Chapter 29

CHAPTER 29

G race attempted to paste a polite smile on her face as Lady Alice Pinchbeck and her mother perched on the edge of the settee at Raven's Court, sipping tea with almost avid expressions.

"You poor child!" Lady Pinchbeck commiserated, toying with the diamond-studded pendant she wore on a gold chain. "We came as soon as we heard about that dreadful business at the theater. I can only thank heavens dear Alice was stricken with a megrim and unable to attend."

Alice's teacup rattled as she replaced it in her saucer with a trembling hand. "The reports Mr. Freyne regaled us with were terrifying!"

In the confusion, Grace had all but forgotten Neville had been there, along with the French cyprian he'd flaunted before Lucien. Putting that from her mind, she gave a bland smile.

Lady Pinchbeck preened. "I vow dear Neville was very relieved you were not present, Alice. He has been most attentive to our dear girl of late. I believe happy news will be forthcoming."

Grace thought of the cyprian that had been on Neville's arm and heartily hoped Lady Pinchbeck was wrong.

Unfortunately, Alice flushed and pressed a hand to her cheek. "Mama! You mustn't speak of it yet!"

"I'm only saying that your suitor was most relieved you were safe."

"As am I," Alice said. "If I had been caught in such a riot, I fear I would have taken to my bed for a month!"

Lady Pinchbeck selected another tea cake filled with apricot jam. "And I would have seen to it you did. You do have such delicate nerves." She looked up at Grace. "Alice was so very concerned something had happened to you, Lady Everdene. She insisted she must see for herself how you fared."

"As you can see, I am well."

"I must disagree." The older woman sampled a bite of her cake, wrinkled her nose and set the sweet upon her saucer. "I am quite sure once your dear father-in-law, the earl, learns what you endured during that horrendous riot he will see to it that the most stringent measures be taken against the perpetrators. Why, Lord Everdene himself must be wild with rage, considering the danger you were in. Any gentleman of proper feeling would be."

Grace resented the flicker of triumph in Lady Pinchbeck's eyes.

Pointless rage was the last thing Lucien would indulge in. As to ‘proper feeling'…Grace thought of Lucien hastening her to the coach, little Sibby Rose crushed against his chest. His gentleness once the child was asleep when he finally took Grace into their bedchamber tending to her own injuries. That night it seemed so much had changed.

Ever since, Lucien had not left her before first light. She warmed at the memory of nestling against his long, lean body once their lovemaking was through. Mornings she would wake to find his face on the pillow beside her, his hair tousled, his mouth tender, those ice-blue eyes peering at her with something akin to wonder. She felt that nearly painful connection as well, pleasure almost too perfect to be real. If only she were with him right now instead of enduring this interminable visit.

Lady Pinchbeck's voice intruded. "Since you've no mother to attend you, poor lamb, I feel duty-bound to offer advice. Until his lordship takes necessary steps to make certain you—and every decent woman—is safe from riots on London's streets, you must stay well clear of the unwashed masses you've tried to be patroness of. Yes," she said before Grace could get a word in edgewise. "Lady Downe has told me you have been catering to the waifs at that school . You must mind your nerves as my Alice does. A woman of childbearing years can easily slip into hysteria. A womb that is jiggled about can subject one to all sorts of travail."

Grace might have laughed out loud if it weren't for a sudden awareness stealing through her. She pressed a hand to her stomach. How long had it been since she'd…? She brushed the thought away before she could fully form it. And as for hysteria—she knew exactly what the term was used for. It was the perfect excuse to dismiss a woman's point of view when she disagreed with a man. She thought of the countess's gentle, haunted gaze.

"It is imperative that you surround yourself with proper society from now on and take care not to exert yourself," Lady Pinchbeck insisted.

Taking to her bed in a fit of vapors was the last thing Grace's mother would have advised her to do. Not when she could take action and do some good. She pictured her mother's face in her mind, fiery resolve igniting inside her. "I believe I shall host an event at Raven's Court three weeks from today. A charity event to benefit the schools for factory children."

Alice gasped. Lady Pinchbeck's cheeks puffed up, scarlet as she sputtered in indignation. "Well, I never! I have never wasted my good counsel on such an ungrateful girl."

"Ah, that is how we came to cross purposes," Grace said with a perfectly schooled smile.

"I am no girl . But I am the Viscountess Everdene. Alice, do note on your social calendar the date. Three Wednesdays hence. Seven of the clock. Raven's Court. I promise it will be a night you'll never forget."

Grace's chin bumped up a notch. Lady Pinchbeck could stuff her patronizing concern into that capacious cleavage of hers along with the gaudy pendant she wore.

Two weeks later, the visit from Alice and her mother still chafed Grace. Lady Pinchbeck had left in high dudgeon, the pompous woman like a thorn festering beneath her skin. For the life of Grace, she couldn't figure out why. Yes, she had felt a trifle unwell since the incident at Drury Lane, her emotions honed to a sharp edge, but she had done her best to forget the horrors of that night, and had immersed herself in the maelstrom of activity needed to host an event for the ton: Invitations written and sent, planning the delicacies cook would prepare and the entertainment to be offered, composing the appeals she would make for donations.

Donations she feared would be far less than she'd hoped, thanks to Lady Pinchbeck's interference.

But at the moment, it wasn't her frustration with the meddlesome woman or the notes of regret on her escritoire that made Grace's stomach clench. It was the missive that lay atop them, words written in Avery's cramped hand.

It has been three weeks since you told us what Lord Admiral Nelson is doing. Did you take him to the Tower of London to see the headsman's ax as you promised?

Not only had she failed to take the Lord Admiral to the Tower, she had no idea what had become of her brothers' cherished toy. For the past hour she had pawed through pockets and drawers, spoken to maids, and even crawled on the carpet to search beneath the bed and armoire. But the dented tin soldier that was the link to her brothers was nowhere to be found.

In truth, she'd not even thought of the toy since before the riot at Drury Lane. Thought of little, save the planned charity event and her happiness with Lucien. A happiness she handled like a spindle of glass lest the slightest pressure break it. Pressure that might, even now, threaten…She peered into her mirror, touching her stomach with a flutter of excitement, confusion and dread, uncertain what changes this new possibility might bring. She shook away that fear, pinched her cheeks to give them color, then descended the stairs to search for her husband in his study.

She was surprised to find Lucien was not alone.

Arkwright stood in rakish disarray beside the hearth, doubtless to drive the late November chill from his long limbs. He shot her that irrepressible grin. "I stopped by to tempt Everdene into a game of chess since he's eschewed the club of late. Not that I blame him, considering the lovely company he has at home." He turned toward Lucien. "It seems marriage agrees with the Elusive Viscount Everdene. Dare I say it, Luce? You look almost happy."

"And you look annoyingly smug." Lucien rolled his eyes at his friend, then held out a hand to Grace. She slipped her own into his, grateful to feel the warm strength.

Arkwright beamed. "You are only annoyed because I am right."

"I fear things are a trifle chaotic at present," Grace said. "I am preparing to host my first real event as a political hostess this coming Wednesday. A charity event with all proceeds to benefit the school for factory children."

"Indeed? That seems like a worthy cause. And who is to attend this event?"

"Anyone with the slightest bent toward philanthropy, though I have received some regrets as well." She made a face. "Alice Pinchbeck's mother scheduled an event at the same time. A musicale starring a famed opera dancer. I am rather sure she did it on purpose."

"Am I to receive an invitation to your fete?"

"Yes, of course! I did not know that you had returned to town. Lucien said you were visiting your grandmother in Lancashire. I hope you found her well."

"Terrifyingly so. I'm exhausted after trying to keep up with her." Affection radiated from Arkwright. "Attending mere London party will be a relief."

"I know I am a trifle early for the holiday, but I plan to make it a Christmas theme in hopes that will inspire people to be more generous."

Arkwright gave a hearty laugh. "You may put me down for a sizeable donation. As for Lady Pinchbeck—" He pursed his lips in a perfect mimic of the sour matron, but before he could finish, Lucien cut him off.

"The lady will prove no match for you," he said, and she leaned closer against his solid shoulder. "The ton is about to be dazzled by my new Viscountess."

"I have no doubt!" Arkwright addressed Grace. "Speaking of the upcoming holiday, will you be seeing your brothers for Christmas? Tell young Master Avery that he had best be keeping up his swordplay. I intend to challenge him to a duel when next I see him."

Grace looked down, reminded, not only of the lost toy, but of the holidays looming. Lucien's resolution before they married echoed in her head: I would rather be dragged behind one of Simon's horses than endure a fete overrun with children. I prefer spending Christmas at my club. But perhaps with the changes in their relationship, there might be reason to hope?

"We have not yet discussed where we will spend Christmas," she said, "but I fear I've sought out Lucien now to inquire about another matter regarding the boys."

"The boys?' Lucien echoed, feathering his thumb across her knuckles in a soothing path. "Is something amiss?"

"I'm afraid so. I have only just realized I misplaced Lord Admiral Nelson."

Arkwright gave his head a bemused shake. "Uh, I believe you'll find a statue of him in Trafalgar Square. Or perhaps you might visit his tomb at St. Paul's Cathedral?—"

"Not the real Lord Admiral Nelson, you gudgeon," Lucien corrected with a solemnity that only made Arkwright appear more confused. "The toy soldier her brothers gave her. Grace has carried it all around London and written to them of his adventures."

Arkwright eyes widened. "Grace, you really are the best sister in Christendom."

"My brothers won't think so when they discover I have lost their favorite toy. I just received a letter from Avery demanding to know whether or not the Lord Admiral has visited the Tower. I fear when my brothers learn the truth they may be shouting off with my head ."

"Have you spoken to the laundresses?" Lucien asked, his brow furrowing. "Perhaps you left the toy in your pocket."

"I have searched everywhere and asked all of the maids. He's been on my dressing table a fair amount, so they know what to look for."

"When do you last remember seeing him?"

She fretted her lower lip. "I'm ashamed to say I'm not sure when I last had him in my possession. I remember showing the Lord Admiral to the children at the school and talking about the Battle of Trafalgar. I took him to the museum with a crowd of Alice Pinchbeck's friends. They laughed when I showed him the Elgin Marbles. I wrote the boys that he'd observed plants from the South Sea islands in Lady Downe's conservatory. Her ladyship was talking quite wistfully about her son, and so I shared the tale of how I had come to carry the boys' tin soldier about."

"Perhaps you dropped it." Lucien was quiet a moment. Grace imagined his thoughts turning in his head, like the gears in his gold pocket watch. "Did you have the toy that night at the theater?"

"I don't know." She turned her hands palm up. "I fear I have grown lax about the poor admiral. I merely transfer things to my pocket or reticule by instinct…my watch, the toy wrapped in a handkerchief. It has become such a habit I rarely think about it now."

She had spent the first month of her marriage looking backward toward The Willows. Worrying. Wondering how her brothers fared. But a gentle severing of the old life had gradually taken place. Her gaze now turned toward Lucien and the future.

Arkwright piped up. "Maybe you could buy another toy soldier to replace it without them knowing the difference. I should buy a set for you to keep here anyway," he teased. "Considering how much time Everdene is staying at home, Uncle Rhys should start filling up the nursery with playthings. Must have it fully stocked when you provide me with a wee Harcourt to spoil."

Grace saw the corners of Lucien's mouth harden, and she quelled the instinctive urge to touch her stomach.

"Believe it or not," Lucien told Arkwright, "I cannot even spare time for a chess match, let alone indulge your ridiculous urge to spoil children that do not even exist. I was about to go on an errand."

"Excellent! I'll come along with you." Arkwright rubbed his hands together in anticipation and gave Lucien a crooked grin. "Where are we off to? Tattersalls? Bond Street? I could use some new boots."

"Pinchbeck's Factory."

Grace's breath caught. "Truly?" She pressed her hand to her chest, only half believing.

"Pinchbeck's factory?" Arkwright echoed, disgruntled. "What the devil do you want to go there for?"

That smile that had grown less rare tipped up the corner of Lucien's mouth. "Someone very wise told me I need to find out why people are rioting, see the conditions they work under for myself."

"Oh, Lucien! Thank you!" She flung her arms around him despite Arkwright looking on.

He hesitated a moment, then returned her embrace, stroking his hand up and down her back. "I hope I might discover something about the fate of Darragh Nolan as well," he told her.

"Will you take me with you?" she asked.

"I will learn more if you are not present. They'll have no excuse to avoid certain subjects or areas to protect a woman's sensibilities."

Disappointment tugged at her, but she had to admit he was right. Much as she wanted to go, it would be better to get all of the information possible. "You will tell me everything when you return?"

He hesitated, and she got the feeling he did not want to make promises he might not be able to keep.

"You must not hope for too much," he warned instead. "I am not certain what I will achieve by doing this."

"I understand, but it means the world to me that you are trying."

He gently trailed the pad of his thumb between her brows, and she knew he was smoothing out the crease that formed there when she was worried. "You look rather tired, my dear. I fear preparing for this charity event has been robbing you of sleep."

"You needn't worry about the ton," Arkwright said. "I am certain you will convince them to donate to your cause. After all, you have got my curmudgeonly friend going to tour a factory."

She stretched on tiptoe, leaning in to whisper against Lucien's ear. "The party is not what has been keeping me awake at night."

She loved seeing the heat flare in his gaze as he angled his head to kiss her. His mouth lingered, his hand warm on her cheek. "You mustn't let anything trouble you. Not Lady Pinchbeck, your guest list or Lord Admiral Nelson. We will solve that mystery of the Lord Admiral together, or we will concoct an epic adventure to explain his disappearance—without Arkwright filling up rooms with toys we do not need."

He shot a quelling look at his friend, but Grace felt a flutter of unease at his words.

Perhaps it was time to get the answer to another mystery as well, she thought, her own unease heavy in her chest. After Arkwright and Lucien left, she went to her escritoire and wrote a note and sealed it. Heart hammering, she handed the missive to a footman.

It was time to find out the truth.