Page 45 of The Trouble with a Dare

Grace bit her lip, astonished that it wasn’t obvious.

Lottie must have noticed her reaction, for her gaze fell to her stomach and she gasped.

“Oh, how stupid I am,” she whispered. “And… oh, Grace! How wonderful.”

To Grace’s surprise, Lottie’s eyes filled with tears, and she reached out, taking Grace’s hand in hers and squeezing.

“It is wonderful, isn’t it?” she asked carefully. For any fool could see that her pregnancy was well advanced, far more than the scant number of weeks she had been married for.

Grace waited for the usual rush of shame to hit her, to force a smile to her lips and pretend all was well, but it did not come. There was still sorrow, an aching sorrow of regret that the child was not her husband’s, but it was not so raw or overwhelming as before. By some miracle, her husband loved her, just as she was, flaws and all, and he would love their child—their child—as his own.

“Yes,” she said simply, meaning it. “It is wonderful.”

Sterling glanced sideways at his wife as the horse made its way back down the winding lanes to Thistley House. He admired the way the moonlight cast her in silver, touching her delicate features with its gentle glow and lighting her up, to shine as magically as a fairy queen.

“Tired, love?”

She turned her face towards him and shook her head.

“No. Not really. I feel I ought to be, but….” She laughed softly.

“But?”

The smile she bestowed upon him made his heart beat madly in his chest, for it was one of pure delight, and the sensation it engendered was enough to make him burst with pride and with joy for having been the one to put it there.

“But I’m too happy,” she said, confirming his hopes, making him feel like a king for all he had gained this evening. “It was such a wonderful evening, and you made everything so perfect. You enjoyed it too, I think?” she added, a little more cautious now.

He nodded, pleased to put her mind at rest, more so because it was true. He had been anxious about this evening, afraid he might embarrass her, or show himself up, or simply find himself bored to tears. It had not been that way at all, though. They could hardly fault him for his manners when Bainbridge roared with laughter like a maniac, spoke over people when he decided they’d gone on long enough and made everyone blush with his rather wicked sense of humour. His old friend Cassius had been clearly pleased to see him, and eager to hear about all that had happened in his absence. Henry had obviously been glad of his company too, and Bainbridge seemed to have decided he was his bosom bow, though Sterling suspected cupboard love on that score, for the fellow was enamoured of his beer.

Even Grace’s brother had thawed as the evening wore on, which was more than he’d hoped for when they’d arrived. When Larkin had realised Grace had been crying, Sterling had been ready to be called out. The fellow’s anger had been tangible, filling the room. Little by little, though, as he saw his sister was happy, Larkin had relaxed. Perhaps too, he had noted—as Sterling certainly had—that her gaze returned to him often during the evening, and her eyes were soft upon him, making him want to pick her up and carry her away so they might be alone… as they were now.

“It was a grand evening. You were right, you know. Perhaps I was a snob for thinking they would look down upon me, and that’s not to say that many wouldn’t, love, for I’ve experienced it firsthand, but I ought not to have judged your friends without giving them a chance.”

“Your friends,” she amended, slipping her arm through his.

“Aye,” he said with a nod, and clicked his tongue at the horse to chivvy it up, eager to be home.

Grace readied herself for bed, rather sorry that the evening was over. Such a lot had happened. It felt like a week had passed since she had prepared for the dinner party, but it had only been hours, not days. She sat before her new dressing table, touched a finger to the little wooden fox, and traced the outline of the wren on her keepsake box. Neither item was of great monetary value, but they had become her most treasured possessions and it gave her great pleasure to see them each night before she went to bed. Grace reached for the heavy silver-backed hairbrush and brushed her long blonde hair.

“Rapunzel,” said a low voice behind her.

She jumped in surprise and turned to see Sterling had come into the room. He wore only a dressing gown, his feet bare. Grace gasped, almost dropping the brush in shock.

“Do you mind?” he asked, awkward now, and that awkwardness made her heart ache, for there should be none between them. He ought not have to ask to come into the bedroom he shared with his wife.

“I don’t mind,” she said, though the words were somewhat breathless. Too nervous to speak, she turned back to the mirror and tried to concentrate on brushing her hair, though her hand trembled now.

“I just want to hold you, Grace,” he said softly. “Is that all right?”

Her heart skipped in her chest, making it hard to breathe, let alone find a word in reply.

“Y-Yes,” she managed, though it was more of a squeak of sound than an answer.

She heard the rustle of bedclothes as he shed his dressing gown and climbed in, and she swallowed with difficulty.

“I have thought often of this, of the pleasure of seeing you brush out your hair of an evening. It pleases me more than I can say, Grace.”

Grace set down the brush before she dropped the wretched thing on her toes. “I’m glad,” she said, and turned around to face him. “I…”