Lucien stoodon the front stairs, watching until Grace and her horse disappeared over the hillside, her veil streaming behind her. It was hard to believe what had happened in the past hour. His valet, Graves, had waited at a discreet distance until Lucien turned back to the house. “The coach is ready to beloaded, my lord,” Graves said. “When will we be leaving for London?”
Not nearly soon enough to satisfy Cassandra,Lucien thought with a twinge of conscience. So much for his promise. He’d explain that this was a temporary delay, but he could already picture his sister’s reaction.
“You may send the coach to the stables and take my trunks to the steward’s house instead.”
The servant blinked in bewilderment. “The steward’s house, my lord?”
“Yes. But first, have my horse brought round. Be quick about it.”
Graves was unaccustomed to such errands, but knew enough to obey.
Lucien returned to the house and went to where some of the family treasures were kept. By the time he descended the front steps to the carriage circle with a small, velvet box in the pocket of his riding coat, a stable boy was leading Atlas up to the mounting block.
The horse whickered as two familiar riders came into view. Arkwright seemed to be reveling in his time astride one of the Turkoman horses. But it was Simon who captured Lucien’s gaze. The scapegrace brother who’d spent his youth one reckless act away from breaking his neck, rode as if he and his mount were forged of myths and legends. That gift with horses had saved his life in Afghanistan.
The two men obviously spied Lucien at the same time, and veered toward him, reining in at the foot of the stone steps.
“Glad we got back in time to say goodbye,” Simon said as his golden stallion danced sideways on elegant hooves. “I thought you’d be on your way to London.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“What?”
“I’ve had a change in plans.” Lucien swung onto Atlas, gritting his teeth at the stab of pain in his chest.
“Not more trouble with father, I hope.”
“Oh, there will be. Not that I care.” Lucien adjusted the cuff of his riding glove and picked up the reins. “You may be the first to congratulate me. I’m to be married.”
“Married?” the pair of men echoed as if it were a jest.
“Yes. Married. Lady Grace Elliot has consented to be my viscountess.”
Arkwright’s jaw dropped, Simon gaping as if his prized stallion had transformed into a donkey.
Lucien spurred his horse toward The Willows and laughed, knowing he’d not forget their expressions for a very long time.
CHAPTER 14
Grace paced the morning room, every nerve in her body sizzling with tension since Lucien had disappeared into her father’s study. It felt as if the two men had been sequestered forever, instead of the half-hour marked by the clock on the mantel.
“Whatever can they be speaking about?” Helen fretted. “Your father sounds quite angry, but I cannot make out what they are arguing over.”
Grace knew, full well. Her father’s fury was evident, despite the muffled words, yet Lucien’s tone of voice never rose to betray any emotion.
“I cannot understand why your Papa dislikes his lordship so much,” Helen said quietly. “He seems quite gentlemanly and is very rich.”
She had been nattering on since the men had disappeared behind the study door, and Grace was beginning to consider the merits of using her handkerchief to gag the woman so she might have some hope of hearing what was going on behind closed doors. At that moment, the door opened, and the men came into the chamber. Her father’s hair stood on end as if he’d torn at it with his hands, a devastated look on his face.
It reminded Grace of the day the doctor had told them Mama was going to die.
“Is it true what Lord Everdene claims?” Papa demanded, his eyes begging her to end this nightmare. “Did he compromise you?”
Grace felt as if she were swallowing a stone. “Yes.”
Anger, shame and desperation flared in her father’s face.
“We did not mean for it to—to happen,” Grace said, “but we found ourselves quite carried away.”
