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"Sit down, Grace."
She carefully lowered herself into the chair next to her mother's desk. The sunlight coming through an east-facing window streamed into her eyes, making it hard to see. She blinked.
"I'm surprised you're wearing your hair like that. It's a bit unruly, don't you think?"
There was a long silence.
"Mother, what did you want to talk about?"
Carolina crossed her legs at the ankles and smoothed down her perfectly flat skirt with a scrupulous hand. "I'm afraid you have put me in a rather awkward position."
"How so?"
"I saw you this morning. With that man."
Grace felt herself tightening up all over. "Which man? "
"You know exactly to whom I am referring."
"And?"
"You were arguing with him. On the lawn. I saw you from my bedroom window.”
Her tone suggested she would rather have woken up to a rotting Winnebago on the grass.
Grace fought the urge to look down at her fingers, which was what she'd done when she was young and facing the same refined condemnation. Reminding herself that she was a grown-up, she tried to stare back at her mother. With the sun making her eyes hurt and her back rigid in the uncomfortable chair, she had a clear vision of herself at the age of fifty still playing the apologetic daughter. Her stomach lurched.
"So?" she said in a low voice.
"Grace, ladies do not argue in that manner. And most certainly not out in public," there was a meaningful pause, "with a man other than their husband."
Grace shifted in the chair, felt it wobble underneath her and realized she was fed up. For the first time in her life, it occurred to her that she didn't have take her mother's prim displeasure.
It was a powerful epiphany.
She just wasn't sure how to act on it.
"Well?" Carolina demanded. "What do you have to say for yourself?"
How about just leaving, she thought.
Grace rose from the chair, stepped out of the sunlight and looked across the room at the closed doors.
"Where do you think you're going?" Her mother's voice was brittle.
Anywhere, she thought. Anywhere away from you.
"I want an answer," Carolina said sharply. "Why were you fighting with that man?"
"I don't have an answer for you, Mother," Grace murmured, walking away.
Her hand was reaching for the knob when her mother said, "Tell me he is not your lover."
Grace glanced over her shoulder and saw that, behind the iron voice, her mother was looking pale.
Grace breathed in, long and slow, and spoke clearly. "Even if he was, that would be none of your business."
Carolina rose from her chair. "You are a married woman. How can you disgrace yourself by—by carousing with that..."
"With what, Mother?"
"That ruffian!"
Grace fought the urge to giggle inappropriately at the antiquated word.
"Don't be ridiculous," she muttered.
"He wore jeans to the breakfast table."
"For Chrissakes, Mother," Grace snapped, "this is a private residence, not a consulate. He can wear anything he wants."
"He is unsuitable as a guest and I don't understand why you insisted on bringing him here. May I remind you that you are married to a man of royal descent—"
"Spare me the ad copy, okay? Ranulf doesn't live up to any of it. If he were half the man Smith is—"
Carolina gasped. "Don't say that!"
"It's true."
"You—you..." And then, as if a switch had been pulled Carolina snapped her mouth shut. After a deep breath, she said, "I don't believe I have anything more to say to you at the moment."
"Which is good, because I was just leaving."
As Grace shut the doors behind her, she wasn't sure whether she had won or lost the argument and realized it didn't matter. At least she had held her own.
An hour later, while Grace was outside playing croquet with Blair, her mother came and announced that the evening's party had been canceled and she would be dining elsewhere. With no more explanation than that, she returned to the house, without once looking at her daughter.
She did make a point, however, of sparing a withering glance for John.
The afternoon was spent at Mr. Blankenbaker's looking over the portrait. Grace was thrilled by the masterpiece, although disappointed that Jack had missed the preview. Mr. Blankenbaker agreed to draw up papers making the gift official and to ship the painting to the Hall Museum in time for the Gala.
They returned to Willings when the sun was hanging low behind the house and the ocean was quieting down for the night. As she walked into the foyer, Grace decided a good long soak in some very hot water was just what she needed to relax.
Either that or a brain transplant.
