Page 17 of I’ve Grown Accustomed to My Scot

“He has grey stripes and white paws and his eyes are yellow, although in some lights they look green.”

The penny dropped and Grace gave a laugh. “Oh, Bothwell is a cat! I thought you meant . . .” She bit her lip.

The countess stared at her in consternation, and then her face cleared and she too laughed. “Goodness me, no! I am happily married, Grace, I assure you. Bothwell is my cat, and if I am honest, I am almost as fond of him as my husband.” Her grey eyes twinkled.

“Bothwell slept on my bed last night,” Grace admitted. “I am sorry, I didn’t realize he was yours. I was enjoying his company so much that I did not think to ask.”

The countess’s expression softened in sympathy. “If you are enjoying his company, then I won’t take him away from you, my dear.”

Footsteps were approaching the door to the room and, recognizing them—though how she could after such a short acquaintance she didn’t know—Grace hastily busied herself with her toast.

“Good morning, Aunt Jennie. Good morning, Grace,” Rory said, and cast his eye over the offerings on the sideboard. She could hear silverware clanging as he made his choices and then sat down opposite her at the table with a loaded plate.

The countess cradled her coffee cup in her hands and observed her nephew over the rim. “You were out late, Rory,” she said neutrally.

“Not too late,” he assured her.

“I don’t know what you find to do that is so exciting.”

Rory gave a smile that was more like a smirk, his gaze sliding sideways to Grace. She had been watching their interaction and now looked quickly away.

“I did wonder if you might take Grace out one evening,” Jennie went on airily, pretending not to see her nephew’s frown. “People are more likely to accept that your marriage is genuine if they see you out and about together.”

“Why do they need to accept that my marriage is genuine?” he responded, vigorously cutting up a sausage. “Is it any of their business?”

Grace found herself watching his hands. Those strong hands had been touching her last night, caressing her bare skin. The hairs on his chest had rubbed against her breasts as she’d pressed closer. At the memory, her nipples peaked, and she felt desire begin to tingle through her. She had wanted him and he had wanted her.

“Well,” Jennie said levelly, “it would make a difference to Grace. I am sure she would like to be able to go about in society, and her sisters will need her to chaperone them once they make their debut. She cannot do that if you ignore her, because so will everyone else.”

Startled out of her passionate daydream, Grace opened her mouth to say she had no intention of going about in society, until the last part of the countess’s statement sank in. Of course she must watch over her sisters! And how could she do that if she was barred from polite society?

“Yes,” she agreed, ignoring Rory’s surprised and rather hurt look. “I will need to be able to go to balls and—and events with Harriet and Prudence. At the moment, I cannot imagine my father allowing it, and even if he did, I would not be welcomed. But if I am accepted into at least some parts of society, he will have less to object to.”

“You see!” Jennie said fervently. She had obviously noticed Rory’s less than enthusiastic expression. “Grace has been linked to a scandal, and you can help to smooth that over, Rory. If everyone sees you are happy with your wife, and perfectly prepared to squire her about, then others will change their minds, and in time the scandal will be forgotten.”

“Do you think so?” Grace asked quietly. “There have been cartoons, you know. Nasty things.” She shuddered, remembering Ormsby handing her one so that she could see the extent of her transgression.

“I know that it seemed irreparable at the time, my dear, but believe me, there have been far worse scandals. What of poor Lady Caroline Lamb! Your troubles are nothing compared to hers.”

Grace knew that to be true. Lady Caro’s affair with Lord Byron was notorious, and the woman seemed to have no sense at all when it came to her lover.

Rory was cutting up some bacon and egg, ignoring them.

His aunt turned to him again and said in a wheedling voice, “Come, Rory, I’m sure you can fit in some time with Grace between your other, eh, engagements.”

Rory huffed. “I thought you wanted a small cottage somewhere, Grace, where you can live your own life?”

“I did,” she admitted reluctantly, “but now I see your aunt is right. I need to be able to accompany my sisters about. If I lived in a little cottage in the country, I could not do that. My father would probably see to it that I never saw them again.” Her voice wobbled at the thought. “If I am respectably married and accepted back into society then he will have no cause to stop me.”

Rory was chewing in silence, as if he was trying to ignore her. Grace refused to be ignored by Rory or her father.

“My father thinks he is rid of me,” she said with fierce determination, “but I am going to show him I am not so easily set aside.”

The countess set down her cup with a clatter and proceeded to clap her hands. “Bravo, Grace! That is the sort of fighting spirit I like to see.” Then, turning to her nephew, “Well, Rory? You must help her, you really must!”

Rory sighed. “I’ll think about it,” he said grumpily, but Grace thought he really meant yes. He just didn’t want to admit it.

They didn’t have their chat about her future after all. Rory said he had forgotten something important he must do and, to Grace’s disappointment, set off on his horse. The countess slipped an arm about her waist and said, “Never mind. I have plans for us today. I am going to take you to my modiste!”