Authors: Penny Richards
Lydia blushed and Grace watched her with love, as if Lydia were her daughter and not her sister.
“I confess I have heard of your beauty, but I have not been in Town long enough to hear you were so charming, as well,” he added.
Lydia thanked him shyly. Lord Weston eyed his friend and leaned toward her. “And he has gleaned that after only three words at the most. He is not usually so perceptive. An excellent compliment, Dennis. Do you think I might be rubbing off on him?”
They all laughed, even Lord Hendricks.
“I don't know about you, Lydia,” Grace teased, “but I have not heard that gentlemen are now trying to outshine the ladies they are escorting. I fear to leave the house with these two!” Though she was only slightly jesting, she was awed at how striking Lord Weston looked tonight. She had never seen him in evening attire and thought he was most handsome.
She was suddenly ashamed of the frivolity of her thoughts. Beauty and finery were not what life was about. She must remember to focus on what
was
important in this lifeâserving God and making herself useful wherever she was. Indeed, she would find a way to do so even in London. That would be the next order of business for her...as soon as this night at the theater was over.
Lord Weston brought her back to the present as he set her wrap around her shoulders. “Your hair smells like roses. I thank you, my lady, for so honoring my gift.”
To cover her embarrassment at his compliment, she said softly, “I am very glad
I
will not be the one trying to remove the rake out of you.”
“But, my dear, that is the part you definitely want to leave in!” He handed her into the coach, giving her no chance to reply, only her smile to show him he had been truly missed.
Chapter Nine
T
he crush of carriages seemed endless, though half the occupants of their own carriage did not seem to notice. Lord Hendricks and Lydia were in their own little world and Grace was surprised. It was what she had wanted for Lydia all along, someone to make her shine. But such an instant attraction! Grace never thought to see the like.
As they entered the foyer of the theater, the beautiful gowns, the glittering jewels and the handsome gentlemen were set off by what seemed to be thousands of candles. The opulent stairways, velvet drapes and gorgeous statues left her speechless. It all seemed so much more lavish than when she had come out as a girl of eighteen.
Lord Hendricks took Lydia's arm and Grace and Lord Weston followed them up the stairway to the box where his sisters waited. Grace noticed another couple coming down the stairs just as they were ascending. The very obvious age difference between the two, and the beauty of the woman, made them stand out.
The gentleman appeared to be in his seventies and very distinguished, while the woman on his arm wore a very low cut dress of red silk, which clung rather too closely to all her elegant curves. Almost instantaneously Grace berated herself for her judgment. For all she knew the woman could be the gentleman's daughter, and what gown she chose was none of Grace's business.
But just then she heard Lord Weston mutter under his breath. It was so unusual of him that she was startled. Before she could ask him what was wrong, the woman in red left her escort with a word in his ear and proceeded directly into their path. She had black shiny hair and the whitest skin Grace had ever seen. She was stunning in a way
Grace
could never be. But that did not bother her...then.
Lord Weston motioned to Lord Hendricks to go on ahead and take Grace and Lydia with him. “Dennis will take you to the box where Elizabeth and Maggie are probably waiting. I will be along in a moment.” But before Grace could depart, the woman walked into her path and up to Lord Weston. She kissed him on the cheek while looking directly at Grace. He motioned for Lord Hendricks to take Lydia, and kept Grace's arm tightly in his, with his hand over hers.
“Brandon,” the woman said, her voice low and raspy, “aren't you going to introduce me to your...lady?” Grace was puzzled by the strong emphasis on the last word. Did she doubt her parentage? “I have been dying to meet her ever since I saw the notice in the paper. I have seen you so often without her, I was beginning to believe she did not exist.”
The woman looked at her for a moment with such hatred that Grace was taken aback. She must have been mistaken; she was sure they had not met before.
“Lady Grace, let me introduce you to Lady Patrice Winslow. Lady Winslow, this is my betrothed, Lady Grace Endicott.” Grace closed her eyes momentarily. This was the widow who had been expecting an offer from him.
“How charming she is, Brandon,” the woman said, in a manner that intimated she thought quite the opposite. “I can see, however, why some might have thought the other sister more to your liking. We all know how important beauty is to you.”
Before Lord Weston had time for a rejoinder, she addressed Grace directly. “I am agog to hear how you met, my lady. Perhaps we might talk during the intermission.”
Grace did the one thing she did not want to do, she lost her temper. “Oh, dear, are you addressing me? I thought I had become invisible!”
Lord Weston laughed out loud. “Touché, Patrice! If you will excuse us, we need to get to our box. It was a pleasure to see you again.”
Lord Weston grasped Grace's hand, still on his arm, so she had to go with him up the stairs, but not before she saw Lady Winslow's fists clench in indignation.
“That was her, was it not, my lord? The widow you were thinking of proposing to before I interfered in your life at the Blue Swan Inn.” Grace kept trying to pull her hand free. “I could box your ears for your âbeauty is not important to me' speech. The woman is stunning, if you like them a trifle on the showy side. That was not something you mentioned when you told me about her.”
Grace was miserable. She was angry at being ignored by the encroaching female, but was honest enough to admit, at least to herself, that she felt dowdy and plain standing next to her. She was jealous! Her normal self would have very casually handled the woman's rude remarks with a smile or a word that would diffuse the situation. However, her emotions had completely taken over when confronted with
this
woman.
She did not want that to be the kind of woman Lord Weston wanted.
With that realization came the knowledge that
she
wanted to be the type he preferred. And it scared her. They were to part in only a few weeks time and she had begun to care what he thought of her much more than their plan called for. She could still feel the sting and her eyes were filling with angry tears.
She finally escaped his grasp, and turned her anger onto him. “You could have warned me, you know,” she exclaimed, forcing herself to speak softly. “You could have prepared me for a piranha. And you could have told me we might meet tonight, so I would not have been taken off guard by it. I am ashamed of myself and I could...plant you a facer!”
He laughed again and returned her arm into the crook of his. “My love, I would not have missed that for the world!” Astonished, she again tried to stop walking, but he kept her with him as he continued up the stairway. “You are right, I owe you an apology, though I did not realize she was back in Town and had no notion that we would encounter her tonight. But I cannot understand why no one will listen to me when I tell them I never had any intention of proposing to her.”
He pulled Grace closer and leaned his head very near to hers. “Look at me, Grace. Truly, she means nothing to me.” And with that he kissed her lips quickly.
He continued almost proudly. “Do not worry, you were magnificent, my dear. I was prepared to make a few cutting remarks when your eyes flashed that dark emerald color and you showed her she was not dealing with a silly, simpering miss. Now stop fretting and calm down before we enter the box.”
“People could not possibly believe you would choose me when they know that is the kind of woman you like. And why did you kiss me there on the stairs? I do not understand this anymore, my lord,” she said, deflated. He must have thought the roses on her dress ridiculous compared to the gown Lady Winslow wore. She muttered under her breath, “I now know that subtlety is certainly not a requirement in your choice of brides.”
He looked at her and burst into laughter, which bothered her no end. Yet it troubled her more that his smile and laugh could so easily take the wind out of her sails.
“You are one in a million, my lady. And, no, subtlety is not one of Patrice's strong suits.” He let go of Grace's hand and put his own on the small of her back. He gently pressed her up the stairs as the halls began to empty and people took to their boxes. “If you think I prefer that gown over yours, then you do not know me.”
“I do
not
know you.”
“And,” he continued, as if she had not spoken, “I kissed you because I saw her gloating at the bottom of the steps while you were fighting me all the way up. That is no way to convince the
ton
that we are in love.” Once again he soothed her with his soft words. “I did not want her to think she could cause contretemps between us.”
All Grace could think of as they entered the box was that she must plan their parting before her feelings could take further root.
* * *
Brandon ushered Grace into their box to take her mind off of Patrice's sad want of character. However, he needed to get
his
mind off the kiss he had taken for selfish reasons that had nothing to do with the widow. Lady Grace was turning out to be one of the most interesting women he had ever met.
When Patrice was too rude to tolerate any longer, Brandon had been ready to step in and defend Grace. He was pleased that she could defend herself, but he did wish, for a moment, that
he
had been the one to do it. He wanted the
ton
to know she was under his full protection.
When he thought about her wearing his roses as ornaments on her dress, he was inordinately pleased. He found her simplicity and innocence in doing him that honor a touching thing.
He must stop this. It was touching, yes, but she was not trying to please him and he had certainly not had a change of heart where marriage was concerned. He would enjoy this farce while it lasted, but no more than that. He had her promise on that.
He came back to the present when the applause after the first act began. He joined in the clapping as if he had watched the play with interest, but kept his attention fixed on his affianced to be sure the encounter with Patrice was defused. This was only the first night with Grace on his arm; he decided it would definitely be the most interesting Season he had had in a long while. And he looked forward to spending the next few weeks at her side.
* * *
Grace could not wait the necessary weeks to get out of this betrothal. She felt the need
now.
Lord Weston's make-believe intimacies were beginning to wear on her.
Since the theater a week ago, she had spent some part of each day with him, and the longer they were betrothed, the more it all seemed natural. Too natural! She had been praying for God's grace to help her out of a situation she knew was totally of her making.
She had not forgotten the seriousness of every reputation involved. But the major reason for coming to London seemed assured, as Lydia and Lord Hendricks spent as much time together as decorum allowed. If the relationship between her sister and Lord Hendricks proceeded as Grace thought it would, that would negate the most important reason for continuing the facade of an engagement.
Her own reputation would have one blot on it, for no matter when she ended it, in a week or a month, she would be labeled a jilt. It was not a horrific stigma, particularly once she returned home. And home was where she wanted...needed to be respected.
Then there was Brandon, as she now thought of him. He had mentioned that it was very bad timing for him to cause a scandal, speaking of some interest that he and Lord Hendricks were a part of. Grace must make sure he came out of
this
relationship unscathed. There should be no consequence to the business he was involved in.
She had gotten them all into this by stepping in where she did not belong, and had agreed to the engagement to help lessen the potential damage to Lydia and Brandon. But now? It was no longer necessary, yet his family and hers were deeply invested in this relationship. And she was too attracted to a man she would certainly never marry, for he did not want it and she would never ask it of him. She must get them out of this before it got any worse, especially for her heart.
And beyond the worry that she would say or do the wrong thing, she had begun to hate London. Unfortunately, it was only Brandon that made life here bearable. The sameness of each day baffled her. Society had no desire other than going out day after day, night after night, seeing all the same people, gossiping about all the same tattle, over and over.
Of course, in her small community at home, everyone knew everyone else and people gossiped, but there was also work to be done each day. And because social events were few and far between, they were special.
For the most part, there was no giving back of any of what fortune had bestowed upon them. Grace had asked several people about charities or ladies' societies that she could join, and she was looked at as if she had two heads. It seemed these idle, rich Londoners had no time for such things.
For her part, that was going to change today. If she could not immediately remedy the situation with Brandon, which was heavy on her heart, she could be a pair of hands to help someone else and to serve God in some capacity.
After a little investigating, Grace had discovered the name of an orphanage. She hoped to go and volunteer some of her time there while she remained in London. Lydia was with Lord Hendricks and his mother, Aunt Aggie at a balloon ascension and Brandon was not scheduled to pick her up until five for a drive in the park. She truly wished to go by herself first, in any event. Should it be a place where she could be of help, she knew Lydia would wish to take part, as well, but first Grace must be certain it would be safe for her.
She came down the steps, pulling on her gloves as she greeted old Jamison. She wore a serviceable dark gray gown that was not in the latest fashion. She did not wish to go to an orphanage in opulence!
Jamison shuffled over to her as she stood next to Max. “May I ask where you are off to, my lady? Shall I call for the carriage?”
Grace sat down on the steps. “What do you think, Max? Do we tie up the carriage all afternoon at the orphanage? No, I do not think so, either. What if Lydia or Aunt Aggie need it when they get home?”
Turning to the butler, she said, “Jamison, Max and I agree, we will do the honorable thing and take a hackney. If you would call a footman to accompany me, that will do nicely.”
Jamison tugged on the bellpull, mumbling about talking to old scraps of metal as if they were alive.
“It is too bad of you, Max. Why could you not be real?” Grace pouted, looking at her medieval knight. “You would rescue me from this predicament, wouldn't you?” While she waited for the footman and the hackney, she continued her imagined conversation. “You would be a hero and ride to this orphanage on Baxter Street and save all of the children, would you not, my Max? Maybe we would adopt them and give them full run of the estate, what do you think?”
Her thoughts suddenly turned inward and she was no longer in a frivolous state of mind. “Do you think God is punishing me, Max? I am about to fall in love with a man I never should have met, much less interfered with.” It was the first time she'd admitted to herself that she could love a renowned rake.