Chapter 1

1

L ady Grace Percy stood facing the small mirror in her modest room, her hand resting upon her stomach as she tried to calm her nerves. Her mind shouted the same question at her that it had for weeks. With child! How could this have happened?

Of course, she knew how it had happened. She and Roland, though, had been trying to be careful. After the tumult of the season, the demands of the crown, and the dangers they had faced, neither was eager to settle sedately into some calm corner of England to begin producing heirs for the ducal line.

And yet that, despite their efforts, was what the future was about to hold.

Grace’s knees wobbled slightly. Behind her, her lady’s maid, Elsie, steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “Easy, my lady. Is the corset… too tight?”

“It is fine,” Grace said distantly, twisting the ring upon her finger. Her corset wasn’t yet feeling too restrictive—although perhaps that was because Elsie, who knew more right now than her dear husband did, was deliberately leaving it a touch loose. Her wedding ring, however…

“You still haven’t told Lord Percy?” Elsie asked, carefully keeping her voice neutral.

A baby should be a happy discussion, shouldn’t it? For him, this would be a surprise. A shock. A line drawn through all Roland’s carefully laid plans to take her to the continent in the spring as they continued enjoying their marriage and freedom from the responsibilities that would fall on his head once he inherited the title.

She checked her hands for puffiness, evading Elsie’s gaze in the mirror as she lied. “I do not see how we can be certain yet. Are you certain I would not feel movement by now if I were?”

As she settled into her chair, Grace had one brief half-regret of not accepting her mother’s offer to employ a more experienced lady’s maid, one who might be better informed about the ways a pregnancy could progress. Yet, as Elsie ran the brush through Grace’s chestnut locks, the steady rhythm soothing Grace’s raw nerves, Grace knew she would not send her away. They would muddle through and hope for the best.

“It would be far too soon for movement if you are with child, my lady. Are you still feeling no sickness in the morning?”

“None at all.” She hadn’t even had a twinge of queasiness, even though Grace’s older sister had vomited for months when she had been in a family way. “Perhaps the lack of sickness means it will not take. Perhaps I am imagining the whole thing. I would feel foolish if I upset him for nothing.”

“You have missed your courses twice,” Elsie said pragmatically, her voice very low. “And you are getting fatigued in the afternoons.”

And there was a certain roundness to her cheeks that had not been there before. And a tenderness in her breasts. Grace had been unable to lie to herself about what the small changes in her body were heralding, even if she could still not utter the truth aloud. She could still not bring herself to tell her own husband while he was so happily looking forward to plans Grace already knew they would not be able to enjoy.

She couldn’t tell him while there was still a part of her that felt this child wasn’t real. A part of her that hoped it wasn’t.

She was a coward.

Let him enjoy the planning for now , her pragmatic inner thoughts repeated serenely. There are months and months to go, plenty of time to tell him later. A better time, when it will not be such an unwelcome surprise.

So Grace sent her maid to let Roland know she was ready. For travelling, at any rate.

The smile Roland gave her when he entered her room was like sunlight breaking through rain clouds, and it melted the icy chill of worry forming in the pit of her stomach. “Are you ready to depart? We should make it there sometime in the early hours of the afternoon.”

“I am ready,” she said shortly as she stood and turned back towards the mirror, nervously checking again over the style of her hair. Grace had directed Elsie to do her hair sensibly, given that there would be several hours of bumpy roads to cover. It wouldn’t do to arrive with half her hair sprung free of pins and clips.

They were on the last leg of their fall journey. In a few hours they would arrive at Alnwick Castle, the seat of power for the duchy and the home of Duke Gideon Percy, the fearsome Breaker of Northumberland. His was a moniker the bad-tempered old duke had earned fairly.

Grace shifted her gaze back toward her husband and found him studying her, concern twisting his handsome features and clouding his dark gaze. He stilled her hands and lifted the left to his mouth to press a gentle kiss across her knuckles. “Are you worried about facing my grandfather?”

“A little,” she admitted. Even on her wedding day, he had been unable to offer her a smile. She was unworthy of the role of future duchess, in his mind, and only timely intervention from the Prince Regent himself had kept the Breaker from trying to stop their wedding this summer. “Have you no qualms?”

He squeezed her hand conspiratorially. “I will not pretend that our stay at Alnwick Castle will be pleasurable, but we need only be there until the roads thaw. We will do our duty to the duke, and then we will make our escape to the continent.”

A twinge of guilt twisted her stomach, and Grace pulled her hand free. She passed her husband his winter coat, playing valet to help him shrug it on. It was easier to keep the truth of her fears a secret if she did not have to meet his eyes. In a quiet voice, she asked, “But… what if something forces us to stay?”

“Nothing can force us, my wife. My grandfather has no hold over us any longer. He may have rushed us to the altar, but no one can rush us to the birthing bed, no matter how much he harangues about securing the ducal line. Everyone knows that these matters take their time.” He whispered wickedly in her ear as he stood behind her.

Grace sucked in an unsteady breath, her heart pounding. What if he noticed a change in her body, right then and there? But he turned to grab his hat from the hook near the door.

“I’m off to see if the carriage is ready. Promise me you will put all concerns about the duke aside. Imagine the adventures we will have in the next year. I cannot wait to take you to Porto.”

Grace forced a stilted smile onto her face and nodded confirmation. “It does sound very lovely. All right, let us get on our way.”

No matter how pleasant Portugal was, she would not get to see it—at least not soon. By the early months of the new year, Grace would have to enter her confinement. Then Alnwick Castle would become their home, their prison, until after the baby had arrived.

Assuming she was indeed with child at all. Assuming that she managed to carry to term.

Grace pressed her fingers to her temples, shouting at her spiralling thoughts to be silent. She didn’t move again until Elsie came back to get her, dressed in a simple travelling dress of dark blue wool, with long sleeves and a high neck. It was a plainer version of Grace’s own heavy woollen outfit, but Elsie wore it as proudly as a ballgown.

“I could ride along with you, my lady,” Elsie reminded her. “Then, if you need anything… if there is aught amiss, I would be near?—”

Grace held up a hand to stop her there. “You will be much happier riding with Briggs, as we both know.”

Elsie’s face coloured prettily, and Grace stifled a small smile, the dour turn of her thoughts finally easing. She had only meant to imply that her lady’s maid would be more comfortable not being cloistered in such a small space with her lady and her husband still mooning after each other like newlyweds, but perhaps there was another reason why Elsie looked forward to riding with Roland’s new valet. Roland and Grace enjoyed one of the rarest of gifts—a true love match from within the ton. Grace wouldn’t dare stand in the way of the chance of romance to bloom elsewhere.

—------------

A short while later, Grace snuggled against Roland’s broad form, soaking in what heat he could offer. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her tight, while she adjusted the thick blankets covering their lower halves. They had mastered the art of keeping warm in the last several weeks, while the autumn days lost their battle against an early winter, bringing icy winds and heavy rain. It was a large part of their delayed arrival.

The wooden wheels bumped through the churned mud of the roads, threatening to get stuck and sending ominous creaks through the carriage. Roland’s elbow cracked against the door, causing him to groan. “There is not a part of me that is not bruised. We should have stayed in the south.”

“Leaving Nathaniel to face your grandfather on his own after we had promised we would winter there?” Grace shook her head. “I would not wish such a fate on anyone, least of all your half brother.”

“Needs must. Else I would not wish the backwater of Alnwick on anyone , least of all my darling wife,” Roland countered. But his face got that far-away look that suggested his mind was already roving ahead.

“You have said little of Alnwick. Beyond your brother, is there anyone else you look forward to seeing? Perhaps some companion from your youth or a friendly servant?”

“In Alnwick? No. After I petitioned the duke to secure our positions in the military, we made one trip a year and otherwise kept our distance. I would go pay my respects to my grandfather, and Thorne would visit his mother.” Roland pushed aside the curtain covering the window. Outside, the rugged hills of Northumberland rolled to the horizon, dotted here and there with grazing sheep. In the spring, the ground would roll like an emerald carpet. Now, the cold, short days had bleached the lands to a pale brown. Against the faded backdrop, a shimmering line glimmered in the distance. “That is the River Aln. We are getting close.”

Less than an hour later, the road widened and the distance between homes shrank. Grace drank in what little she could see of the village—a line of shops, a village green, the steeple of the church.

On the other side, stark stone walls filled the view. The seat of Northumberland’s name was no jest—Alnwick Castle was the second largest in England after the royal stead in Windsor. No flowers or greenery blunted the weathered curtain walls that had provided protection in centuries past. They passed through the shadowed gatehouse entry without issue and emerged onto the grounds.

The first duke, Roland’s great-grandfather, had undertaken a significant restoration project. Roland had told her of the expanded gardens, but had failed to mention the arched windows and crenellations. She drank in the pointed arches, pinnacles, and tracery on windows and doors. The style was described as fairy gothic, but only now did she understand why.

Her attention swivelled to the mass of uniformed servants filing out of the main entrance, forming a line along either side of the drive. Her stomach roiled again as she realised the lack of a duchess meant she would take on all the responsibilities of hostess and lady of a large household immediately. Never before had Grace cursed herself for ignoring her mother’s attempts to educate her.

Roland laughed and pointed his hand at a pair of well-dressed youngsters with perfectly combed matching heads of mousy brown hair. The woman behind them had rested her hands on their shoulders, not so much to present them as to hold them in place.

Grace noticed the scuffs marring the boy’s shoes and dirt staining the girl’s knees and knew they were indeed the orphans she and Roland had rescued back in the spring. The twins held still only long enough for Roland and Grace to descend from the carriage. As soon as Roland helped Grace to the ground, the pair shrugged off the woman’s hold and launched themselves toward them.

“Milady! Milord! It’s us. The sprouts!” they shouted, though they needed no introduction.

Roland brushed his arm against Grace’s in a silent bid for her to wait. He put his hands on his hips and eyed the children with mock suspicion. “The sprouts? That is not possible. Last I saw them, they ran as free as a banshee, their hair bedraggled and most certainly, a good few inches shorter than this fine pair of children.”

Grace played along, tapping her chin while studying them. “Are you certain, lord husband? There is something vaguely familiar about them.”

“It’s really us, Lady Grace!” the girl pleaded.

“That’s Lady Percy,” the woman said, coming up behind them. “Ye ken well enough that ye're not to speak tae the adults unless they ask ye first. It’s no’ your place to be interruptin’ them, aye? Wait till they bid ye speak, an' then ye may answer. Begging yer pardon, milady,” she added, curtseying to Grace.

Roland stepped in before the children could land themselves in more trouble. “If you are the sprouts, then these packages in the carriage must be for you. Would you like to check?”

The children rushed past the pair, stopping only long enough to give Grace a glancing hug, and then climbed into the carriage to look for their gifts. Roland offered Grace his arm and escorted her forward to meet the servants still standing at attention. He directed them toward the oldest, a man wearing a stark black coat and an equally dour expression.

Despite the man’s age, he executed a flawless bow, revealing the bald spot in the middle of his fringe of snow white hair. “Welcome back to Alnwick Castle, Lord Percy.”

“Thank you, Withers. May I present to you my wife, Lady Percy. Grace, this is Withers, Alnwick’s butler.”

Grace executed a regal nod. “Lord Percy has spoken highly of you. I hope our late arrival has not caused too much turmoil for the household.”

“We are prepared for every eventuality,” the butler assured her in a gravelled tone, though Grace did not miss the glance he flicked toward the children cooing over their gifts. “Allow me to introduce you to the rest of the household.”

Withers ran through a litany of names as the servants either bowed or curtseyed in turn. The housekeeper and cook were to be expected, but the senior and junior footmen, upper and lower floor maids, boot boy, stablemaster, and scullery maids spoke to the size and wealth of the duke’s household. It would take Grace days to remember them all, but she made certain to commit the name of the housekeeper, a Mrs Yardley, to memory.

Withers ended on the woman overseeing the sprouts. “Our newest addition is Miss Fenton. She has come from the village to serve as governess for the children.”

“Alnwick Village?” Roland asked, his face scrunched in confusion. Her thick accent suggested a very different hometown.

“Lately,” Withers clarified with a sniff. “Her family relocated to the area after trouble in the Highlands. Sir Nathaniel made the decision to hire her.”

“Speaking of my brother, is he so thin-skinned that he cannot risk a moment in the cold to come to welcome us?” Roland asked.

The butler’s nostrils flared, but he otherwise hid his disapproval of Roland’s decision to make public his connection to the son born on the wrong side of the blanket. “Sir Nathaniel is out, my lord. I will make him aware of your arrival when he returns.”

Grace’s smile slipped as disappointment washed over her. They had sent word ahead by rider, so he should have been expecting them. Unless?—

“Did the rider fail to notify you of when to expect us?” Roland asked, clearly thinking the same thing.

“We received word,” Withers replied. “His Grace was informed.”

But His Grace’s bastard grandson had apparently not been given the same courtesy, despite his status as newly minted knight of the realm.

“Where is my grandfather?” Roland asked. “Are we to present ourselves in his study for review?”

“The duke is occupied.” Withers left his answer at that. “If you will follow me, I will show you to your rooms. The footmen will see to your things. Mrs Yardley, can you arrange for a tea tray to be sent up?”

Grace took Roland’s arm again, barely resisting the urge to cling to his side. Other than the sprouts, not a single servant had smiled in welcome. At best, the junior staff had studied her and Roland with curious gazes. No matter her intentions, Grace feared she would not find any easy path toward stepping into the role of lady of the house.

The Breaker of Northumberland would set the tone. Snubbing them sent a clear message. Though the law dictated Roland to be his heir, and Grace the future duchess, he was far less certain of their worthiness for the titles.