Page 41 of Dare it all for Love

“No!”

He stiffened and Grace held out a hand as if to quiet his temper.

“It’s only… not yet,” she pleaded. “I had hoped to have these last weeks with my friends and—”

“One week.” His voice was sharp, his expression daunting enough that she did not argue. “No longer. Then I will speak to your father. We must be married as soon as possible to avoid too much speculation.”

Grace nodded.

“Very well,” she said faintly, for she was hardly in a position to complain. “One week.”

“Grace, are you quite well?” Florence asked. They were back at Holbrook, settled comfortably in the yellow parlour with books neither of them had read two words of. “I’d hoped luncheon might make you feel better. Should I ring for tea?”

Her friend had been quieter than usual, staring out of the window in a deep study. No wonder, with the challenges she faced. Florence’s heart ached. At her words, Grace’s lovely face turned towards her, eyes clearing slowly as though she was emerging from a dream.

“Pardon? Oh, I’m sorry, I was wool gathering. Yes, quite well. It did help, but tea would be nice, and cake, or biscuits. I am rather peckish.” Grace gave a soft laugh and then returned to staring out of the window, as lost in thought as if Florence had never spoken.

Florence got to her feet to ring for tea, regarding her friend with concern.

“What was he like?”

“Who?” Grace turned back to her in confusion.

“The father.”

The colour drained from the girl’s face and Florence cursed herself for having mentioned it.

“He was a liar,” Grace said, her voice harder and sharper than Florence had ever heard it. “He was wonderfully handsome, dreadfully charming, and he said a lot of pretty, meaningless things that I believed. Good heavens, but he could talk. He could speak of poetry and love and music, and he was always so witty and amiable, and yet now I wonder how I didn’t see through it, for it was all so… so shallow. He wore this shiny golden veneer that hid a rotten soul, and I have never felt more foolish or stupid than the moment I saw the gold was nothing but tarnished brass, and I knew him for what he was.”

“Oh, Grace,” Florence said. She moved to sit beside her, taking her hand. “You were not foolish nor stupid. You were innocent and loving and everything that is good, and he took advantage of you. You have nothing to reproach yourself for.”

Grace shook her head. “I have everything to reproach myself for, but I shall do better. I have been offered a chance and I shall take it and make something of it.”

“What chance?”

Grace studied her, twisting her slender hands together in her lap, her grey eyes full of rain clouds. “Do you swear to keep this a secret if I tell you? No one can know. Not yet.”

“Of course,” Florence said, wondering what on earth had happened.

“I am going to be married.”

Florence gaped at her. “The father…?”

Grace’s delicate features twisted with revulsion at the idea. “Certainly not. No, someone else.”

“Who?” Florence exclaimed, quite at a loss to imagine how she’d gained a proposal and from whom. “Does he know…?”

Grace’s expression was appalled, her reply sharp with censure. “Of course! I would never trick a man in such a way. Marry him without him knowing my condition? Good heavens, Florence! What kind of wretched creature do you think I am?”

Florence shook her head, not having intended any insult.

“I beg your pardon, Grace. Indeed, I am not thinking at all. You are the very best, the kindest and truest of friends, and I spoke before I considered my words. I just… how did you manage it, and who?”

She looked up in frustration as the door opened and a servant appeared.

“You rang, Miss Knight?”

“Oh, yes, indeed. Might we have some tea and cakes, please?”