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Nor did it stop her hands from shaking or her heart racing at the mere thought of seeing and being with him again.
Which she must do, whether she wished to or not. If only so that she could demand to know what he was doing here in the company of her brother.
Something Grace did hesitate to do the moment she entered the formal parlor and saw Alaric standing hatless in front of the window with his back to the room. “Why has George gone to the church with my father?”
Alaric turned quickly at the sound of Grace’s voice, his heart lurching in his chest as he hungrily drank in the sight of her following a four-day dearth, as she stepped into the room.
The first two of those days had been spent dealing with matters in London that would make Alaric’s visit to Devon more amenable.
The past two days of travel had each felt like a month.
Not least because Alaric had traveled in the company of George Harper, a man with whom he had previously only had a nodding acquaintance.
Alaric should, of course, have accepted the other man’s suggestion that he drive to Devon in his own carriage, but at the time, Alaric had only wished to depart for Devon as soon as possible. Bringing Redding with him in the ducal carriage had seemed the most efficient way of accomplishing that.
It had also given the two men time to talk, as well as a chance for Alaric to admit to having suspected Redding of being complicit in Plymouth’s murder. Redding had initially been angered by Alaric’s suspicion, but by the end of the journey, the two men had reached a level of understanding, if not friendship.
A friendship Alaric wished to continue nurturing as much as he wished to see Grace again.
Now that he was standing in the same room with her, he could see that she didn’t look happy. Grace was still beautiful, but it was an ethereal, almost unearthly beauty.
She somehow looked smaller, slighter, and her cheeks were deathly pale. Her green eyes were wary as she looked across at him, containing none of that mischievous and determined sparkle he had so loved and appreciated in the past. Her brown high-necked and long-sleeved gown did little to complement her creamy skin or the darkness of her hair, but instead seemed to add to the fragility of her appearance.
“Are you ill?” He voiced his concern as he crossed the room in two strides to grasp both her hands in his. His fingers tightened about hers as she immediately tried to pull away.
“Release me,” she demanded stiffly.
“You do not look well—” His words were cut off at the sound of her scornful laughter.
“I asked you why George has gone over to the church with my father?” she repeated firmly, continuing her effort to free her hands from his.
Alaric released her even as he winced at her uncompromising tone. “They have gone to collect the register for births and deaths for 1795.”
She looked taken aback. “Why?”
“Because that is the year you were born, and your mother died shortly thereafter.”
She eyed him impatiently. “I am well aware of that. I simply fail to see why it is of such relevance at this moment that George has gone to the church with my father rather than come into the vicarage to greet to me.”
Alaric’s expression softened. “Never fear, your brother still absolutely adores you.” He had listened to the other man waxing lyrical about her for hours during their journey here. Not that Alaric wasn’t happy to do so. He had even done some “waxing lyrical” of his own, with not a care that he had probably sounded like a lovesick fool doing so. “It is only that the register is of paramount importance to our conversation.”
“What conversation?” Her voice rose as her irritation deepened.
“The one where I tell you that, as Melborne suspected might be the case, you were officially registered as Lady Grace Elizabeth Marie Harper,” George announced with satisfaction as he entered the parlor carrying a large tome. He was closely followed by her adoptive father. “A legitimacy which was not disputed during my father’s lifetime and will not be disputed now by the present Earl of Redding. You are now, and have always been, Lady Grace Harper, sister to the Earl of Redding,” he stated cheerfully as he placed the book on the tabletop before turning it to the appropriate page. “The evidence is right there, written and signed by the vicar who would later become your adoptive father, and the mother we share.”
Alaric tensed as, instead of checking the registry, Grace turned to look at him. From the lack of expression on Grace’s face, he was as unsure as he had been before leaving London whether she wished to thank him or berate him for his interference.
“You did this?” she said slowly.
“I did,” he confirmed warily.
“For what reason?”
That was thelastreaction Alaric had been expecting. “Surely it is obvious?”
“Not to me.”
“Grace—”
