“Please, Will, don’t pry. And for heaven’s sake,move over!” She tugged a fold of her skirt from beneath his leg.
“Don’t you wonder what happened?” he asked as she smoothed the crumpled fabric. “One moment the countess is every tenant’s dream of the perfect mistress, the next, the whole family disappears from the county. I tried to wring information out of the pater, but he’s a sphynx, except for harping that I am to watch over you. I told him there is no reason to worry. That dashing Captain Harcourt is already wed, and the viscount is far too stern for your taste. Might as well be made of stone.”
She thought of the feel of Lucien Harcourt’s body against hers. Sinew and muscle, elegant bones and strong hands. Definitely not stone. A shiver went through her at the memory of those moments at the lake.
Yet, as intense as that experience had been, it was the next time she’d seen him that haunted her. The way his dark hair had been precisely in place, the lines of weariness—wariness—in his severe face. The unexpected jolt in her chest when he smiled.
“Think how you feel when everyone starts asking about Papa and Helen,” Grace pleaded.
That actually seemed to affect Will. He scowled. Plenty of people had plied them with questions about their father’s courtship, speculating that the affair had been going on even before ‘dearest Barbara’ had died.The marriage was very sudden, was it not? Barbara was ill for such a long time. Even the best of men have needs…
Grace’s stomach knotted, and she shoved that question away, focusing on the party to come. Lucien Harcourt, Viscount Everdene, was not ‘the best of men’ by anyone’s account. He was a hard-edged, ruthless nobleman, with a physique all too tempting—combined with the aphrodisiac of power, an irresistible mixture to many women.
And Grace wanted to see him again.
Lucien wasnotwatchingfor Grace Elliot’s arrival. He was merely taking in the fresh air and talking to his brother about horses while the household prepared for the party he dreaded to the marrow of his bones. Two dozen guests would be attending, including Penelope’s loquacious sisters, Fanny and Kitty Waverly, Rhys Arkwright and a few assorted neighbors Lucienwould rather not see. And now his mother had been detained in Galen’s Well. Some business with the hospital she was patroness of. Not that he could complain about the party since Penelope was serving as hostess and he had not provided the estate with a viscountess.
No, he’d not been waiting for Grace Elliot, but as he and Simon returned from the stables, there she was in the Everdene garden. She looked like springtime in an airy white muslin frock, trimmed with green ribbon, her silk-covered bonnet exactly the color of her eyes.
When she saw him, she dipped in a curtsy. “My lord, it is good to see you again.” She smiled, that damned dimple peeping out. “Did you enjoy the pie?”
“Very much,” he replied, trying to forget that he’d thought of her with each bite.
“I have just been taking in your lovely garden while my brother Will is getting settled in his room. The brother whodoesn’tthrow mudpies, as you requested.”
Lucien sent Simon a quelling glance before he could ask questions.
Grace continued blithely. “You may prefer the mud-throwing ones once Will starts pestering you about horses.”
“I highly doubt it,” Lucien said, then gestured to Simon. “Lady Grace Elliot, you may remember my brother, Captain Harcourt.”
“Of course, I remember you!” She clasped her hands in delight. “I’m glad I can finally congratulate you both for what you have accomplished with New Everdene. My mother would have been so impressed with the model village Lord Everdene has built here on the estate.”
“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” Simon enthused.
“My brother and his wife are the force behind New Everdene,” Lucien interjected quickly.
“Then they are to be congratulated. But it is your estate, is it not? You must have approved the project.”
“Must I have?” Lucien gave Simon an arch look. He was not about to regale her of the real story of the village and the consequences that followed, consequences that had nearly severed his bond with his brother forever.
“We have more ideas for improvements.” Simon’s eyes held that enthusiasm for such projects that Lucien had learned to be wary of.
Lucien’s lips thinned, as always, the one who had to make practical sense. “Improvements will have to wait. All estates are struggling.”
“Of course, they are,” Grace said, her eyes warm with empathy. “It’s no wonder, between crop failures and political unrest. In Ireland, it’s worst of all, with the potato blight. I keep hoping parliament will help them weather the disaster. The people are starving but there are shiploads of grain leaving Irish ports every day.”
Lucien had made enemies pressing for just such relief.
Grace tilted her head. “My lord, you are looking at me strangely. Has a bird landed on my bonnet?”
No. It was what lay beneath that bonnet that intrigued him. Not her pretty face, not even those berry red lips, but her mind. “You surprise me, my lady. I was not aware young ladies such as yourself were aware of challenges in agriculture or political matters.”
“Then, perhaps you are not speaking to the right ladies,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “Not all women waste time chattering about fashion and gossip when important matters need attending to.” She shook out her skirts with a militant air. “Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I’ll retire to my room and send my brother to see your horses. He’s been talking of nothing else.”
She curtseyed again, then disappeared into the house. Lucien twisted the signet ring on his finger. Suddenly, the impending evening didn’t seem quite so bleak.
The party had been a mistake.There were too damned many people. Lucien watched his sisters from his place across the room.
