Chapter 19

CHAPTER 19

T he click of the door closing between them reverberated in Grace's head as loudly as if someone had struck a hammer to a gong. What had just happened? One moment Lucien's mouth was on hers, the heat of his touch even now still lingering, and the next he was pulling away as if repulsed by her very presence.

Only when she was certain he was not about to return and see her in all her humiliation did she let go of the bedsheets, then retrieve her nightgown from the floor. Her fingers shook as she tied the ribbon, then smoothed the fabric, trying not to think about the feel of his fingers on her skin. She looked at her unfinished brandy on the dressing table, tempted to finish it in an effort to erase the pain and utter embarrassment from her mind. Instead, she stared into the darkness until, at last, she slept.

She awoke the next morning when a maid knocked upon her door, announcing a visitor. She'd scarce tightened the sash on her dressing gown when Madame Lavoie herself walked in, a small army of seamstresses following in her wake, bearing packages tied with crisp ribbons, one package far larger than the rest.

"His lordship's emissary woke me in the middle of the night with news of today's wedding," Madame Lavoie said. "He gave most specific instructions to muster every seamstress in my employ." She waved to the other women, and they began opening boxes. Grace gasped at the contents, silk stockings, ribbon garters, and lace underpinnings so exquisite they seemed woven of fairy magic.

She stood rooted to the spot, watching them unveil the beautiful articles of clothing

She heard a soft knock on the door, and braced herself, dreading that it might be Helen trying one last time to dissuade her from eloping.

But it was Lady Ravenscroft who entered, her arms filled with pink roses. The scent filled the room as she laid them on the bed. "The moment Lucien informed me that today would be your wedding, I sent word for these to be delivered."

" Mon Dieu ," Madame Lavoie said as she lifted the gown from the box, a folded card drifting to the rug. "As beautiful as I remembered." she said.

Lady Ravenscroft picked up the note, placing it next to the roses. Madame shook out the gown, then looked at Grace. "We have much to do and very little time. Shall we begin?"

The style was timeless. The wide neckline was trimmed with the Honiton lace her mother had chosen, it's pattern fine as fairy-wings, the sleeves full and graceful.

"All that needs to be done is a tuck here and there," Madame said. "Perhaps a bit more lace gathered at the bodice."

Grace stood upon a stool as the seamstresses fluttered about her, pinning and stitching until it was perfect. She heard the clock strike the hour Lucien had designated when they filed out the door.

Grace took a steadying breath and looked to Lucien's mother.

Lady Ravenscroft scooped up the flowers from the bed. "I thought you might like to carry these. They grew from cuttings your mother shared with me years ago." She paused mid-step, her gaze sweeping from the crown of Grace's head to the embroidered slippers that peeked out beneath the hem. "Oh, my dear, you look lovely. Turn around so that I can take it all in."

Grace cradled the roses in the crook of her arm, then spun slowly, the gown flowing around her in exquisite waves. Every ripple of the shot silk caught the light, changeable as a twilight sky, the color shifting from rich blue to a dark pink whenever the fabric moved. The hem and bodice seemed to twinkle, embroidered with shimmering gold stars.

"So very lovely," Lady Ravenscroft said, then handed her the note. "From your mother, I believe…She'd have been so proud."

Grace tucked the note on her dressing table, wanting to read it in privacy, trying not to imagine her mother's disappointment regarding her unconventional marriage, even if she might understand Grace's reasons…"I hope so."

Lady Ravenscroft straightened a bit of lace at Grace's throat. "I have rarely seen my son pause long enough to look at anything or anyone until he became entranced with you."

Grace swallowed hard and forced a smile, unable to bear lying to this woman with her kind, haunted gaze. "You are mistaken. This marriage…it is…a very practical…"

"You needn't try to explain. Lucien has made certain I understand this is merely a marriage of convenience between you. So emphatically that I believe he is trying to convince himself." The countess smiled, a rare, sweet curve of her lips. "He is not half so cold as he seems. He never loved as easily as my other children, and my husband did his best to stamp out any hint of tenderness in his heir."

Lady Ravenscroft paused, as though unsure whether or not to continue, but continue she did. "After the trouble that divided our family, Lucien resolved he would not love at all. And, yet, I catch glimpses of longing in him so poignant it breaks my heart." This time, she looked Grace in the eye, perhaps to make sure she was truly listening. "Do not be mistaken. He will resist true attachment in your marriage. But I believe that you may awaken him to life once again, challenge the dark places in my boy's past. It is a chance I had all but despaired of. A hope…that my son will not remain trapped in this self-imposed prison." Her voice cracked, and she paused for a moment, seeming to gather herself as she glanced at the clock. "Well, that is enough of my rambling. The carriage is waiting. Lucien went ahead to make sure everything is in order."

For a moment, Grace felt a flare of hope. She remembered the moment in her bedchamber, how passionate Lucien had been, until that last moment.

Was it possible the countess was right? That he was beginning to care for her? Moreover, what was this feeling she had for him?

She was about to become Lucien Harcourt's wife, the day passing like a whirlwind, almost a dream…one she half-expected to wake from at any moment.

In truth, it did not even feel like a real marriage at all, with no friends or family attending, only Lady Ravenscroft at her side. St. George's Church on Hanover Square seemed so empty, the barrel-vaulted ceiling echoing Lady Ravenscroft's words of praise and affection, Lucien and the bishop waiting, as reflections of the stained-glass window scattered on the floor like broken pieces of the family she had yet to confront.

Lucien took her hand and Grace forced her own to remain steady, while her heart raced …

The bishop looked past them to Lady Ravenscroft, the lone witness sitting in the pew. "Does anyone know of an impediment why these two should not be joined in matrimony?"

The bishop's query released a litany that ran riot in Grace's mind. Does it count if our fathers both hate this union? Or that Lucien does not love me…? That I do not know him…?

She could not shake off a feeling of dread when she pictured her father's face once he learned of the elopement, the hurt and betrayal to come.

A moment of echoing silence pressed down upon her, then Lucien made his vows in a brisk voice, placing his ring on her finger.

"Be kind to each other," Lady Ravenscroft said, embracing Grace, and then her son, before bustling ahead to Raven's Court to prepare a wedding luncheon.

The bishop led them to the church register, and Grace watched Lucien sign his name, his signature bold, confident. She took the pen in her own hand, inscribing her name on the page that would link her to Lucien Harcourt until death…

As they left the church, she looked over at the man who was now her husband. He was under complete control, every inch the Elusive Viscount, all hints of the man who, last night, had all but made love to her hidden away.

"We will still return home as planned, won't we?" she asked, eager to get the confrontation with her father over with.

"We will remain in town. It is enough to send a note with your stepmother."

She grasped his sleeve, distressed. "That won't do. I must tell my father and my brothers myself before anyone else can."

He looked over at her, his brow furrowed. "I understood that you wished to avoid more family drama?—"

The words were cut off by a thick brogue bellowing from the crowd. "There 'e be! Lord Everdene, greedy bastard! Death to landlords!" She saw a blur as something hurtled toward them.

Lucien whirled her away, shielding her with his body as a missile hurtled past, catching in a flounce of her dress. Pain shot through her foot as something struck her slipper, then rattled to the cobbles.

A shout went up from the onlookers, Lucien's footmen giving chase, but the perpetrator vanished in the crowd.

Lucien turned Grace in his arms, the controlled veneer gone. "Are you hurt?" he demanded. the hard planes of his handsome face fierce with protectiveness.

"Jesus, Grace!" Another familiar voice cut in as a man pushed through the startled onlookers. She looked up to see Neville racing toward them.

Lucien stiffened at the sight of her former betrothed. "What are you doing here?"

"When Pinchbeck stopped by to present you our business plan this morning one of your servants let slip where you'd be. I wished to be on hand if Grace…changed her mind."

"As you can see," Lucien said, his voice taking on an edge she'd not heard before, "she did not."

Neville reached down and retrieved a half a brick with something wrapped around it. "And, yet, you are already putting her in danger."

Before Grace had a chance to protest that she was fine, the footman arrived, breathless. "I saw the man who flung it. Garbed in black, a felt hat dragged so low over his brow I couldn't make out much of his face. Disappeared in the alleys before I could collar him."

"Slunk back to the slums he came from, no doubt," Neville said. "We'll never find him in that mess of vice. I vow, it would be better if they tore such hell holes down."

Lucien snatched the brick from Neville's hand, and Grace saw it was covered in paper, tied with twine. He withdrew the paper, handing the brick to the footman to dispose, then unfolded the note, frowning.

"Did I not tell you this rabble is dangerous?" Neville said, glaring at him. "Attempts to kill the queen. Factories vandalized and manor houses burned. Chartists marching down St. James's Street, shattering windows. Now your own wife endangered on your very wedding day. What will it take to get you to join us in crushing this anarchy once and for all, Everdene? They must be shown who is their master!"

Grace placed her hand on Lucien's arm. "May I see the note?" she asked.

He handed the bit of paper to her, and she felt his gaze on her as she read the note.

Deth to Ristocrats.

We hav not to loos but ar chains.

She ran her thumb over the grinning skull drawn where a signature should be.

Neville looked on, aghast. "Are you truly involving your wife in this dangerous matter, Everdene?"

Lucien wanted to give him a set down, but the man was right. To involve Grace—and on her wedding day, no less—was a step too far. He could only be grateful his mother had gone on ahead. He waved toward the waiting coach. "We should probably get back."

But she shook her head. "I don't believe you will find whomever threw this stone in the stews." She leaned close to Lucien, and he could feel her intensity, her sleeve brushing his as she returned the note to him. "Clumsy writing can be mimicked," she said. "But someone poor would use a bit of newsprint, or some other scrap easily scrounged. This paper is as fine as any in my writing desk at The Willows. I think you are likely to find the culprit in far more comfortable circumstances."

"Don't be absurd!" Freyne scoffed. "There are any number of ways someone could get their hands on such paper! If they were in service, stealing it from their master's desk. Perhaps a maid or boot boy, pinching it from a room at an inn when some nobleman has stayed there. A person who worked in a stationers."

Lucien ran the missive between his fingers, testing the quality of the page. "Perhaps we'd be wise to listen to Lady Everdene's reasoning."

Lady Everdene…

He met her gaze as he used her title for the first time. "What else did you notice?"

"The writing. If you look closely, you will see here and there a very clear letter," she said, pointing to an example. "A bold, confident stroke."

Narrowing his eyes, he examined the script more closely. "You are most discerning."

He could feel her warm to his praise, her voice lighter as she teased, "That is why you married me."

"In part." He caressed her hand, wanting to gather her into his arms, explore her body to be sure she was unbruised…to claim her as his…

But that would have to wait.

"Let us be quit of this place so I can show you the other reasons." He handed Grace into the carriage, then felt Freyne catch hold of his arm. He turned to face the man. Again, that loathing welled up. "You are crumpling my sleeve," he said in accents that could cut ice.

"Damn you, Everdene. If that brick had struck her in the head, she could have been killed. Whoever is stalking you?—"

"Will be dealt with by me. As for you—my wife is none of your concern. You gave up any right to be involved when you jilted her."

Freyne glared at him. "If it came to a choice between business and a woman, you would have done the same."

The words landed like a punch in the gut, but damned if Lucien would let Freyne see it.

"Keep her safe, Everdene."

Every fiber in Lucien's body knotted with tension, and with it, something he had not felt for as long as he could remember. Fear. "I will. Now, if you will excuse us, I have a honeymoon to enjoy." He climbed into the coach and shut the door before a servant could do so.

Grace was sitting on the squabs. She'd all but taken his breath away when she'd walked toward the altar. Yet now, tears glittered on her cheek as she fingered a tear in her skirt, where the brick had hit.

He would see it mended, made perfect again, he thought, taking her hand in his. "I am sorry this happened. You are sure you are well?"

"Quite sure. We agreed to have an unconventional wedding. I just hadn't anticipated something like this." She forced a laugh, then regarded him with that gaze that probed too deep. "Has this happened before? Strangers hurling things at you?"

"There has been unrest, as you know." Yet somehow, this attack felt more personal. To Grace, he said, "I intend to see you well guarded whenever we go out. In the meantime, I've considered your wish to return to the country to break the news of our marriage to your family. We shall depart as soon as may be and stay for a brief time. Can you be content with that?"

"Yes."

He wanted to get her out of town, determine what this direct attack on him might mean. And whether it would throw her into danger. He was not a man to believe in omens, and yet…

Some brides were pelted with flowers and good wishes.

His had been struck by a brick.