Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

S he was with child.

Grace pressed her hands to her stomach, joy, trepidation, and fierce protectiveness warring inside her as the carriage rolled through the streets toward Raven's Court. It almost didn't seem real, as if during the few hours since Lucien had set out for Pinchbeck's factory that morning she had tumbled into some strange new world, off balance and stunned though she should not be.

The signs had been there. The missed courses, tender breasts, the faint sense of nausea that never quite settled. Had she resisted seeing the changes in her body because she worried about what effect a babe might have on this new closeness she and Lucien shared? Now that she knew, truly knew, there was no avoiding whatever was to come. She wished, more than anything, for a chance to confide in her mother, glean some of her hard-earned wisdom. She had never felt her absence so keenly.

The coach lurched over a break in the cobblestones and Grace braced herself against the tufted leather seat. What would Lucien think when she told him of the impending child?

When they'd wed, he had made it clear he planned to keep distance from Grace and his child once an heir was born. At the time she had feared that resolve was due to his own preferences. Now she knew him better, those wounded places left by his own father, the earl corrosive, controlling, oft times cruel. She sensed Lucien's fear that he might hurt a child the way he had been hurt. What if Lucien held to that original belief?

The coach shuddered to a halt, and she waited for a footman to hand her down, wanting desperately to rush upstairs, retire to the room where she and Lucien had shared so much passion. Be alone to think of how to tell him he was going to be a father.

As she entered the townhouse, Smythe, the butler hastened up to her, wringing his hands.

"Thank goodness you're home. You have guests. They arrived an hour ago."

What in heaven's name had distressed him so much? Whoever had arrived threw the household into a tempest worthy of her brothers. Even if it was the queen herself, Grace would not be able to play the serene hostess.

"I fear I am indisposed. Please give them my regrets."

"Er, I am afraid that will be difficult. It is Captain and Mrs. Harcourt and the viscount's sisters, Lady Cassandra and Lady Jane. I placed them in the parlor."

So that was the root of his dismay. Had news of the discord in the Harcourt family reached the servants here? Heaven knew, household staffs seemed to have a line of communication faster than the palace itself.

She might have been glad to welcome family under different circumstances. But now? What had brought them to her doorstep with no warning? Had something gone wrong back home?

Discarding her bonnet and cloak, she pasted on a smile and swept into the parlor.

The four Harcourts were gathered around a tea table, partaking of the feast of teacakes and finger sandwiches provided.

They swiveled to face the door as she entered, Pen a trifle sheepish, Jane's lashes dipping shyly, and Cassandra with a sphynx-like gaze.

Grace swept toward them. "Look at you all here! What a surprise!"

Simon rose, favoring Grace with a wide grin. "Did you not receive the message we sent ahead?"

"N—no. I am afraid not. But of course I am glad to see you!" she fibbed. She could hardly tell Lucien her news with guests here. In fact, she had to wonder what he would say when he came home to find his family. "I trust all is right in the country?"

"Right as rain," Simon said. "A colleague of Pen's has just finished a building and she has come to London to see it. Since you did not wait for us to return to Everdene Hall after you wed, Cassandra insisted we must offer our congratulations to you and Lucien as well."

Something in the way he phrased it made Grace uneasy. Cassandra had made no secret of her resentment toward Lucien. That glaze-eyed anger when she'd wounded him with the sword.

Cassandra gave a catlike smile. "It was very inconsiderate of you to deprive us of a wedding."

There was nothing for it, but to tell the truth. "My stepmother was making me quite miserable with the preparations for a large society wedding. Lucien wanted to spare me further vexation."

Jane gave a delicate shudder. "No wonder you eloped. I would not want to be in front of so many people, either."

"Lucien being considerate," Cassandra said. "How…astonishing."

"That is love, for you," Simon replied, a look in his eye that made Grace think he was trying to smooth things over with bluff humor.

"Your arrival couldn't be better timed," Grace said. "I am to give my first entertainment here at Raven's Court three days from now. How nice it will be to have family attend. I will have the staff make up your rooms."

Cassandra laughed without humor. "Have you not got to know my brother yet? We would be about as welcome as the plague."

"We are staying at the Langham Hotel," Penelope said hastily. "It is your honeymoon, after all."

Grace tried not to let her relief show. "You must do as you like, of course. But rooms at Raven's Court are yours whenever you wish to use them." She took her place on the settee to preside over the teapot, deftly switching the subject. "Have you had any news from The Willows since I have been gone?"

"Indeed we have," Simon volunteered. "Will has brought your brothers to visit our stables several times, and we've had quite a bang-up time together. They've promised to help me cut down the tree for Everdene's annual Christmas fete."

She beamed, gratitude welling up inside her thinking how healing it would be for the boys to find themselves enfolded into a larger, loving family. "That is so kind of you, Simon."

Penelope's eyes sparkled. "He and our Kit are two of a kind. Dear Kit was toddling after a dormouse in the barn the other day. I live in fear of the day he's nimble enough to catch one."

Grace smiled at the antics of Simon and Pen's adorable little son. Kit would be cousin to the child she now carried. Would they become fast friends? She imagined the pair at Bennet's age, racing around the lovely parklands as Simon and Lucien once had, climbing in the hayloft, learning to ride on twin ponies.

"As for Christmas," Penelope continued, "I am quite determined this year's celebration will be the most delightful we have ever held." She selected a little cake and took a bite. "All of the crofters will come, and our neighbors. And you and Lucien, if you are able."

Grace thought how precious that would be, her first Christmas as Lucien's wife, familiar faces gathered around, children bobbing for apples and playing games like snapdragon. Would her own child be part of those traditions once he or she was born? "It sounds lovely."

Simon slid an arm around his wife. "Speaking of family traditions, is Lucien off at his offices in Westminster?"

"No. He and Arkwright have gone to examine conditions at Pinchbeck's factory."

Cassandra's lips pursed. "Looking for ways to squeeze more money out of the people who work there, are they?"

"Quite the opposite," Grace protested, stung. "He has gone to see the conditions workers are laboring under."

A strange expression came over Cassandra's face. "I'm sorry…you were talking about Lucien, were you not?"

Grace nodded, then regaled them with the story of how they met Sibby Rose and Scrap, and their visit on returning little Sibby home the day after the riot. "Of course, you should have seen the look on your brother's face when Scrap climbed into Lucien's arms like a wee monkey and pilfered his pocket watch." Her voice trailed off at the realization that Lucien's family was staring at her.

Suddenly Simon burst out laughing. "I would have paid good coin to see that," he said.

Penelope's eyes sparkled, and small smile played about Jane's mouth, the first Grace had seen on her since her return. Cassandra, however, looked at Grace as if she suddenly sprouted horns. "Pray tell what any of that has to do with his visit to Pinchbeck's factory?"

"The children's father, Mr. Nolan, was fired from his job two years ago for interfering when the foreman beat a child. He left London in search of work and has been missing ever since. Lucien has gone to find out what he can."

"Lucien, you say?" Cassandra gave something of a scoff.

If nothing else, the story seemed to ease the tension and Grace managed to keep the conversation flowing until, at last, she heard noise in the corridor, then the familiar rumble of Lucien's baritone. She flushed and excused herself, hurrying out to meet him and shutting the parlor door behind her.

Her heart squeezed at the sight of her handsome husband. He looked uncharacteristically disheveled as he shed his cloak and high-crowned hat. His cravat had wilted, his usually pristine frock coat marred by a light dusting of lint, the faint smell of something unpleasant clinging to his clothes. But his eyes were the most changed.

Weariness and relief filled his gaze as he saw her, as if Grace were everything that was warm after trudging through knee-deep snow.

Love, mingling with an unexpected shyness, rippled through her. She would have given anything to be alone with him so that she might share her news. A child— their child— would arrive come spring. Part of her and part of Lucien. If a boy, the child would be the heir he had needed for the title, but now, she dared hope for so much more.

"Welcome home." She slid her arms around him and pressed her cheek against his chest, feeling his heartbeat, thinking about the babe inside her, her heart welling with hope and trepidation. "As eager as I am to hear about your time at the factory, that will have to wait. We've had a surprise visit. Family come from Everdene."

"Family?" A muscle in his jaw tightened.

"Penelope and Simon were coming to London and Cassandra insisted she and Jane come along to congratulate us on our marriage."

There was something in his face she couldn't quite decipher. "Let me put myself in order. I'll be back directly," he said.

Lucien was true to his word, returning in an exquisitely tailored superfine jacket, his cravat crisp, his hair combed. He smelled of spices and soap, and yet there was a stiffness about him, as if he were, once again, the man at that first dinner party at Everdene Hall when he'd faced the earl. Rigid with the people he should have felt most comfortable with.

Simon hastened toward him, a wide grin on his handsome face as he shook Lucien's hand. "We've spent a pleasant hour with your lovely bride. Congratulations. We wish you both happiness."

"We do." Penelope approached with a polite smile. "I fear this visit was more of a surprise than we intended. The note Cassandra sent to apprise you of our visit seems to have gone astray."

Lucien's gaze locked on his sister. "Unfortunate indeed."

Cassandra smiled, a glint in her eyes. "I cannot imagine where it got to. But we are here now, and that is all that matters."

"Grace told us you were touring Pinchbeck's factory," Simon said with a lift of his eyebrows. "You had some interest in an Irishman who once worked there?"

"Yes. Darragh Nolan. My visit was most enlightening." Lucien turned to Grace, and for a moment, she felt as if they were alone. "You must not get your hopes up too much, my dear, but it is possible he has been seen in London."

Grace caught hold of his hands. A bright flare of excitement burst within her. "Truly?"

"The foreman at Pinchbeck's said some of his men claimed to have seen Nolan at a London pub. It may be mere nonsense from men in their cups, but that's why I am so late. I went to the boarding house where Tom O'Malley stays and enlisted his help, then spoke to an agent of inquiry."

Grace turned to his siblings to explain that O'Malley was a friend of Mr. Nolan's back in Ireland. Her gaze suddenly snagged on Jane, who was no longer peering at the world through lowered lashes or darting glances fleeting as a bird's wing.

Surprisingly, Jane was actually looking at Lucien, perhaps for the first time since her return. "It is…quite kind of you to help them," Jane said softly.

Lucien's expression softened as he regarded his sister. "You, above anyone, know I am not kind by nature, Jane. I would have walked past them as if they were invisible if it were not for Grace."

Cassandra's lips pursed. "Tripped over them and been angry they scuffed your boots more like," she muttered. "I can't imagine what Father and his allies would have to say to you."

"Quite a bit, actually." Lucien went to the mantel where the portrait of an Elizabethan Harcourt ancestor hung, complete with ruff and the family coat of arms. "I have been inundated with missives and meetings attempting to sway me. Father's allies are as angry as the folk I saw in the Seven Dials. But the Tories have far less reason."

"Well said, Luce." Simon curved a hand over his brother's shoulder. "I would love to discuss matters later over port."

Grace saw her husband stiffen for a moment, his face guarded again, as if Simon's touch startled him. "The issues are far from simple," Lucien told him. "The threat of revolution spreading from the continent is real."

Cassandra joined her brothers at the hearth looking up at the motto painted on their ancestor's coat of arms. " While I am vigilant, I am safe ," she read. "There will always be those who would burn the world down to get their way."

Grace suddenly wondered if Cassandra was one of them.

Penelope rose, smoothing one of the silk tassels on her cream-and-green day dress. "I think we should give you the wedding gifts we brought from Everdene," she suggested, perhaps to break the tension.

Grace agreed, grateful for the distraction as they gathered where some bundles sat across the room. A beautiful embroidered cushion from Jane was the first they opened. The forest scene seemed almost real, with a doe and fawn drinking at a stream. An exquisite statue of a rearing horse was from Simon, Penelope and little Kit, Simon explaining, "This is Caspian, the stallion Jamie MacLeod and I sneaked out of Afghanistan. Without your gift of the Harcourt stables, Lucien, this bloodline would still be just a dream."

It was obvious Lucien was deeply touched by the gift. Grace began to hope the strain in the family might ease.

"My gift will be late." Cassandra laughed. "I wanted to paint something from a classic myth, but Jane objected. Apparently, Persephone being wed to Hades is not an appropriate image for a wedding gift."

Had she meant it as a jest? Grace didn't know. She could only be grateful not to receive such a painting. She looked from one sister to the other, remembering the gruesome painting Cassandra had shown the night of the dinner party. How closely Holofernes had resembled the earl, Judith's knife biting into his throat.

"Fortunately, for you," Cassandra continued, gesturing to a large, flat oval object draped in holland cloth, "Mother painted something far more fitting."

Grace leaned close to Lucien as he unwrapped the gift. Her breath caught as he unveiled a painting of a boy and girl facing off in front of their dancing master. The girl's eyes sparkled with mischief, the boy stiff and solemn, refusing to react.

Grace pointed to the little girl's blue satin slipper. "I do believe she is stepping on his toe," she teased, slanting a glance up at her husband. "On purpose."

"He deserved it." Lucien placed his hand on the small of her back, and for the first time since he had entered the room, a hint of his smile touched his lips.

She laughed. "We will have to hang this in the ballroom at Everdene Hall, where we took those dancing lessons!" She imagined their own child, one day, asking about that that painting, hearing the tale of their childhood rivalry. Would Lucien be there beside them?

"Everdene?" Cassandra said. "That won't do at all. You must hang it where you will be able to see it."

"I am sure we'll return home as soon as there is a break in parliamentary business," Grace said.

"Return home ?" Cassandra leveled a pointed stare at Lucien. Grace felt tension coil between Lucien and his sister, a spring about to snap.

"Yes," Grace faltered. "Our family estates are so near…being able to—to spend time together is one of the reasons we are so happily matched."

"Lucien didn't tell you?" Cassandra asked.

Grace looked at Lucien. His beloved face was frighteningly still, emotions hidden beneath that mask of ice. "Tell me what?" she asked.

"My dear sister-in-law. Surely, you know about the rift between Jane, Lucien and me?"

"Yes. But, painful as it was, you were children then. You have all grown and changed. After so many years you can put it to rest."

"People do not change," Cassandra said, lifting her chin. "Not at the core of them."

Grace thought of the difference between the man she had first met at the lake and the man who had carried Sibby Rose into the room in Seven Dials, the man who'd let Scrap play with his pocket watch. The man who made love so tenderly and whose child now grew within her. "People can change," she insisted. She had to believe that. More than ever right now. "If they choose."

Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest. "Lucien and I cannot. We have dealt with the gulf between us in the only way possible. Hence his promise to me, before you wed."

A grim look hardened Cassandra's face, and Grace felt a creeping dread. She looked at Lucien, his eyes that could be so tender, so heated with passion suddenly stark, unfathomable.

"Lucien…?" The moment his name left Grace's lips, she saw the barriers form between them. "What promise is she talking about?"

"I vowed that I would never live at Everdene Hall again."