A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle (50 page)

“
I’ve no idea what
circumstances have changed so you can be here for a visit with us,
but we are thrilled. Thrilled! Lud, Laurence, she looks just like
Margaret.”

Grace’s head lifted at the mention of
her mother. She barely remembered the woman, but a few pleasant
memories remained—singing, playing games, being rocked and tucked
into bed.

“
Margaret had those same
eyes,” Lady Kensington continued softly. “I always envied your
mother her eyes, dear. Mine are just a horrid, dull brown. It was
truly unfair for one sister to have the most perfect shade of eyes
in the world, and the other to receive eyes so dull. Oh well, I
promise to enjoy yours.” Lady Kensington patted her on the cheek
and brushed at her hair until a few wisps came loose from their
knot. “So beautiful…”

The effusive welcome threatened to
turn farcical. If Grace’s aunt did not allow her a moment to regain
her bearings, she could surely not be held accountable for her
actions. Could she? Oh dear. The entire situation was becoming
inexplicably ludicrous.

“
Dorothea, would you give
Gracie a moment to breathe? I wager you have not taken a breath
yourself in a good five minutes.” Sir Laurence took a seat on the
other side of Grace and pulled her in for a brief hug.

“
She is not always like
this, you know Grace. It is just she has been so excited since we
got your letter informing us of your visit. Your Aunt Dorothea will
become a normal woman after a day or two, once the newness of
having you here wears off. Then she will merely talk your ear off
during most hours of the day, all the while making you dizzy with
moving about nonstop. You will become accustomed to it. I certainly
have. Of course, I’ve had a good number of years to learn to love
your aunt’s quirks.” He chuckled and touched her gently on the back
of her hand.

Mrs. Finchley entered again, carrying
the tea service. She placed it on the table before them and left
once again, just as unobtrusively as she had come.

“
Dorothea, can you manage
to pour, or are you too flustered?” Sir Laurence gave his wife a
wicked grin, proving the facetious spirit in which he delivered his
query.

Lady Kensington frowned at him but
served the tea anyway.

“
Grace, have you settled
in?” Sir Laurence asked. “I hope the chamber is to your liking. We
have some larger suites, but we thought you might appreciate the
coziness of the one we chose. It is bright and cheerful in the
mornings.”

Cheerful in the mornings would be very
much appreciated, indeed. Grace hadn’t felt cheerful in far too
long. But that must mean they were prepared for her to stay for
more than only one night. Would that change if they learned the
truth?

“
Yes, my lord, the room is
lovely. It will be more than adequate.”

She accepted the cup of tea and plate
of sandwiches, scones, and cakes, trying desperately to be
dignified in all of her speech and responses. Perhaps she could
make herself acceptable to them yet.

Her aunt and uncle would surely not be
pleased with her if she spoke out of turn or said something
inappropriate. Grace focused her attentions on her manners, trying
to eat slowly and neatly. Having eaten little for the last few days
though, she was ravenous. Soon, she was shoveling food into her
mouth in a most unbecoming manner, decorum tossed aside in favor of
satisfying the beast inside her stomach that threatened to eat her
alive if she did not provide it with ample sustenance in short
order.

“
Go on, go on, my dear,”
her uncle said. “Eat up. You must be famished. And just to be
clear, there will be none of that ‘Sir Laurence’ or ‘Lady
Kensington’ business. You should call me Uncle Laurence or just
Uncle. The same will go for your aunt. She is either Aunt Dorothea
or simply Aunt. We are not so terribly formal around
here.”

She glanced up sheepishly from the
task of filling her stomach as her aunt nodded in vigorous
agreement with her husband. This would mean even more
adjustment.

At her father’s house, she rarely even
called him Father. He expected her to call him ‘my lord’ more often
than not—and always in front of servants or guests.

Aunt Dorothea refilled Grace’s teacup
before giving her another helping of scones. “I do not imagine you
had much to eat on your journey, did you dear? You seem fair
gutfounded. That is quite all right. Have as much as you like now,
and there will be plenty more at supper. I’ll be sure Cook prepares
a feast. We’ll not have you go hungry. No ma’am, not in my house,
you will not be hungry. The abomination of the thought!”

Aunt Dorothea seemed to have calmed,
now showing immense interest in seeing to each of Grace’s comforts.
What a truly odd sensation, being looked after. Not uncomfortable.
Quite the opposite, actually. But very, very different. She mustn’t
become too accustomed to such treatment. It would only make it more
difficult when she must eventually take her leave of their
generosity.

Uncle Laurence settled into a nearby
armchair and tucked into his scone. “Do you think Tess will work
out for you as a lady’s maid? She has never served in any position,
really, but she grew up in our home. She has been with us since she
was just a wee tot, still in leading strings. I would like to find
her a position here at New Hill Cottage, where she can stay with
her aunt.”

Grace’s eyes widened again. They cared
enough to provide her with a personal servant for not only the
duration of her stay, but possibly as a permanent position? Oh
dear. She had not expected this—not any of this. It was all quite
more than she had been prepared to accept. Everything had started
to look up for her, literally out of nowhere.

Yet she could virtually see
a mountain of debts she would soon owe to her aunt and uncle piling
up before her, with no real way to return the favor of their
kindness. She’d have to find a way to make herself useful, if she
were to stay for very long. They could not simply give and give and
give her more, without her doing
something
for them in return. But
what?

She’d figure that out soon enough, she
supposed. “Yes, Uncle. I am certain Tess will be wonderful for the
position. I have never had a lady’s maid before, so she and I can
learn how things should be done together.”

“
You have
what
?” Aunt Dorothea
dropped her napkin to her lap. “Never had a lady’s maid? Laurence,
did you hear that? Goodness child, your father is a marquess! Could
he not part with enough of his precious coin to hire someone to
care for your needs?”

“
No, ma’am. Father did not
employ very many servants. He thought his money better spent
elsewhere.”

She flushed at the memory of just
exactly how her father found better use for his funds. Grace did
not feel it pertinent to share the precise manner in which he spent
his money. He may not be a kind man, but he was still her father.
Not knowing her Aunt and Uncle Kensington very well, she had no
idea how they would handle such information.

They could very well be some of the
biggest gossips in society. If so, word could spread all over
London that her father was a drunkard who loved to gamble and
whore. Granted, word could already be all over London about
that—and it would be true—but it was not Grace’s doing.

She needed to keep her location
secret. No one could discover her, unless absolutely
necessary.

Of course, letting such information
about Father slip might allow Grace a means to gauge the
Kensingtons’ possible reaction to the fact that she had run away
from him. Goodness, how could they have allowed her to stay in
their home for even this long without demanding an explanation for
her arrival?

Uncle Laurence set about calming his
wife again, patting the back of her hand and muttering something
about “things will be different for Grace while she is with
us.”

Grace returned her focus to the food
before her. After a third helping of sandwiches and the like, she
finally started to feel some relief in her stomach. She slowed her
eating and returned her attention to the conversation of her
relatives.

When they reached a lull, Grace took
the opportunity to satisfy her burning curiosity. “Might I enquire
what artist painted all of the pieces here? They seem to be of the
local area. Is it someone who lives nearby?”

Aunt Dorothea brimmed with pride. She
glanced over to Uncle Laurence, then spewed forth when he did not
respond within about three seconds, “Why, your uncle is the
artist!”

Grace covered her surprise by taking a
sip of tea. Uncle Laurence good-naturedly allowed his wife to gush
about him until she had spent the full frisson of her emotions and
moved on to the next subject.

“
Laurence is a wonderful
painter,” Aunt Dorothea continued, “though I have never yet
convinced him to do my portrait.” She feigned a pout in his
direction.

“
I will not have you
filling the girl’s head with fabrications. I can paint a landscape
with the best of them, but I am no portrait artist.” He glanced at
Grace, and told her as though he were confessing to a cardinal sin,
“I cannot quite seem to get the details in a face right—the lines
and angles are all wrong. Portraits are some artists’ specialties,
but not mine. I shall stick to my landscapes, even if she badgers
me to my grave about doing her portrait.”

Grace didn’t manage to suppress a grin
at the huff her aunt expelled.

It seemed staying with the Kensingtons
would turn out to be all right after all. They were genuinely kind
and considerate, and appeared to enjoy teasing each other. For once
in her life, Grace might live in pleasant surroundings—at least for
a time.

Though, one could never tell when one
might be turned out. If only she had known them better through the
rest of her life, she might know better how to interpret their
moods.

Once more, Grace gathered her courage
and prepared herself to be disappointed, even though it had become
apparent they would deny her nothing within their power. Still,
asking for things she wanted went against her nature. It was rather
uncomfortable to break free from the mold into which her father had
her so firmly planted. Nevertheless, she barreled through. “Uncle
Laurence, might I join you sometime on a painting excursion? I
brought a few oils and brushes with me. I would love to see more of
the area.”

He beamed at her. “Of course you can,
Grace. We’ll head out early next week if you can wait so long. I’ve
wanted to go over to the Cary River and paint for a while, if that
sounds like a good destination to you.”

She nodded. All it had taken was for
her to ask for what she wanted in order for it to be granted. Life
here would certainly be rather different from life with
Father.

Maybe, just maybe, she would not be
forced to leave them, at least for a time. Perhaps they would allow
her to stay at least long enough to form a new plan.

Uncle Laurence patted the back of her
hand. “Your mother told us you were becoming a little artist when
you were only three or four years old. It seems your father did not
break you of that, at least.” He winked at her over his
cup.

Could they know? Did the Kensingtons
realize what her father had been like all that time? What her life
had been like? It seemed unreal she could be granted such a
reprieve as to stay with people who cared for her, who wouldn’t
keep her locked in her chamber, and who would allow her to get out
in nature and experience some of the joys of life.

“
Oh, wonderful!” Aunt
Dorothea said. “I’ll come with you, and we can make a picnic of it.
Gracie…oh dear, I hope you don’t mind that I call you Gracie, being
a grown woman and all now.” She frowned and brushed a stray hair
back into place. “It is what we called you when you were just a
little girl you know, and old habits are difficult to curb my dear.
I am not much for painting, myself, or drawing for that matter. But
I’ll bring a touch of embroidery with me and it will keep me busy
while the two of you deal with your canvases. I’ll just keep to
myself and won’t be a bother to anyone.”

Aunt Dorothea prattled on, and Grace
and Uncle Laurence allowed her to do so. Grace no longer knew what
her aunt was talking about—it didn’t really matter. The non-stop
chatter comforted her. Finally, she could breathe again.

She spent some more time swimming
about in her thoughts while her aunt talked. Perhaps she could stay
with the Kensingtons—if Father never found her, of course. And if
they would forgive her for coming to them in such a condition, and
if they dared to risk the ostracism of what it would mean,
and—

“—
and we shall travel to
Roundstone Park tomorrow afternoon to visit and take tea with Lord
Rotheby, Grace.”

Grace jolted into the present. She
ought to have been paying closer attention. Lord Rotheby? Oh,
dear.

“
I hope you will not mind
paying a social call so soon after you’ve arrived,” her aunt rushed
on, “but we accepted his invitation before we knew you would come
to stay with us, sweetheart. The earl really is a dear old man, and
will not mind in the least if we bring you along.”