CHAPTER 15
Never, in all her years, had Grace imagined she would be counting the hours until she could escape The Willows. But then, between her father’s grim censure and the boys’ reproaches, she felt as if someone had painted a T for Traitor on her breast.
In the two days since her betrothal, gloom had overtaken her as well, and she knew, with sudden certainty, that ‘home’ would never be the same.
She peered down at the newspaper she’d been trying to distract herself with in the study, but even the news of revolution spreading through the continent and unrest fomenting in England couldn’t distract her from her own troubles.
There was a problem with perceiving the situation with her family clearly, instead of through a haze of self-deception. She couldn’t unsee the consequences of her father’s second marriage and feign ignorance.
Difficult as her father’s anger and her brothers’ heartache was to witness, Helen’s enthusiasm was hardest to bear, as if new gowns and the title of viscountess could sweeten the bitterest draught. Her stepmother’s eagerness to stamp her ownwishes on this wedding made the pain of Mama’s absence more acute.
“If only you were here,” Grace whispered to herself. “You’d know just what to do.”
But her mother was gone and ‘home’ would never be hers again.
“Lady Grace?” a mournful voice called through the closed door. Pevensey, the old butler as grief-stricken as everyone else.
A spark of temper fired in Grace. “Yes,” she said more sharply than intended. They were preparing for her wedding, not her funeral, for pity’s sake.
“The Viscount Everdene hasunexpectedlycome to call.”
“Send him in,” she said, stung by that slight disapproval in Pevensey’s tone.
Lucien strode in and suddenly the entire room seemed brighter. She almost flung the paper onto the table at the sight of him, wanting to spring from the chair into his arms. “Lucien.” His name felt so right, and for the first time that morning, she felt able to breathe.
He crossed to her, scooped up her hand and kissed it. “Are you quite well, my dear? You look rather pale.” He examined her face then looked her in the eye. “I take it, your family’s mood regarding our betrothal has not changed?”
“Let us just say that it’s lovely to see anyone who isn’t scowling at me.”
“I think you should reserve judgement until I apprise you of the reason for my call,” he said dryly. “I bring news you may not welcome.”
Her stomach sank. Was it possible someone had thrown up an impediment to their wedding? Had he reconsidered? And if he did…She couldn’t bear the thought. “What news?” she asked, wary.
“In light of our betrothal, my mother has voiced a desire to know you better. Hence, she would very much like to accompany you and your stepmother to London to select your trousseau. I understand this might pose an inconvenience to you. Should you agree to include her?—”
“No!” Grace cried.
He looked taken aback by her vehemence. “I will tell her your plans are already set. Perhaps you could call on her for tea, instead? She had hoped to invite you and your stepmother stay with her in our townhouse on Curzon Street.”
“You misunderstand me! Your mother’s presence would be no inconvenience at all! We—I would love to stay with her. In fact, it would be a relief.”
“Indeed?”
“Helen suggested we stay in London with her friend, Mrs. Kemble. That would have been pure torture! She is an insufferable, bitter…” Grace flushed. “Forgive me, my lord. Truth is, I cannot wait to leave for London. I only hope that by the time I return home, this tempest has calmed down.”
Home…she felt a twinge at the word. The Willows didn’t feel like home, not anymore. From the peacock wallpaper to the constant flutter of Helen’s drama, all of the undercurrents Grace had done her best to gloss over became more glaring with every day that passed.
Lucien fixed that piercing gaze on her. “Has it been very bad?”
“I am not used to being the subject of disapproval. It has given me a most uncomfortable glimpse as to what my brother Avery endures.”
“Hmm.” Lucien crossed to where she’d left newspapers she’d been reading. He gazed down at the etching of a factory with an angry crowd outside. “It happens that I have business in the city as well. Perhaps I will join your party, at least for some of thetime. My mother insists I be on hand to take you to Gunter’s to eat cherry ices when necessary. She informs me that trousseau shopping is quite exhausting work.”
Grace managed to laugh. “You have no idea—especially with my stepmother involved. Please, tell the countess I remember her fondly from childhood. I know Mama liked her very much.” A lump formed in Grace’s throat. “Lady Ravenscroft’s company will be the closest I can come to having Mama with me. Thank you for this, Lucien.”
He looked up from the newspaper. “These plans are all my mother’s. I have nothing to do with this arrangement—save providing ices when necessary.”
The countess greetedGrace with motherly warmth as their trunks were loaded into the Harcourt traveling coach. She linked her arm through Grace’s as the two women walked toward the elegant equipage. “To think when your mother and I paired you and Lucien up for dancing—who could have imagined that that you would make a match all these years later?” A dimple appeared in her soft cheek. “I seem to remember you stomping on his toes from time to time…we will not say on purpose.”
