best to form a smile across his cheeks.

  “I suppose it’s time for us to attend yet another ball,” he said.

  Grace’s laughter tinkled. “You’re always so negative, aren’t you? And yet, everyone wishes to see you, you know. They’re aching to see us together. The brand-new earl and his very-nearly new bride. The curiosity could destroy the land.” Grace flashed her hands across her gown, straightening a few wrinkles. “And I, for one, am grateful that all the rumours will dissipate now.”

  Ernest arched his thick black brow. “Rumours?”

 
“Why, yes, darling. You couldn’t have thought that having some other strange girl lurking in your home did much for your reputation. Everyone was whispering about it. My friends all asked me, ‘What is it the earl is doing? You know he could ruin you.’”

  Ernest’s heart pattered with disdain. For the first time in a long time—perhaps ever—he wanted to demand just what was so important about what other people thought. But he kept his mouth clamped shut. Diana was far, far away, in another world, now. Nothing he said could bring her back. He had to play by the rules once more.

  In the carriage, Grace slipped off her gloves and rubbed her perfect palms together, continuing to gab. “You know, it was really a struggle finding something to wear. I stopped at Tatiana’s only a few days ago to discover that she also was planning to wear a light green frock! At first, I broke into tears. I told her that she was making a mockery of me, wearing the same thing. She, of course, absolute dolt that she is, didn’t see the problem…”

  As Grace continued to speak, Ernest dropped his head against the headrest within the carriage. His eyes fluttered closed for a moment. Images of that afternoon in the forest with Diana returned to his mind. Her breasts, so pure and soft and round beneath his fingers. Her mouth, opening as she allowed a moan to escape. When he’d entered her, he’d found himself falling away from reality—as though nothing he’d ever known mattered any longer.

  “Ernest? Hello?” Grace demanded. She snapped her fingers directly in front of his nose. “Ernest! I really can’t abide with being ignored.”

  Ernest forced his eyes open. He gave her a dreamy smile, as he still felt caught in his memories. “I’m sorry.”

  “If you ignore me like this, then I truly don’t know how we’ll survive this marriage,” Grace snapped. Her eyes seemed to spit venom.

  Ernest longed to take this opportunity to say, “Well, darling. We don’t have to! Lucky you. I’m terribly in love with someone else.” But, yet again, Grace’s laughter tinkled, casting a wave over him.

  “Of course, I know that’s silly. We’ll do anything to make this work. Won’t we, darling?” She squeezed his knee almost too hard, with those biting nails. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes. When Tatiana refused to take back her dress and find another, I accidentally—yes, accidentally—spilled tea all over it. It was terribly wretched of me, I know, but I couldn’t continue that argument without winning. You know how I am.”

  When the carriage rippled alongside Richmond Park, Ernest’s heart pattered wildly. He knew they were close. They were too far from home; he couldn’t make an easy escape if he wanted to. He felt like a ship captain, far out to sea on waters that didn’t look terribly friendly. The sky was black.

  He performed his initial duties when they arrived, darting out of the carriage to help Grace to the ground below. Her delicate hand in his reminded him of a spider. The moment she hit the grass below, she beamed at the crowd around them, all walking with purpose toward the bright lights of the incredible mansion. She drew her shoulders back and gave Ernest a strange, narrow-eyed look.

  “Are you going to stand there staring at me, Ernest, or are you going to take me to the ball?”

  Begrudgingly, Ernest offered his arm. She snaked her arm around it and the pair swept up toward the door, joining the line of other ball-goers. At the top of the stairs, an old friend of Ernest’s—Michael, a boy he’d gone to school with, who held a beautiful woman on his arm—turned swiftly, his eyes bright.

  “Hello, my lord!” he called. The words were almost playful, as though they were simply pretending that Ernest was now an earl.

  Ernest bowed his head. “I’d love to introduce you to my fiancée.”

  Michael walked over with a jaunt, delivering himself and his wife before them. He had the same cutting grin from childhood. It stirred Ernest’s heart to see it.

  “This is Lady Grace Bragg,” Ernest offered. “Grace. This is a good friend of mine from my youth. Lord Michael Mannerheim.”

  “Lord Mannerheim. It’s marvellous to meet you,” Grace said, delivering a perfect dip of a curtsy.

  Michael introduced his young wife, Bethany Mannerheim, who immediately complimented Grace’s gown. This was the forced dialogue between women; Ernest knew this better than most at this point.

  “But haven’t you already seen Lady Beverly’s dress?” Grace whispered to Bethany, tilting her head toward the corner. “It’s positively wretched. She’s gained a great deal of weight in the middle. And those arms! Do you suppose she’s pregnant?”

  Bethany looked vaguely uncomfortable. She cast a strange look to her husband, then whispered, “I do hope she is. Aren’t babies wonderful?”

  Grace let out a volatile little laugh. “Oh. Aren’t you sweet? You really are my Ernest’s friends, aren’t you? Always trying to find the best in people.” Grace’s hand swept down Ernest’s back. “It’s a remarkable thing, hearing other people echo your same goodness. Of course, I know you struggle with it, Ernest. That guilty conscience of yours keeps you up at night.”

  Both Michael and Bethany gaped at them like they were animals in a zoo. Ernest cleared his throat, hunting for something to say to clear the air.

  But Michael got to it first.

  “Did you see that the Duke of Coventry is here?” he said, pointing with his nose toward a glittering table filled with champagne glasses. “I’d only met him once or twice before, when we were younger. He’s quite the life of the party.”

  Ernest lent a half-interested eye toward the duke. The man was incredibly handsome, ripped from an old painting, perhaps, with glowing yellow hair, thick strips of beard down each side of his face, and an enormous Roman nose that oddly suited him, although it would have looked ridiculous on anyone else. He gave the entire image a shrug, saying, “I wonder how he knows the marquess?”

  But that was when he noted Grace’s eyes. It seemed that she’d taken an enormous fancy to the duke. She ducked around, so that her breasts pointed directly toward him. It was like she was attempting to be a lighthouse, calling her sailor home. Ernest rolled his eyes.

  Whatever she wanted to do at these sorts of events, he couldn’t even pretend to care.

  “Darling, would you like me to get you a drink?” Grace suggested, batting her thick lashes.

  Of course. She would utilize her “need” to help him, to provide for him, in order to sidle up alongside the duke. Ernest let out a hopeful, bright, “Darling, that would be remarkable. Thank you so much for your consideration.”

  He wanted to play up his distaste, like this was a game he and Grace were now playing together. Sure, it was a game that they would have to play for the rest of their lives—and it was a game that aimed only to make them both miserable.

  But that’s what marriage was. Right?

  Grace sauntered away with better posture than he’d ever seen her muster up before. He turned back to Michael and Bethany, too exhausted to feel embarrassed about her actions. Michael mumbled something about how Grace seemed “kind” and “beautiful.” To this, Ernest just said, “She really is something.”

  Michael suggested that they exit the ball briefly for a cigar outside. They bid Bethany adieu and marched back into the late-spring wind together. They hovered near the entrance of the ball, with several people stopping and congratulating Ernest on both his engagement and his fresh title.

  “I suppose I shouldn’t have manned the front door,” Ernest told Michael quietly.

  “It’s like you have a mark on your back, isn’t it?” Michael agreed. “Perhaps we could step around to the side.”