Chapter 24

CHAPTER 24

G race had spent a sleepless night longing to vent her righteous indignation on Avery's behalf and upbraid her stepmother for the pain she'd inflicted by allowing that awful Mrs. Kemble to say such horrible things about Avery. But as the Harcourt carriage pulled to a stop in the drive at The Willows, it was harder to maintain all of that fury.

Will and Father bolted down the stairs to reach the runaway, while Helen stumbled after, obviously distraught, her face suffused with guilt, eyes cherry-red from weeping.

Will reached the boy first, giving Avery a shake filled with affection and relief. "I will kill you if you ever scare me like that again!"

Father scooped Avery out of Will's arms and clutched his son against his breast, choking out words Avery alone could hear.

The other two boys must have been watching from the nursery, for they spilled out of the door and fell on Avery as if he had returned from the wars. Tears brimmed in Grace's eyes as she watched Avery's welcome. Flushed and rumpled and thoroughly hugged, her wayward little brother could have no doubt how deeply his family loved him.

Grace noticed that her father's eyes were glistening, over-bright as well when he turned to Grace and Lucien. "Ethan told us Avery intended to sign on as a cabin boy," Father said. "Will and I would have been on our way to Portsmouth and Liverpool if Mr. McLeod hadn't arrived with your message before dawn. I am in your debt, Everdene." Grace could see his heartfelt gratitude as he held out his hand to Lucien. After a moment, Lucien took it.

A lump formed in Grace's throat.

While Will took the boys to raid the kitchen for fresh scones, the others gathered in the drawing room. Grace and Lucien sat on the settee across from her father and stepmother. Grace struggled to find a modicum of patience despite the anger that still pulsed inside her. Venting it would not help Avery and Helen to get along in the future. And that was the most important goal.

She drew a deep breath, sharing with Helen and her father the events of the night before and Avery's reasons for running. It was both painful and heartening to see how deeply the tale affected them.

"I had no idea Avery overheard Mrs. Kemble saying such things," Helen choked out then shook her head, her lips curling in self-disgust. "No, that's not exactly true. Ethan tried to tell me, but I didn't want to believe him. It made me feel guilty."

"He needed you to defend him," Grace said.

"I know that now. Instead, I listened to Mrs. Kemble, who claimed that children spin stories and a parent must crush such dishonesty before it takes root. When Ethan told us that Avery ran off to join the navy…" Her voice broke, and she pressed her handkerchief to her mouth. "The thought that I drove a child to such desperate actions sickens me. We might never have found him." Hands shaking, Helen turned to Grace. "Will I never get this right? Please, tell me how to make this right."

Sincerity and regret shone in Helen's eyes. Grace did not know if that resolve would last, but she prayed it might. "If you really wish to mend things, go to Avery. Ask pardon. Promise to listen to him in the future and begin again."

Grace felt Lucien watching her with those intense tiger-eyes, as if trying to decipher some unknown language he wanted to understand. She could sense it, as she did so many of his unspoken feelings. Was he like that wary creature she'd imagined, taking another step toward the warming fire?

Hope flickered inside her as he made conversation with her family and accepted Helen's invitation to stay for tea, and yet—was that hope merely her own invention because she so longed for that connection?

When it was time to leave, she noticed that Lucien had drawn Avery aside. She wanted to hasten over to them, to manage whatever their exchange was to be. But she curled her fingers in her skirts and remained where she was. She did not know what her husband said, but after a few minutes of conversation in low voices, Avery looked up at Lucien and nodded solemnly. She watched, stunned, as they shook hands.

The pair approached her, and Lucien's mouth curved in a hint of that smile that went straight to her heart. She looked at Lucien. "What are you two plotting?"

"I was just telling Avery that I am taking you to London in the next few days."

"London?"

"I have some business to attend to, and you could benefit from some diversion. There are purchases to be made so you might make the townhouse your own, entertainments to be enjoyed."

"But surely you'll want to wait until your family returns?" She regretted the words instantly as a guarded expression clouded his face.

"There is no telling when they will actually return to Everdene Hall. When Simon is looking at horses, he is apt to become so engrossed he loses all sense of time."

"But…" She cast a helpless glance at Avery.

"I'll be all right, Grace," Avery said. "You will write to us. And you could even take Lord Admiral Nelson around London, so it will be almost like you are taking us along." The boy looked as if he had grown taller somehow in the time since his conversation with Lucien.

She could barely speak through the lump in her throat. "I will carry the Lord Admiral with me wherever I go, I promise. And I will write about his adventures."

Avery brightened. By the time she bade her family goodbye and climbed into the carriage with Lucien, she was feeling a strange mixture of gratitude, nerves, and anticipation.

She could not stem a flutter of hope that she might recapture what she and Lucien had shared in those charged moments before they had been interrupted in her bedchamber and afterward, when he'd confided to her about the shattering of his family. She had known from the look on his face what he'd expected—for her to be repulsed by what he'd done, to reject him as he had rejected himself. He had looked so confused when she had not, seemed younger, somehow.

As the carriage jounced down the drive, she asked, "You and Avery seemed to have a serious conversation. May I ask what it was about?"

"We reached a gentleman's agreement and a gentleman never betrays what was said in confidence."

She took his hand in hers, her heart swelling, feeling certain that the armor he'd worn for years had cracked, just a little.

Maybe, just maybe, that crack might let her shine a spark of light into Lucien Harcourt's darkness. And maybe she could begin to seek light of her own as well.

Of course Arkwright would show up on Raven's Court's doorstep the moment he heard that the newlyweds were in their London residence, Lucien thought with more than a little relief. As his friend lavished them with congratulations, he had to admit he had rarely been more grateful to see his friend's face.

Everything had changed since the night Lucien had found the rascally stowaway under Grace's bed. He felt as if he was walking on uncertain ground and might, at any moment, plunge through. To…what? He couldn't fathom. He only knew he disliked the sensation immensely.

Going to his club would be just what he needed to recapture some of his old, familiar life—that was, if Arkwright would be sensible again and stop grinning at him like he had stolen sweets.

"You'll forgive us, my dear, if Arkwright and I go to the club."

"Surround myself with a pack of dull men in their cups when we can spend the afternoon showing the lovely new Lady Everdene off to the ton? Unthinkable!" Arkwright's boundless enthusiasm reminded him of the retrievers that were always scampering up whenever the friendly bastard passed by. "I've come to spirit you newlyweds away to Hyde Park."

Lucien would have loved to clap a hand over Arkwright's mouth, but there was nothing for it. Not when Grace's whole face lit up. It was go to Hyde Park or behave like a cad.

It would be a miracle if he didn't end up strangling his friend.

They left the carriage in care of the coachman to stroll along the Serpentine, Grace's skirts swaying like a bluebell, her face beneath her bonnet drawing Lucien's gaze again and again.

She watched the families on the shoreline of the man-made lake, a smile dimpling her cheek as little girls tossed crumbs to the swans, and boys sailed toy boats beneath the indulgent gaze of proud fathers or mothers. Arkwright walked to the vendor and purchased a stale bun, presenting it to Grace with a flourish so she could join the fun. Lucien knew damned well what Arkwright was doing as he watched Grace join the throng of children.

"You're an arse," Lucien muttered.

"Yes. Well, how else am I to find out what's been going on? You have been glaring until I expect the lake to start boiling at any moment."

Lucien watched Grace laugh in delight as a toddler took three steps, then clapped his hands so enthusiastically he plopped down on his rump.

"Out with it, my friend," Arkwright prodded. "How is married life?"

Stray curls were teasing the velvety skin of Grace's neck. Just watching them made him want to press his lips there. It was unnerving, the sudden, irresistible urges he felt whenever he was near her. Even when he was not, his famed concentration was shaken. "It is not what I expected."

"How so?"

"Someone shouted my name as we exited the church after the wedding. They flung a brick and struck Grace."

"Bloody hell…"

"It tore her skirt and landed on her foot. Could have been far worse. There was a note attached to the brick. A warning."

Concern furrowed Arkwright's brow. "Any idea who was behind it?"

"None. I insisted we leave at once for Everdene."

"Not the most romantic wedding night."

"That had to be postponed under the circumstances."

Arkwright stared. "You didn't bed her? The way you were looking at her that day at The Willows, I'd have thought you'd barely wait until the ring was on her finger."

"Of course I've bedded her, you dolt! After we arrived at Everdene and broke the news of our elopement to her family."

"I'm just astonished at your…restraint. There is more to it than this. I can see it in your eyes. What the devil happened? You know I won't let up until you tell me."

Lucien sucked in a deep breath. "I presented her with a box containing the Harcourt jewels. I thought it would please her after having to deal with her father. She cared not a whit about them."

"You did what?"

"She is entitled to jewels as my viscountess. Any woman I've ever known would have been delighted. She barely looked at them."

"Exactly when did you present this box of trinkets?" Arkwright asked.

"When I came to her bedchamber for the first time."

"Right before you bedded her?"

"Can you think of a better time?"

"Any time but that," Arkwright burst out. "One lavishes pretty baubles on one's mistress as payment for services rendered. A wife is a different matter. If you would like my expert advice…"

"What I'd like is for you to sod off."

Arkwright stared, and Lucien didn't like the keen edge to his gaze. "Can't do it. I'm your best friend. No one knows what a bastard you can be better than I do. I'm bound to notice when you start acting human. It's damned disconcerting."

Lucien hesitated a moment, then said gruffly, "She's lonely."

"You've only just now figured that out?" Arkwright's animated grin softened, and he looked at Grace, who was sharing half of her bun with a child who had none. "What did you expect, going from a house full of family to being your wife?"

"I have told her to go to the shops and buy anything she wishes." He frowned. "Giselle and my other mistresses were always pleased when I offered them such things."

"Trinkets are not the kind of thing Grace would be pleased with." Arkwright picked up a pebble and flung it into the Serpentine. "Your brilliancy is so blinding, I'm surprised you can see your nose on your face."

"What do you even buy for a woman who turns down jewelry?" Lucien asked.

"I know the perfect gift." Arkwright clapped him on the back, his enthusiasm jarring as a trumpet blast.

"Out with it, man. Lest you find yourself walking back to Curzon Street."

"A dog."

"You mean a coursing dog or a hound?"

Arkwright looked so damned pleased with himself Lucien wanted to shake him. "Not a hound, you dolt. A wee little thing to tie ribbons on and lavish with kisses."

Lucien's jaw dropped. "Are you mad?"

"Grace misses her brothers. Puppies and boys are much the same."

"Indeed. They shed all over everything."

"I think my publisher just whelped a litter. Spaniels."

One more set of pleading eyes begging for something Lucien couldn't give? "Absolutely not."

"Either get her a puppy or you'll have to spend time with her yourself."

"How is that even a choice?"

"Yes, such a hardship. She clearly likes you, though I cannot guess why." His face sobered as he gave Lucien a long, searching look. "Everyone needs affection."

His friend had an insufferable ability to poke things Lucien preferred to ignore.

Lucien turned his gaze back to the lake, watching as Grace threw the last crumbs into the water, then brushed her hands. He ran a finger under the edge of his cravat, which seemed suddenly tied it too tight. A picture from his past flashed in his memory. They were at a Christmas party at The Willows, Grace's parents so tender beneath the kissing ball. Lucien's mother looking on, wistful, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Though he was but ten years old at the time, he had known something was very wrong that night, that his mother had changed. Feared it was the melancholia his father had warned against. He knew better now. She had wilted from neglect before Lucien's eyes.

What if Grace wilted, too?

Four days later Lucien sat with his wife in the drawing room, a place that might have been inviting to anyone who wasn't watching his wife for signs of unhappiness. In the time since the memory of his mother's decline had stolen into Lucien's head, his concern seemed to lodge in a knot of pulsing pain behind his left eye. One he badly needed to ease before he and Arkwright went to their club an hour from now.

Grace sat in her chair, her work basket beside her as she stitched on some bit of embroidery. He had managed snippets of conversation, then pretended to read a newspaper, though the words swam before his eyes. At last, he set the daily aside and pressed his fingertips to his left eye.

"Your head is aching." Grace's voice broke into his thoughts.

Startled, he looked up to find her regarding him with concern, her dark hair pretty beneath a lace cap. She seemed to be waiting for an answer.

"A bit, yes."

"Perhaps your eyes are strained. I could read the newspaper aloud to you." She picked up the daily that lay folded on the table. "It seems there is a new branch of Chartists, willing to do whatever is necessary to have the vote and improve working conditions."

Even if that meant resorting to violence…Lucien thought.

Of course Pinchbeck had given the journalist his opinion regarding that development. The man could never resist seeing his name in print. And yet, Lucien had more difficulty dismissing Pinchbeck's concerns since some elusive bastard had nearly hit Grace with a brick.

He winced. "The goings on in London only make my headache worse."

Grace interrupted his troubled thoughts again. "What if I read you a novel to distract you?"

God, no, he almost groaned, but managed to stifle it as she continued.

"There is a book I was starting to read again by a man named Charles Dickens. Have you heard of him?"

"Complaints mostly from Pinchbeck and his like. He claims the author is trying to shake down the very pillars of decent society with his tales. Arkwright likes Dickens well enough." He did not add that Arkwright was far too amiable in general. Lucien was trying to be more attentive, wasn't he? At least, if Grace was reading aloud he wouldn't have to make conversation while wrestling with this abominable headache. "I suppose I could listen for a bit," he said.

She smiled at him, like dawn after darkness. "Come. Lie on the settee while I fetch the book." He eased himself down, his boots dangling off the edge of the upholstery so as not to smudge it.

She placed a cushion beneath his head. "Shall I take off your boots?"

"No."

Her eyes widened at his sharp tone, and he felt an uncharacteristic impulse to explain himself. "I have a meeting at the club with Arkwright soon." Lucien frowned, bemused. He had never had anyone fuss over him in quite this way. Oh, mistresses and women hoping to snare him in the marriage mart had paid him attentions, but there was always an undercurrent beneath such actions, an exchange to be made. With Grace, it felt different, but it set him off balance. He could not seem to get comfortable. She took up the book, the gilt in its binding glowing in ribbons down the leather spine.

"Would you care to lay your head on my lap?" she asked.

Instinctively, he was ready to refuse, then he reconsidered.

"I suppose I would be able to hear better," he grumbled.

He raised up on his elbows while she slid onto the settee, then he laid his head on the soft nest of skirts, felt the warmth of her skin through the petticoats, her faint scent of jasmine and cinnamon surrounding him.

"The Old Curiosity Shop," she began.

He hadn't suffered listening to someone read since he'd had schoolmasters who thrashed him if his mind wandered, but her voice was melodious, oddly soothing.

He closed his eyes and let his muscles relax.

He didn't have to really listen, he told himself. Grace would never know.

And yet as the hour passed, pictures began to form on the canvas of his mind, like mist, faint at first, then clearer…drawing him in. An old man tending his shop full of antiques…a moneylender tempting him to gamble…and a little girl named Nell whose face unsettled him…shifting into that of a much younger child, a flower seller with Grace's scarlet ribbon in her hair.