Chapter 20

CHAPTER 20

O nly a rakehell would deflower his wife in the back of a coach.

Lucien had been hard pressed to remind himself of that inalienable fact on the hellish trip back to the country. He had summoned two coaches, one for his mother and Lady Elliot, one for the bridal couple. Damned if he could endure being cooped up with Grace's stepmother, who was still in a tumult at the thought of facing her husband in the wake of the elopement. He had pressed the coachmen to drive through the night, because he damned well didn't intend to spend his wedding night in even the finest room of some coaching inn with his mother and Lady Elliot next door and the raucous cries of drunken patrons echoing through paper-thin walls. But knowing he had the right to all the delights of Grace's body had made him feel a carnal need unlike any he'd experienced before. No question it would be best to wait until he had her at the steward's house where they would be staying briefly on the Everdene estate. But there was nothing he wanted more than to strip her gown away.

He admired her, damn it. Her cleverness, her calm in the face of upheaval. Her ability to delve beneath the surface, intrigued him. No, fascinated him, truth be told.

But it was more than that. He was still shaken by the unexpected feelings that had stunned him when he saw her walking toward him down the aisle of St. George's. The gown, with its scattering of stars fit her elegant figure to perfection. Even her skin had seemed to reflect the light spilling from the window. Tendrils of russet-brown hair had curled against her swan-like neck. He'd wanted to dip his head down to kiss it, the jasmine in her hair filling his senses.

When she'd placed her hand in his, so soft, yet so capable, it was all he could do to speak his vows with the briskness he thought necessary for a wedding untrammeled by sentimentality. Then, Freyne outside the church. The brick hurtling toward Grace…

The reality had struck Lucien. It was inevitable that he would disappoint her. It was possible that just being his wife would endanger her.

He thought of his sisters' faces. His mother's…

He had ruined lives before. Now, as he and Grace mounted the steps to The Willows to face Grace's father with their news, he had to wonder. Had he condemned Grace to the same fate when he slid on her wedding ring?

Helen swept up ahead of them, past servants, and even her concerned husband, pleading a headache.

He'd expected nothing less than a coward's retreat from the woman, he thought as she disappeared up the curved staircase. But this time, Grace would not be facing the repercussions of her stepmother's histrionics alone.

Grace laid the lumpy parcel she'd brought from London on the demilune table she'd moved to conceal Avery's mischief what seemed a lifetime ago. She touched the mustachioed peacock on the wallpaper and wished the confrontation with her father could be so easily solved. But the only way through this tangle was to spill out her news as soon as possible.

With Lucien at her side, she drew her father into the library.

"Your stepmother seems very weary," her father said. "After your wedding, I must take her to Bath to recover her spirits."

Grace stiffened her spine. "You and Helen may leave as soon as Susan finishes packing my things to take to Everdene. You see, I am a married woman now."

Her father went ashen. "You cannot be serious."

Lucien cut in, his voice crisp, masterful. "The bishop himself performed the ceremony at St. George's in Hanover Square," he said, then glanced down at her and fell silent, honoring her wish to deal with her father in her own way.

"Why would you do such a reckless thing?" her father groaned.

"After I encountered Neville at Gunter's and learned that you'd written to him, revealing that I was going to London, I had no more stomach to endure such manipulation."

Her father flushed at her accusation, yet still looked defiant. "But the celebration! The breakfast…the dancing…"

"We both know you would not be celebrating." She met her father's gaze, unflinching. "You have made no secret about your feelings in regard to my marriage, and Helen has shown no consideration for my wishes regarding the celebration afterward. Why suffer through a charade before friends and neighbors with pasted on smiles and false good wishes?"

"Of course I wish you happiness!" Her father pressed a fist to his heart. "As for writing to Neville…What kind of father would I be if I did not do all in my power to stop a beloved child from making the worst mistake of her life?"

She could feel Lucien tense beside her, knew it cost him to remain silent.

"I am no child," she said, crossing to where a small framed portrait of her mother and the three youngest boys sat upon a miniature easel. "I have not been a child since Mama got sick and you ceded all responsibility for her care and the boys' wellbeing to me." She ran her fingertips over the frame. They all looked so happy in the image, Bennet on Mama's lap, Ethan curled up with a toy horse at her feet and Avery caught in the circle of Mama's arm, a cricket bat in hand.

Her father blustered, "I loved your mother too much. I could not bear to see her in pain."

"And I could? I was eighteen." She forced herself to keep her voice steady, saw shame flood his eyes. "What matters now is this: I would have you trust that I know what is best for me," she said. "This marriage is my decision. I choose to be close at hand when the boys need me, rather than exiled in Scotland."

Her father pressed his fingers to his brow. "I pushed you to take this reckless course."

She could not deny it. And yet the truth was more complex. "You set up conditions that forced me to face the fact that my life must change. It was inevitable, once you married Helen. But I have the right and the will to choose this path."

"Grace?!"

The three adults all startled as Bennet's cry rang out through the corridor, the boys obviously returned from their outing. The trio of brothers pelted into the room, breathless, their hair wind- tousled, cheeks flushed. "I knew I heard your voice!" Bennet whooped and Grace gathered him close, smelling the sweet scent of his hair, meadow grass, sunshine and sweat. His clothes were rumpled from play, a smear of dirt on his cheek. She instinctively brushed bit of grass from his hair and wondered how long it would be until she would be able to hug him again.

He pulled away enough to peer up at her. "Did you bring us a surprise from town?" His eyes gleamed in anticipation, and her heart squeezed.

"Lord Everdene and I left the present in the hall." The boys rushed out, squabbling. Ethan and Avery were still tussling over the lumpy bundle when they carried it in.

"Good thing you insisted on buying the sturdiest item," Lucien muttered.

Grace smiled as they unwrapped their new treasure unveiling a toy boat just the right size for their lead soldiers. "I thought it was time Lord Admiral Nelson had a ship that was seaworthy," she said.

They crowed in delight as they furled and unfurled sails, admired the tiny cannons and fiddled with the hatches that led to captain's quarters below. She had to swallow the lump in her throat before she continued. "I have another surprise as well."

They turned to her, expectant. "Boiled sweets?" "Candy sticks?"

She stepped over to Lucien, linking her arm with his, needing to feel that strong presence bracing her. "You see, Viscount Everdene and I got married while we were in London."

The boys stumbled back as if she'd struck them, but she went on, determinedly cheerful.

"It will take us some little while to get settled at Everdene, but as soon as we are, I shall visit for the day and we will have a grand time." She fought to keep enthusiasm in her voice, but the slightest tremor slipped through.

Nanny burst into the room, breathless, her plump cheeks red with exertion, her bonnet askew atop curls growing ever more gray. "There you be, you little rascals! Begging your pardon, my lord. We crossed paths with Matty from the stables, and the lads would race ahead the moment they heard Lady Grace had returned." She dipped into a curtsey, looking from Grace to Lucien. "Welcome home, my lady. My lord. You three lads, up to the nursery to wash up and then you can show me this lovely ship your sister brought you."

But the enthusiasm had drained from their little bodies. Even the precious toy listed at a melancholy angle as they followed Nanny's orders. Their compliance was far worse than any fit of temper could be.

Grace felt her stomach lurch, the walls seeming to squeeze too close, as if she couldn't breathe. All she could think of was getting away. From her father, from the boys, from the home that was no longer a haven.

"I have an errand to tend to as well," she said, determined not to cry. "While Susan finishes packing my things, I wish to go visit Mama."

"May I accompany you?" Lucien's brow furrowed in concern.

"Not this time. I wish for a moment alone."

He nodded. "Very well. Your father and I have matters to discuss, your marriage portion to settle."

Normally, she would have bristled and wished to be a part of such a discussion, but not today. She hastened outside, still trying to draw air past the knot of grief in her chest.

Pausing at the carriage that stood in the crushed shell drive, she took out the book she'd left on the seat, the unopened note from her mother and a sprig of roses from her wedding bouquet pressed between the pages. Then she walked alone to the church where her wedding was supposed to have taken place. She stopped beneath a willow tree in the fenced-in cemetery where a simple memorial marked her mother's grave.

She'd waged her first battle without her mother by her side when the vicar had tried to thwart Mama's last wish.

You must inter Lady Elliot inside the family crypt with the dignity due her name …

But Grace had refused to be bullied. Her mother couldn't bear the thought of being in the crypt. She'd wanted flowers near her, willow fronds waving. Life still bustling around her. The scar on the earth had healed now, and wildflowers Grace had planted there thrived. She laid her pressed wedding flowers on the grave, and touched the epitaph carved in the stone.

Lady Barbara Elliot, beloved wife, wise counselor, loving mother .

A small bench had been built beneath the curtain of willow leaves, and she'd sat there often in the months after her mother had passed, praying for guidance. Now, she unfolded the rather faded missive that smelled of lilacs.

She bent her head to read.

My dearest Grace,

I hope that I will be able to watch you walk down the aisle of The Willows chapel to wed the man you love. But, it seems that is not a wish that will be granted me. I pray this gown will remind you on your special day how deeply loved you are, as well as carry my prayers for all the happiness you can hold. Love bravely, my precious daughter, and demand the same courage from the man you choose. Know that I am always with you. Just look up at our star.

Your own Mama

The familiar script blurred before Grace's eyes, and a tear dropped onto the page. She swiped it away with her thumb, smearing the ink.

How many times had Grace told her brothers just that? Looked at the stars…imagining that their mother was there.

By the time Grace returned to the manor house, the footmen had loaded a trunk into the back of the carriage and the time for parting was at hand.

Helen had remained in her room, and Papa had gone to comfort her, but Will and the three boys had come into the courtyard to see them off.

"Come now, sailors," Will urged the forlorn little crew. "Let's give Captain Grace a proper send off as she sets out across the seas. In line. Attention! Salute!" The three boys obeyed, looking heartbreakingly young.

She leaned down to kiss Ethan who was struggling manfully not to cry, then Avery who stood rigid as if facing a firing squad. Bennet, the tender-hearted, flung his arms around her legs and clung tight.

"G-Grace…I have something for you." He thrust something hard and lumpy into her hand. She looked down and saw the chipped toy figure he called Lord Admiral Nelson.

"Oh, oh Bennet!" she gasped, touched by the offer, yet dismayed. "I can't possibly take this!"

"You must!" he insisted. "Promise you will keep him in your pocket all the time. Lord Admiral will keep you safe from bad men."

Bennet looked at Lucien, as if fearing Grace's new husband could rival Bonaparte himself.

Ethan wrinkled his nose, though there was a hint of fear in his grimace. " He thinks you won't come back, but if you have Lord Nelson, you'll have to visit us."

"Of course I'll visit you! That's why I—" she cut herself off, began again, "—why I am happy I will be living so near."

Avery made a scoffing noise. "Don't lie! You'll be in London and having babies of your own and you'll forget all about us like Papa did!" Avery balled his fists. "I hate you for leaving us."

"Whoa, there!" Will protested, but Grace clung to her calm, hiding how hurt she was.

"I love you , Avery," she said. "Always. No matter what. And I will visit. You'll see."

Will scooped the boy up, flinging him over his shoulder despite Avery's size and age. "I think I'll dump this one in the horse trough to cool his temper!" The boys always delighted in brotherly horseplay, but this time Avery wrenched free. His face crumpled with anguish. "I hate you, Grace!" he cried again, then turned and bolted.

Grace took a step after him, but Lucien touched her arm. She looked up into ice-blue eyes.

"Best to let him go," he said softly. "You'll only prolong the pain."

It was true. But that didn't make this severing hurt any less. Lucien slipped his arm about her waist, firm yet gentle. Warm.

She bit her lip to keep from crying.

"Go on, Gracie," Will said, the childhood nickname one more stab to her heart. "I'll see to Avery."

She climbed into the coach with Lucien and the horses set out at a brisk trot. Grace turned in her seat, aching at the sight of Ethan and Bennet leaning against Will. She pressed the tin soldier against her heart and watched her brothers until they headed back to the home they'd always known.

The home that would never be hers in the same way again.