Authors: Penny Richards
He tugged the arm from around his neck and pushed her away with both hands. Languidly, he said, “You never had me, Patrice. Now listen to me. Your slimy cohort has been shipped off to a life I would not wish on my worst enemy. But not before he testified against you. I will give
you
a choice. But only because I would not put Grace through a public trial unless I have to.”
She gasped at the word
trial.
“You would not! Please, Brandon...”
“Either you will leave England of your own volition within forty-eight hours or I make you a solemn vow I will press charges. Do you understand?”
“Brandon, you cannot mean it. Leave England? Where would I go?”
“To be honest, I could not care less what becomes of you. But you had better make your plans in a hurry.”
She must have decided her innocent act was useless, and began to speak in a shrill voice. “You would not press charges against me. Think of what the
ton
would say. Think what that will do to your own name.”
He laughed out loud. “I do not give a hang about my reputation in London. In fact, as you well know, it just might enhance it.”
His humor was only a facade. His anger made him hard. “If you do not leave of your own accord, you will either be transported or you will be so shunned by Society that you may as well be gone. I will not be understanding or forgiving about this. I want you gone from England. If I see your face again, I will have Bow Street on your heels.” He pushed her aside and strode down the veranda steps toward the stables to order his coach.
Once again, his thoughts turned to Grace. Would she approve of his punishment for Patrice? Even when she spoke of God's grace, wouldn't there still be consequences? Patrice was certainly not getting what she deserved. He could not wait to ask Grace about it.
* * *
Grace finally made it through the crowded ballroom to where she had seen Brandon and Lady Winslow walk outside. When she rested her hand on the doorjamb she saw them on the steps. They were standing face-to-face, mere inches apart, with Brandon holding tightly to one of her arms. Grace saw their mouths moving. How she wished she could hear what they were saying! Why would he even spend a moment with her after all he knew?
Then Lady Winslow put her other arm up around Brandon's neck, brought his head down to hers for a kiss. Grace's heart broke. She turned away from the window, tears blinding her eyes.
She picked up her skirt and hurried around the outer circle of the ballroom. She was making a scene, but she did not care. The longed-for public disagreement was happening, even now, and no one would ever suspect she was pretending. She found Lydia and Lord Hendricks and told them she had to leave. Dennis offered to escort her home, but Grace only wanted him to make sure that Lydia got home safely.
“Grace, what is it? You are as white as a sheet. Dennis, would you get our wraps and meet us at the door?”
“No,” Grace ground out, and then apologized. “No, darling, you stay. I am only in a hurry to get back to Berkeley Square. I am leaving at first light to return to the Abbey, due to a sudden emergency. I have much packing to do in a short period of time.” She kissed her sister's cheek and whispered in her ear, “I will see you soon.” She left without another word.
In the carriage ride home, sobs engulfed her. She felt as if she had done nothing but cry since she'd met Brandon. Her thoughts ran unchecked in every direction. It was as if he had slapped her in the face, she hurt so badly. She told herself she must think about it outside of the fact that she loved him. He was free, to a degree, and had been from the outset. She had no grounds on which to accuse him of anything. If she had let herself love him, that was her problem, not his.
But, no, even if
she
had no hold on him, why would he be with
her?
Was he really the rake he said he was? Had they plotted the blackmail together? Oh, she could not think that. But Brandon knew Lady Winslow had forced her hand under the threat of harming him. Was she telling him all the details he did not learn at the dock? Was it a good joke between them? Grace felt sick to her stomach and had to catch her breath. The sobs became silent tears rolling down her cheeks.
It was not his fault that she had fallen in love with him. But it was his fault that he could not even wait until the engagement was officially broken before he resumed his relationship with Lady Winslow. Anyone else could have looked through that doorway at exactly the same time she had. Their excuse could no longer be that they did not suit. All of London would smirk and wonder how she could have expected him to be faithful to her.
She swiped at the tears on her face. But this green girl would not be here to see Society's response. She had been naive enough to believe he had only been acting the rake so no one suspected the altruism behind the facade. She believed it no more. He had never stopped being the rake. She remembered their betrothal ball and how angry he had been with her because she would not kiss him properly. Oh, she had seen everything through the eyes of a fool.
But the silent tears began again at the hurt, and the memories she had collected and stowed away in her heart, with the intent of cherishing them in the days to come, were now tainted.
* * *
Brandon was alone in his library, emotionally spent. He wished now that he had returned to the ballroom to see Grace. He had missed her, though the divide was self-imposed. And it was the fear of losing Grace that had angered him to the point of staying away from her for a few days. He knew he could trust her. He had known it all along. But he wanted her to trust him, to
need
him, too. Once he learned the blackmailer had threatened his life if she went to him, he knew her reasons. He would have done the same thing.
But when he thought about what could have happened to her that night, even before she met up with the blackmailer, he cringed. He knew now he could not live without her. She was everything he wanted in a woman. Little wonder he loved her.
And she was planning their parting of the ways. He could not let it happen. He had to think of some way to convince her to remain in London. He could make her love him. He would make no more mistakes with her. He wanted to be the man she needed; he would change, but he would need her help.
He had to make this betrothal real.
Chapter Seventeen
B
randon received the package from his butler on a silver salver at breakfast the next morning. Recognizing Grace's handwriting, he broke the seal and began to read the missive without waiting for his servant to leave the room.
He was eager to meet with Grace today. He felt almost dirty from his scene with Patrice, and Grace was goodness, and laughter and...grace. He would apologize for his silence and anger the other night in the carriage. He would begin his attack on her heart. More than anything, he wanted this woman to love and trust him. He would explain it all to her and ask
her
to show him grace and mercy! He would ask her how he should handle their disagreements in the future. If only she would agree to a future with him...
Therefore, he eagerly opened her missive.
Brandon,
I believe our plan for a public disagreement has now become unnecessary by our actions of the past two days. This is as good an opportunity as any, so I sent a notice to the
Gazette
this morning (from you) announcing the end of our engagement. Thank you for all of the help you and your family have been to Lydia. We owe you a debt of gratitude.
Your servant,
Grace Endicott
P.S. This messenger also returns your emeralds.
His shocked shout informed the servants that the missive had not been a pleasant one. “Have my stallion saddled and brought around immediately,” he growled. He was going to see her and he was going to see her now. What kind of note was that?
Gratitude?
He did not want her gratitude!
When he arrived in Berkeley Square, he knocked loud enough to wake the dead, and almost pushed Jamison over in his hurry to get to Grace. “Sorry, old man, I'm in rather a hurry. Don't worry, I will announce myself. Where is she?”
“I am sorry, my lord,” the butler informed him, pulling on his cuffs and brushing himself off. “Lady Grace is not at home.”
Did she think he could be pawned off with that sad excuse? “You may tell her she is at home to me!” If she was hiding somewhere in the house, he wanted her to hear him.
Lydia appeared in the doorway of the drawing room, with Dennis right behind her. “My lord, what is amiss? Why are you shouting the house down?”
“Lydia, will you please tell your sister that I wish to see her,
will
see her. I will sit in this foyer with Max and old Jamison until I speak to her.”
Lydia spoke quietly to Dennis, who retreated into the drawing room. She pulled the door closed behind him. “Will you come with me to the blue room, my lord? It is not often used, as it is in the back of the house. We may speak freely there.”
He followed her. “Lydia, we do not need to speak freely anywhere. I just wish to talk to Grace.”
“Lord Weston,” she said, looking at him in confusion. “Grace is not here. She left for home early this morning.” She lowered her voice so no one could hear. “I assumed it was all part of the plan and that you knew.”
He sat down on a divan and gestured for her to sit next to him. “Tell me from the beginning, my dear. When did she decide to go to Pennington Abbey?”
“I do not really know, sir,” Lydia explained. “Last night at the Hilliards' ball, about halfway through the evening, she sought out Dennis and me to let us know she was going home. I thought she meant here, but there were tears in her eyes, and when we offered to accompany her, she told us that something had come up and she needed to go to the Abbey. She was leaving to pack.”
Lydia began to fidget. “I thought you'd had your argument. You have been avoiding each other for days. I had hoped that it would turn out different... Well, no matter. There were real tears in her eyes, my lord. If it was not you who made her cry, then who did?” She began to wring her hands. “It was apparent to those around us that she was distressed. I was sure you had ended your engagement.”
He gently laid his hand over hers for a moment, then removed it to run it through his hair.
“So this was not planned?” she asked, now growing agitated. “Then something must have occurred to upset her. I am so stupid. Obviously, she could not have received word in the middle of a ball regarding the Abbey. Excuse me, my lord, but I must pack,” she said, adamantly. “I must have a courier get a note to her that I am returning home.”
“No, I will go,” he said quietly. He feared his foolish behavior of keeping his distance had sent her running home. His only chance of happiness went with her. “We had planned a way to sever the connection, but it was not for now, and not in this way. Yet today I received this note.” He handed it to her as he spoke. “I need to get to the bottom of this. I will go to see her at the Abbey.”
“I do not know what happened, Lord Weston, but whatever it was, it appears she used it to bring your betrothal to an end.” She looked up at him through blue pools of water in her eyes. “I think things must not have happened the way she thought they would. You know her, my lord. She usually manages things for the best.”
“For whose best?”
“For all of us, to be sure, but probably still putting herself last.” Lydia twisted her hands again. “My lord, I do not think you have realized how hard this was for Grace. Indeed, she has been so different these last two weeks I hardly know her.” She teared up again. “I know you both did this to prevent any stains on your reputations, but do not think I am unaware that the most important part of the arrangement was to give me a chance to secure the happiness I have found with Dennis.”
“Lydia...”
“No, you must listen. I know for you the engagement was beneficial, amusing even, but Grace was often distraught. If someone or something hurt her or angered her last night, she would not normally run away. She would have stayed to face it. Perhaps it is just that she wanted to be home again.”
He did not want to listen. He could feel himself deflating more as each moment passed.
“I will write her to be sure she is well,” Lydia said. “She does not usually tell me things that upset her, because she does not wish to upset
me.
She probably won't let me come, but I might at least assure myself that she is all right. Whatever the trouble is, she is using it to dissolve your betrothal. I would not wish for you to cut up her peace. I will tell her you would like to come and see her, and if it is agreeable to her, I will send you word. May we please do it that way?”
“Is that what you think I wish to do, cut up her peace? I lovâ I look for the opportunity to get my own assurances.”
“My lord,” Lydia said to him, making him gaze at her as she handed him back the note, “is this not what you wanted? Whether it was exactly the way you planned or not, it has come to the same end. Why
must
you go after her?”
When had this child grown up? When had she become the protective one? And why did she show such bravery now? He did not know what to say except, “It is not what I want.” He ran his hands through his hair once again. “But I will respect your wishes for now. And only on the condition that you send me word as soon as possible, whether she wants to see me or not.”
She nodded, almost as if this conversation had taken everything out of her. In the midst of the turmoil in his heart, he was proud of her. “Before I go, I would like to beg a favor of you, and ask that you not question me about it.”
“Of course,” she said, though when she heard his request, her eyes opened wide.
“I do not know, sir. I do not know if she would want him moved. Never mind. Of course you may do it.”
Why did he still feel as if his heart was breaking?
* * *
Grace sat thoughtfully as her father calculated his next move on the chessboard. She had been back at the Abbey for three days, but her thoughts were never far from London or Brandon.
She had received Lydia's note. She smiled as she realized Lydia was now worried for her. In her letter she had asked if she and Lord Weston could come to see her. Grace had sent a gentle refusal aimed at them both. She was happy to be home and back to normal. Tearing Lydia away from her adored Lord Hendricks was unnecessary, and as far as seeing Brandon... No, that was not to be considered.
Her father nudged her back to the present with his words. “Grace, it is your move, though why I should tell you, I know not. You will capture my king with three more.” He looked at her strangely, and she knew her cheeks turned a rosy red. “I could have moved several pieces around to my advantage, and you would not have noticed. Are you not in the mood for chess?”
They sat in the drawing room in front of a warm fire. “No, no, of course I wish to play.” She looked at the board and made the first of the moves that would make her the winner.
When Grace appeared at the Abbey, she had told her father that she and Brandon had decided they would not suit, but she'd claimed her tears were the result of being so happy to be home. He did not question her decision, but it was soon apparent that he was afraid she had ended the engagement for his sake. He was upset that she had taken it too much to heart when he'd told her he didn't know what he would do without her taking care of the estate.
She had sat in the crook in his arm and told him through her tears that he was being exceedingly chuckleheaded. She gave him truthful answers: she did not fit in Brandon's world and life in London was so shallow and purposeless. But she did not tell him the real reason she had come home. Afterward, she unpacked her things, began her normal routine, and they had not spoken of it since.
“Grace, it is your move again.”
“I am sorry, Father.”
“What is on your mind, girl?”
“It is not any one thing. I have much to do before we begin to get ready to go back to London for Lydia's wedding.” She smiled at him. “I keep making lists in my head and am very poor company. Would you mind if I went to bed and read myself to sleep?”
“Not at all, dear, not at all.”
She kissed the top of his head. “Good night, Father.”
But she got little sleep that night. She could not get Brandon off her mind. Each night her heart and her head betrayed her with thoughts of him. She must forget him. He had moved on; so must she.
Instead of lying in bed, she got up early, determined to banish him from her thoughts. She had many duties that needed her attention this day, and she would go about them in her old manner, with pleasure and practicality.
But when she reached the foyer at the bottom of the stairs, Stone was ushering in several men trying to fit a
huge
crate through the front door. It was over eight feet tall, and several servants stopped to stare at it.
“Stone, what on earth...?”
“I cannot tell you, my lady.”
“Who sent it?”
“There is no indication of its origin, and the men who delivered it knew nothing about it.”
“Well, get something to pry it open,” she said, awed by the sheer size of the box.
“I just sent a footman, my lady.”
Between the four of them, they finally pried the front cover loose, and Stone made her stand back as he unhinged the huge lid and moved it to the side.
Grace's hands flew to her mouth and her eyes opened wide. Inside the crate stood Max. With a greatcoat wrapped around his shoulders and a top hat balanced precariously on the headpiece of the armor, he looked ridiculous and...marvelous. She walked up to him, not knowing what to think. Who would go to all the trouble to send Max here?
She noticed Max's left hand was propped up and had a velvet box tied to it. She lifted the box and started shaking, knowing what was inside. She opened it and found the emeralds. Brandon had certainly thought of the most creative way she could have ever imagined to give them back to her; it was one of the many things she loved about her rake. But she knew he did not truly want
her
back. She had seen him with Lady Winslow.
As she started to turn away and give Stone directions where to place Max, she noticed a piece of paper stuck on the point of the lance he always had in his right hand. She reached up and lifted it off. She could see it was one of Brandon's calling cards, but when she turned it over, she saw the writing on the back.
Grace,
I have sent Max to his new home at the Abbey. I await you in town, where I might be your knight in shining armor and the hero of your heart. Can Max take second place?
Yours always,
Brandon
Grace covered her face with her hands. Why was he doing this to her? He had taken up with Lady Winslow again, had he not?
He cannot be Your will for me, can he, Father? Please show me what to do.
Suddenly, the most preposterous thought popped into her mind. Could she do it? She would have to try.
* * *
In the two weeks since Grace had been gone, all of London had been abuzz at the news of their broken betrothal. The
Gazette
's notice had shocked everyone, including Brandon's sisters and Lord Hendricks.
All of them had appeared on his doorstep within hours of the notice, and all had been told it was none of their business. He was old enough to know how to handle his own affairs.
Lady Wright was unsympathetic. “Brandon, must you constantly bring scandal down upon this family? What did you do to the girl?”
He ignored her remarks and sent her packing, but it was harder to be dismissive when Maggie came to him. She held both his hands and looked deeply into his eyes, and he only hoped he successfully hid his pain.
“Brandon, do not let this kind of love slip away. I cannot explain it, I do not think it is anything you
can
explain, but you must know that marriage to the one you truly love is unlike anything else. It is communication on a deeper and more intimate level than you have ever known. It is sharing things you never thought you could share, the good and the bad, with so much joy over the good and no condemnation over the bad.”