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Chapter 7

Philip stepped into the room, all too aware that the butler ran off behind him, clearly eager to be away from the shouting voices which had been sounding from this room mere seconds before.

“Ahem,” the Marchioness cleared her voice. She released her niece’s hand beside her and made an appearance of trying to look in control, brushing down the creases of her dress.

Philip looked away from her, his eyes zeroing in on Grace.

It was a far cry from the way she had looked at him last night. She sat slumped against the windowsill, the ridiculously overly frilly dress hiding all the curves which he knew were there, which he had felt the night before. Her honey hair was falling out of its updo completely, wild about her shoulders, and her eyes were red.

She’s been crying.

“I’m afraid it is not possible to speak to my husband, Your Grace.” The Marchioness stepped forward. Any appearance of propriety she was trying to make was fading fast, however, as she cast repeatedly dark glances at her daughter. “Anything you have to say to him can be said to me, I’m sure.”

No chance.

Philip would at least be proper now. He would need to ask for the Marquess’ blessing, and he would damn well get it.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. I must speak to the Marquess himself.” Philip’s firm voice clearly put an end to the matter.

“Well, I suppose you have already taken enough from this family; what can we hold back from you now?” the Marchioness said with a resigned sigh.

“Mama,” Grace hissed from her place at the window. Her mother merely offered another one of those glares in reply.

“Dear Tabitha, would you go to my husband and see if he can accept the Duke as a visitor, please? You’ll find him in his study.”

Miss Tabitha curtsied and left the room. Her eyes swiveled between Grace and Philip before she parted, slipping past his shoulder.

“Well.” The Marchioness tried again to be calm. She clasped her hands together, tapping the fingers, her eyes looking up and down Philip. “I suppose you too have seen the scandal sheets, Your Grace?”

“Strangely enough, I have,” he said drily.

He walked away from the lady, having had quite enough of the way she was looking at him. He walked straight to Grace, who stood off the windowsill in alarm.

He briefly looked down at that awful gown again, wishing he could tear it off her, but the thought of Grace in a chemise and stays alone was doing something to him. A heat burned across his skin, and he had to shake it off.

His gaze flicked back to her face. She sniffed as she looked at him.

She’s holding back tears.

“You saw?” he said.

He heard the Marchioness huff across the room. The Lady paced toward them, her hands on her hips, watching over them as an eagle might its prey.

“Yes.” She pointed to a table nearby where the scandal sheet was left. Unlike his own copy, it was not crumpled. It was perfectly flat, the printed letters obvious in black and white. “My mother informs me that everyone in London reads that scandal sheet.”

“Did you doubt it?” her mother cut in before Philip could speak. He shot her a look, wishing he could talk to Grace alone, but the Marchioness just continued on with sudden venom. “Look what you have done, Grace.”

Her daughter flinched at the words. The sight of Grace flinching was new to him.

Philip was used to seeing Grace full of fire and defiance. He usually avoided her, but he couldn’t help noticing from afar that at balls she would not back down for anyone or anything when she had set her mind on something. Eleanor had spoken often enough of how much she admired Grace for her resilience.

“How have you been?” Philip asked Grace, choosing to ignore her mother’s words.

Grace’s eyes widened a little at him, clearly shocked. Her lips parted as she blinked, holding back fresh tears.

“I —”

“How do you think she’s been?” The Marchioness’ words made her daughter silent. “Honestly, Grace.” The Marchioness was off again, marching up and down, waving her hands dismissively at her daughter. “What possessed you to even do such a thing? How could you think to do this to us? To do this to the Duke too? It’s unthinkable. Unforgivable.”

Grace flinched again. She stepped back, her hands on the windowsill. She looked smaller than Philip had ever seen her before. A rage erupted in him.

He stepped away, doing his best to ignore the feeling. He looked at the door, waiting for Miss Tabitha’s return, though there was no sign of it.

“Did you say the Marquess was in his study?” Philip asked, looking back at the Marchioness. He was impatient now to have this conversation and be done, to be out of this house again.

“He is, but you must wait, Your Grace.” The Marchioness sighed. “He has been very unwell as of late. He’s not in a position to take visitors when unannounced.”

Philip nodded, his eyes on the door again. He grew aware of the Marchioness moving to her daughter’s side. She was hissing something, reprimanding her yet again though Philip could not hear the words.

He paced, impatiently, then looked back at Grace.

Whatever her mother had said to her in that hissing whisper, it turned Grace into a mere shadow of the woman he knew. She was pale, her red and puffy eyes the only thing that had color in them.

She stared at her mother with tears pooling then one slipped down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away, as if ashamed of those tears.

I cannot let this continue.

Furious, Philip stepped toward the pair again, intent on hearing what the Marchioness was saying to her daughter.

“You know why the Duke is here, don’t you? He’s come to tell your father he cannot marry you.”

Philip stiffened.

“It’s unforgivable, Grace,” she said yet again. “You have ruined us all. How can we possibly take you anywhere again? No one in London will want to look you in the eye.”

Grace wiped another tear from her cheek. She turned away from her mother, but the Marchioness caught her wrist and pulled her back to face her.

“You will look at me when I am speaking to you.”

Grace bowed her head, hiding her tears.

This is not the Grace I know.

The protective voice came from somewhere in the back of his mind. Philip willed for Grace to say something, to snap back at her mother, to tell her to back off, but she wouldn’t.

“Enough,” Philip said coolly, finding his voice when Grace could not.

The Marchioness looked around in the alarm.

“I beg your pardon?” she said, clearly surprised that he had come close enough to hear their conversation again. “What did you say, Your Grace?”

“I said that I will not be witness anymore to this conversation.”

“She needs to hear it.” The Marchioness released her daughter’s hand but pointed at her as if she was something disgusting that had just slinked into the corner of the room.

Philip was reminded of something that Eleanor had said about Grace having her fair share of misery and that her mother would certainly have something to say about this matter.

“She needs to hear how she has dishonored this family.”

“Dishonored?” Philip spluttered. He wished to bark that it was only a kiss, what dishonor was there in that? Wasn’t it one of the most natural things on this planet for humans to do? “You will not speak to her like that again.”

“I beg your pardon?” The Marchioness’ shoulders twitched. She stood taller, her cheeks pinkening. “She is my daughter. I will speak to her exactly as I wish to, Your Grace. She has tainted you as she has tainted all of us. It’s only right that she is delivered her reprimand, that she knows the full force of what she has done.”

Say something!

Still, Grace did not. She wiped another tear away. She wouldn’t even look at him now.

It was very different to the Grace he had seen the night before, the Grace he had held in his arms, the Grace he had kissed because he just couldn’t stand the thought of her kissing any other man.

“Grace, you must hear it.” The Marchioness rounded on her daughter again. “It’s high time you knew what your behavior over the years has led to. How much not behaving like a true lady has led to this —”

“Stop. I will not have anyone speak in such a way about my wife.” Philip barked the words loudly, cutting across the Marchioness.

The room fell silent.

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