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Chapter Seven
“Thatisalovelytune, my dear,” Mother said, walking over to stand beside Grace.
Had she been humming? Grace hadn’t realized. Embarrassment skittered over her cheeks.
“I suppose I am looking forward to tonight’s musicale,” was all she could think to say. She kept her gaze on the mirror in front of her and on the reflection of her abigail, still busy pinning up her hair.
Mother glanced over at the maid’s work. “That is quite lovely.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” the abigail said, giving a bit of a curtsy without dropping any of Grace’s locks. Another couple of pins, and Grace was finished. She was feeling particularly pretty tonight, despite wearing a dress she’d worn many times and which had been altered more than once. Perhaps it wasn’t so much that she was feeling pretty but that she was feeling excited about tonight’s activity. Or she simply looked forward to whom she would get to speak, believing he wished to speak to her as well.
“Shall we go?” Grace stood, running a hand over the soft fabric of her skirt.
Mother stopped her with a hand on her arm. She waited quietly until the abigial had slipped from the room and they were alone.
“I wish to speak with you first, dearest.”
Mother wasn’t smiling. Grace slowly lowered herself back into the chair beside her dressing table.
Mrs. Stewart took hold of another chair, one seated by the window and perfect for reading, and drew it up closer to Grace. “I have rather noticed,” Mother began slowly, “that you have taken a liking to spending time with Lord Weston.”
Grace rolled her lips inward. She hadn’t exactly thought overly about what others might think of their many conversations. They’d met at breakfast for the past many days, often talking and laughing for well over two hours. There had been several drawing room visits and a few strolls out into the snow together. It had all felt rather natural and easy. When she was with him, she often forgot anyone else was around. She shouldn’t be so surprised that their time together hadn’t gone unnoticed.
She could feel Mother waiting for a response. “He is a good man,” she offered by way of explanation.
“So I have surmised.”
She had? “So you think well of him?”
Mother’s lips pursed. “That is not the point. The earl is a fine man, I grant you. But...”
Grace felt she knew where this was going. “But he’s an earl.”
Mother nodded. “Not only that, but his mother was the daughter of a marquess.”
Grace hadn’t known that.
“He is closely related to half of Parliament,” Mother continued. “I have no doubt that he is quite pleasant to speak with, but please, do not lose sight of reality.”
It was exactly the same argument Grace had made to herself countless times. Yet, hearing it aloud...it brought a biting pain, one that suddenly threatened tears.
“You mean,” Grace said, “the reality that I am a nobody.”
Mother cupped Grace’s face in her hand. “You are not a nobody, Grace.” Her gaze dropped momentarily, however, and when her eyes next met Grace’s, they were sad. “Only, I believe it would behoove you to remember that Lord Brown invited us here. He is not nearly so elevated above us that society would balk at a connection between our families.”
So Mother meant societywouldbalk at a connection between herself and Lord Weston.
Of course they would. Hearing it from Mother shouldn’t hurt so; Grace already knew as much.
She reached out and took Mother’s hand. “You are right.” She had been rather neglectful of Lord Brown. “I shall be more considerate tonight.”
Mother gave her hand a squeeze and then rose. “Shall we go down, then?”
Grace nodded, but she wasn’t so excited as she had been before. Walking beside Mother, they moved slowly through the corridor and down the stairs. All the while, Grace chastised herself. What had she been thinking, getting so wrapped up in her conversations with Lord Weston? Only a month ago, she’d been elated to receive Lord Brown’s invitation here. Who gave up on a lifelong hope for security and comfort simply because a handsome, charming man had smiled at her?
A child did. That’s who.
And that’s exactly how Grace had been acting. Like a little girl, enamored with a strong jaw and a well-fitted jacket.
Lord Weston was a good, kind, engaging man. But he could not be her future.
And unless she wished for Lord Brown to give up on her, she’d better change her tune. She wasn’t exactly a spinster, not yet, but there was no guarantee an offer as comfortable as Lord Brown’s would ever come her way again. She was acting most unappreciatively in ignoring his attentions toward her.
As she and Mother reached the parlor, Grace dropped her shoulders and lifted her head. She sincerely hoped she and Lord Weston could still be friends.
But right now, she didn’t need a friend.
She needed a future.
