23. In Which Philip Invites Grace to a Lecture

June 27,1822

The Earl of Bexley was delighted by the idea of Grace returning. We would be honored to play host for as long as you might allow it. She accepted the invitation to stay for a month. But in her mind, the campaign to render herself so necessary that they asked her to stay another would begin immediately, and she would keep it up through Christmas. She had offered to help at the museum—the earl was seeking full-time two assistants, and she’d joked that surely, she could do the job of one and a half.

He was also on the hunt for an entomologist to fill the position of curator. Evidently, he’d offered the job to Luke, who was sorry to turn it down but busy organizing an expedition to the Americas. She was happy for Luke. She could not quite be happy for Cora Worthing. Best to move on to other thoughts.

Among them: Philip Denton had returned to London, to attend a lecture at The Royal Institution on Albemarle Street, at which one of Charlie’s final papers would be presented. He sent a note to Grace asking if she would like to accompany him. And so, Grace was making her first public foray as a disgraced woman.

Grace’s parents had met with St. George’s, and all had agreed that the end of the engagement would be framed as amicably mutual, so that neither party would suffer a smudge. They had agreed to coordinate a first appearance at a public event, so that all the ton could witness their friendliness and see that there was naught to pick apart with gossip.

But two nights ago, St. George disregarded their agreement by showing up alone to a ball at Dawnridge—a detail Grace found somehow ironic—where he danced repeatedly with a poised, slender, evidently smitten blonde from an influential family. That would have been plenty, if his goal was to frame Grace as the rejected party. But St. George proceeded to allow endless questioning regarding his aborted betrothal, responding with vague but loaded statements such as, “unfortunately, I had to do it.” He refrained from correcting even the most pejorative rumors about Grace’s temperament, fidelity, state of mind. By morning, her name was in shreds.

Grace’s mother was furious to be proven right. And Grace felt a sharp sense of embarrassment at being spoken ill of with such voracious enthusiasm. She’d never imagined she’d end up disgraced, much less on the shelf . She did not like either term.

But she was determined to proceed into her future, whatever it might be, with curiosity.

She did not wish to be courted, anyway. Except by one man, who was not a possibility. And so she wished to be alone, and to feel everything simply and clearly.

Charlie would have understood.

Though she’d be cut to ribbons if she showed up at a ton event, Grace saw no reason not to attend a mid-afternoon scientific symposium. St. George would never in a hundred years be in attendance. Philip would rescue her from any conversation that threatened to poke at her defenses. And he had even been thoughtful enough to mention that their mutual friend Mr. Ashburton was at Oxford and would not attend.

The day was hot and bright. Philip met Grace an hour early, at the park across from the lecture hall. They strolled for a few minutes, then sat on a bench under a tree, away from the crowds. Occasionally, wind would steal a man’s hat, and they’d enjoy watching him scramble after it.

Grace had, in her note to Philip, revealed in confidence the end of her engagement. Now, he asked her how she was feeling. “Relieved,” she said, handling the ice he’d purchased her from a vendor’s cart as delicately as she could—she’d worn all shades of cream and rose, and would hate to get a spot. “But not as relieved as St. George. If you’d seen the look on his face when I set him free. He all but danced a reel.”

Philip laughed, and declared it good riddance. Then, asked about her plans. She spoke of working on more ambitious mathematics, of helping at the museum. He looked proud of her.

Philip, in turn, assured Grace that his health was holding and his spirits were, by and large, high. “I find I do best when I have a little scheme,” he told her.

“Ah. And what are you concocting at present?”

“After the lecture, I shall let you in on it,” he promised.

From there, the conversation glided to more frivolous subjects. And then, they eased into a companionable silence that stretched for several long, lovely minutes.

“How fares your heart?” Grace finally asked, gently.

“Oh, it’s in pieces,” Philip said, offhanded. “Bound together with twine. But I’m used to it. It’s even comforting. The pain is sort of ... him, still with me. And your heart?” he asked. “How has it fared?”

“What’s that myth, the man on the rock, and each day a bird comes and devours his liver?”

“Oh, is that actually a parable about how it feels to fall tragically in love with Luke Ashburton? I’d always suspected.”

Grace laughed. “Do you know what I find helps with the sadness of it?”

“Taking all sorts of other handsome men into your bed?”

“Oh, exactly that. Heaps of men, all quite nude and erect.”

She was rewarded with a guffaw from Philip. Then, she gave a more serious answer. “I find it calms me to know that he is doing what he is meant to. My feelings do all sorts of things over the course of a day, but wanting him to pursue his vocation—that, I have discovered, is constant.”

“You’ve a generous spirit,” he murmured, and turned to watch people strolling in the park. “I’m more ambivalent, as I strongly wish for you to have what you want, as well. Ah,” he said. “Speak of the curly-haired devil.”

He’d said it so casually, it took a moment for Grace to realize what he meant.

She turned in the direction of his gaze. And there was Luke.

He was dressed for the lecture, in a gray jacket and waistcoat that highlighted his rangy figure. He was carrying a dark gray hat, perhaps because the breeze had tried to steal it from his head. He was looking around, scanning the park, as the wind argued with his hair.

And then he spotted them. He did not quite manage to suppress the jolt that moved through him when he saw Grace. But he composed himself quickly, and walked toward them.

Philip rose, greeted Luke warmly. And then, it was time for Luke and Grace to say hello, and so he turned to her, and their eyes met, and a universe passed between them, and it was clear that he would not be able to speak, and neither would she.

But then, somehow, he was saying good day, and she was saying the same to him, and he was calling her Miss Chetwood, and complimenting her bonnet, and she was calling him Mr. Ashburton, and making a quip about how unusual it was to see him dressed in gray, and he was smiling as though they were having an ordinary conversation in a park in London in the afternoon.

Philip cleared his throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I must go.”

Grace looked to him sharply. “Where are you going?”

“Oh, somewhere. Please don’t make me come up with a whole epic tale.” And with that, Philip walked away.

Leaving Grace sitting on the bench, staring up at Luke Ashburton.

“Do sit,” it finally occurred to her to say. She set down her melting ice.

He hesitated, then sat on the bench.

“Were you aware I’d be here?” she asked. Luke nodded. “Ah. You have the advantage, then.”

Luke’s brow raised. “Denton didn’t tell you?”

“He is a self-confessed schemer. But I must admit I’m not sure why he’d want to do this.”

“He mentioned that you had ... happy news. But it was not his place to share it.”

Oh. Grace felt it was all too awkward. Luke was betrothed and preparing to climb onto a boat. What did it matter if he knew she had ended it with St. George?

He was watching her struggle with what to say. Finally, he quietly asked, “Would it be appropriate for me to offer you my sincerest congratulations?”

Well, yes, in a manner of speaking—but then she realized what he meant. “Oh. No. I am ... that is, there is no ... ” she felt her cheeks go red. “Child,” she finished.

His brow raised. He continued to take in her evident discomfort with curiosity.

It was too much. She looked to the path, where a governess was dragging a pair of four-year -olds away from the ice cart. “There is no father, either,” she said. “Husband, I mean. There was no wedding. You’ll hear all about it soon enough. I cannot promise the gossip will flatter me.” She flashed him an amused look. “Pity St. George did not know the truth of my behavior in libraries of late—far more shocking than any rumor he’s encouraged.” She gave a laugh, but Luke did not. He was listening with an intensity that made it difficult to look at him.

Because he said nothing, she continued. “I don’t much care what the ton think. I am planning to escape London. When I finally return, I expect no one will remember who I am.”

He said nothing for such a long time that eventually, she was forced to look at him, just to see what had so distracted his attention.

But he was still looking at her.

“I’m afraid you’re wrong,” he said. “I don’t think it’s possible to forget you.”

The way he said it made goosebumps rise on her arms. “Damn my ridiculously loud hair, I suppose,” she said.

“Yes.” His tone was conversational. “Damn your hair. And your eyes. Your mouth. Skin. Damn every single part of you.”

If her cheeks were warm before, now they were burning. She had no idea what to say, and the energy between them was growing heady, and it was affecting her heart rate.

Thankfully, he turned his attention to the park. “I am glad you did not marry him. He was wrong for you.”

“Oh, without a doubt. And that’s enough chatter about me, don’t you think? When do you travel?”

Half to himself, he muttered, “I understand now why Denton was so pushy.” He cast a look in her direction. “I’d told him I was busy at Oxford, and he all but murdered me by post. I was fixated on the expedition, you see.”

“Of course.” And now, she forced herself to ask. “Will Miss Worthing travel with you?”

Luke fought an odd smile. “No.”

“But you will wed before you depart.”

“Perhaps I will,” he said, and now, he looked perfectly serious, even pensive. “It very much depends on what happens in the next few minutes.”

Grace was lost. “Pardon?”

Luke turned to her. Met her eyes. “Bloody Denton didn’t tell you. Just as he did not tell me about your excellent decision to pitch St. George into a volcano.”

“Tell me ... what?”

“That I haven’t the foggiest of when I may travel. I must raise the funds. I had a patron in Mr. Worthing, but he rescinded his support when I failed to ask his daughter to marry me.”

It took Grace a moment to find her way back to the English language. “Why ... did you not ... ”

“You cannot seriously be asking that question.”

His tone made her skin tingle. But she was still struggling to understand. “But ... you believed I was married. You did not think there was any chance at all of—of us.”

“True. I sim ply could not do it. Propose to a perfectly lovely woman while thinking day and night of someone else.”

Grace blinked. It felt like parts of her brain were trying to catch up with other parts, and all were impeded by the thunderous pounding of her pulse.

“You know ... ” Now, he sounded amused. “I wondered if I might be addled. If what I took for love was biology, and with distance from you, my head would clear.”

“And ... did it?”

“It did. And I discovered, in my clarity, that I am painfully, thoroughly in love with you.” He watched her face. What he saw there made his voice grow softer. “Do you remember when you told me that you are—I think the words were— too much? I never agreed, but once I was apart from you, it became hideously obvious that everyone else was too little. I’ve never been lonelier in my life.” The rawness in his voice made her breath hitch in her chest. He saw it. His voice grew even quieter. “Marrying anyone else would have felt like sacrilege.”

“But—” Her head was rather spinning. “Your work—”

“I’m hardly the first man facing the task of scraping together an expedition from scratch. It may take time, but I will find another way.”

“I fear it will require you to speak to a good many people you find dull and stupid.”

He shrugged. “For science, I’ll do it.”

A feeling was coming over Grace, very slowly, like honey pouring into her. “If I may offer a thought?” He raised a brow. “Your odds of success might improve if you enlisted the help of someone who smiled, and enjoyed all sorts of people, and happened to be shockingly good with numbers.”

A tender look crossed his face. But then, he fixed her with a more reserved, thoughtful expression. “We ought to speak frankly.”

“Have we not been?”

“You were raised in luxury.”

“Are you calling me spoiled yet again?”

“I am saying that your frock closet must be larger than my flat.”

“Possibly,” Grace agreed. “I would need to downsize my collection.”

He did not match her levity. “I am saying ... I cannot give you everything you deserve.”

“Yes, you can.” He was ready to disagree. So she said it again. Emphasizing each word. “Luke? Yes. You can .” His expression remained dubious, but she thought she discerned something surfacing in his eyes. Hope. “I do enjoy a great many things, including visits to my modiste. But then there are those few things that I care about. That I love, and do not wish to do without. Frippery and cavernous rooms don’t rise to the list.”

“What does?”

“My family. My mother found out about you, by the way. Oh, it’s a story,” she said in response to his surprised look. “Suffice to say you have her very grudging approval.”

“My favorite sort.” His face had gone deeply thoughtful. “That’s all? Your family?”

“And my dear friends. Mathematics, obviously. Good books. Stimulating conversation. You.” Her voice cracked, but she continued. “You left a hole I’m aware of all the time.” He seemed unable to respond. She saw that it had touched something, deep in him. “Also, is it mad of me to say that living in close quarters with you does not precisely sound like a punishment?”

He gave a sharp laugh. “Yes, it’s mad. You forget how frequently we spar.”

She shrugged. “You remarked more than once that you like it. Perhaps I like it, too.”

The way she said it sounded like a challenge. It hung in the air. A moment unfurled between them. Neither speaking. Neither looking away. Realizing .

“Me?” he asked, softly. His eyes clear all the way to the bottom.

“Yes. You.”

He took it in slowly, fully. And then, leaned closer. “Here’s what I’m thinking, princess.”

She felt her cheeks flood with heat. He smirked. “Yes?” she managed.

“I am going to kiss you. On this bench. In broad daylight. Before all these people.”

“That would be scandalous,” she said, suddenly breathless.

“Absolutely. And I am going to do it. Now,” he continued, “there are circumstances under which such a kiss would be slightly less apocalyptically ruinous.”

“Such as?”

“If you and I were betrothed to be married.”

“Hmmm,” she said.

“Hmmm?” he repeated, teasing.

“An intriguing notion,” she said. “Is it theoretical?”

“I don’t like to dwell in theory. As you may be aware, I do best in the field.” He cleared his throat. “And so. Miss Chetwood, if I may trouble you with a question ... ” But then, his sardonic smile faded, and, abruptly, he was perfectly serious. “I wonder if you might consider doing me the great honor of ... ” He paused, surprised by a surge of emotion. He swallowed, shook his head, blew out air.

And tried again, simpler. “Will you marry me, Grace?”

“Of course,” she replied. “That went perfectly.”

His face lit with fierce feeling. And it was so ardent and so sweet and so exactly everything she wished for ... that it made her giggle.

She covered her mouth with her hand. But she could not stop. She shook her head helplessly.

Luke leaned forward, moved her hand from her mouth, and replaced it with his lips.

That stopped the laughter.

She kissed him back. Intense, and familiar, and new, and promising everything.

When he broke the kiss, his eyes were hot and restless and impatient. Dimly, Grace was aware that they’d attracted a look or two from passersby. She could not bring herself to care.

“I’d wager Denton won’t even save us seats at the lecture,” he murmured.

“I feel we ought forgo it, and visit this fabled very small flat of yours.”

“Ah,” he said. “So that you can assess, and rescind the yes, if necessary?”

“For a more pressing reason.” She fixed him with a pointed look. “You’ve rendered me unforgivably tense. I really must insist you take care of it with all possible haste.”

“I see.” The look he gave her was pure, hot promise. “Let us see what I can manage.”