Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
“ A re you ready for this?” Celia urged in Grace’s ear as the two of them walked back into the ballroom with Violet close behind.
“It will not work, this plan of yours,” Grace murmured back. “When I fall over, most men leap out of the way and watch me fall flat on my face.”
“Do they?” Violet said from behind them. “Well, how kind of them.”
“They do not want the embarrassment of being seen around someone as clumsy as me,” Grace whispered.
“Perhaps that is true of some gentlemen,” Celia said, dragging Grace further across the room and in the direction of the Marquess of Morton. “Yet the Marquess is a true gentleman. He would never let a lady fall if he had the capacity to help her. It will be easy for you of all people to pretend to fall.”
“Yes, thank you for that, Celia,” Grace said tightly while Celia smiled comfortingly at her.
“Swoon into his arms, and he will romantically catch you. Ask for some fresh air, and he will gallantly escort you outside on his arm.” Celia made a strong impression of a gentleman offering his arm to her. “Violet, you can run after as a chaperone, can’t you?”
“I can.” Violet smiled. “I can also cleverly disappear into the bushes when you go to kiss him.”
“When I attack him, you mean,” Grace muttered. Despite her words, Grace was curious to know what it would be like. It was this that made her want to do it, rather than her friends encouraging her. She looked down at the gown she was wearing and did her best to smooth the skirt as much as she possibly could.
It was not the dress she had wanted to wear tonight, but her mother had insisted on it. Grace had chosen a rather bold Pomona green dress, cinched high on the waist.
It was beautiful, unlike anything Grace usually chose, but she had fallen in love with the material in the shop, and her father had insisted on having a dress made for her when he saw how much she loved it.
That was before he fell ill. Oh, Papa, how I wish you could still come to events such as these. I would be so much happier then.
She had longed to wear the gown, but Althea had stood at the door forbidding it, comparing it to Tabitha’s choice. The green was not as fashionable as ivory white, and it revealed far too much of Grace’s figure. In the end, Grace was made to change into the rather boxy cream gown she wore.
She smoothed the skirt once again.
“Now, go; he’s alone,” Celia urged in her ear. “Now, Grace.”
“God, I will live to regret this; I know it.” Grace stepped away.
Across the room, she caught a glimpse of her mother and Tabitha together with the gentleman who had collided with Grace earlier as if she was nothing but a breath of wind beside him. Tabitha was elegant in her tinkling laughter, and Althea’s gaze was set firmly on Tabitha in admiration.
Something squirmed in Grace’s gut. It was a need to think of something else, to be someone else, even if it was just for a few minutes.
She set her path to walk past the Marquess of Morton, who now stood alone, looking around himself in search of someone to talk to.
Grace barely needed to even fake her trip. She caught the edge of her gown, and her usual clumsiness did the rest. She fell into the Marquess of Morton with much more vigor than she had intended, and he caught her in a fumble.
In a flash, Grace remembered being in another gentleman’s arms.
She saw Eleanor’s brother, the dark burnished eyes of the Duke of Berkley, then all was gone.
The Marquess of Morton may not have done quite as smooth a job of catching her, but he certainly steadied her in the most gallant of ways.
“Lord Morton, I am so sorry,” Grace hastened to say, standing on her own two feet again. “Forgive me…”
“Worry not. Are you well?” he asked kindly, his hand still gently on her elbow as she stood straight. “Did you trip, or is it the heat? Sometimes these ballrooms can make one swoon with the heat, can they not? I find myself sometimes struggling with it.”
“You are kind.” She smiled at him. “It’s a wonder we’re not all in fainting fits, is it not?”
“Indeed!”
“Would you care to escort me outside, My Lord? I believe a breath of fresh air might help me.”
“I’d be delighted to help you.” He smiled broadly and offered his arm. “If, of course, a chaperone could be offered.”
Violet appeared suddenly at their side as if she had been summoned there with a magic wand.
“Oh, good evening, Your Grace,” Lord Morton said with considerable surprise as he noticed Violet beside him.
“I will happily be your chaperone, My Lord.” She fluttered a hand in front of her own face. “I agree the air in here is too stifling. I’d be glad to take a turn in the garden myself.”
Grace could have rolled her eyes at Violet’s rather obvious appearance, but she held herself back and forced a smile for the benefit of Lord Morton. As he helped her outside, she continued their conversation, talking softly.
It was clear Lord Morton was a gentle soul indeed, considerably kind, but Grace strangely found the notion of kissing such a man lacked any luster or attraction. In fact, there was no spark at all.
Oh well. She sighed with the thought. The dare was to steal a kiss, not to fall in love !
“Philip, what are you doing here?” Eleanor’s words brought Philip to a halt.
He had barely walked into the ballroom before hearing his sister’s cry of surprise.
“I was invited, same as you,” he said drily. “Perhaps you forget my existence, sister, when we are apart?”
“Don’t be flippant,” she pleaded. “You are late; that is all.”
I had no wish to come; that’s why.
It was with some reluctance that Philip had come tonight at all, but he knew he had to. Eleanor may have been safely married, and even if the gentleman wasn’t particularly to Philip’s liking, he knew she would be looked after, but Philip’s own monetary situation was still a worry.
I’ll have to marry sometime, won’t I? I need to find a dowry.
There had been a time when charming a lady had been a common occurrence though he had kept such acts of charm quiet. Whereas some gentlemen had the reputation of being rakes, Philip’s behavior in such areas was less known.
His reputation was something he protected fiercely as a tiger would guard its cubs.
The notion of charming a woman into marriage though was really rather different and something he was not prepared for, even if he knew it was necessary.
“Have you come to find a spouse of your own?” Eleanor asked with a somewhat knowing smile on her lips.
“Not exactly. I came to check on you and other friends. How are you, sister?” he asked with genuine concern, glancing down at her rounded stomach.
Her humored expression softened into one of love. She placed a hand to her stomach and smiled deeply.
“I am well indeed.”
“Then I am glad to hear it.” He momentarily took her hand and squeezed it tight. A look of understanding and warmth passed between them.
Philip knew that he and Eleanor hadn’t always understood each other completely, but they loved one another, dearly, and it pleased him greatly that these days they were closer than they had been in some time.
“I am even happier tonight for all my friends are here. Even Violet is here with her husband.”
“All your friends?” An image shot into Philip’s head. He saw his hands upon curved hips and the sodden gown of Lady Grace as she stepped out of his pond. The images vanished as quickly as they had appeared.
“Yes, all of them,” she said with a smile. “Well, I won’t hold you up anymore, brother. We can catch up later, but I do not doubt you have come to do the rounds and view the ladies and their dowries…”
“Eleanor, you know I take no pride in being a dowry hunter,” he muttered to her. She arched one eyebrow, somehow knowing this yet dismissing it at the same time.
“Good luck,” she whispered and walked away, one hand on her stomach and another reaching for a glass dish resting on a table nearby that was topped with cake and cream.
Sighing, Philip did as he knew he had to. He circled the room, greeting friends and acquaintances, paying particular attention to any lady who carried herself well with a good turn of her neck or elegant flicks of her fingers when she danced.
Despite it all, no lady left him with any satisfying feeling. Instead, he felt quite stifled from the heat in the room.
He soon left through the open doorway and went out onto the terrace of the garden. Here, to one side, there were gentlemen smoking pipes, and to the other end, a group of ladies had gathered together, all taking the air.
I need a break from conversation.
Ignoring them all, Philip strode out into the garden. Desperate for clear air and quiet, he disappeared between yew bushes, following a gravel path that led deep within the estate. Conversation and music emanating from the ballroom died away, leaving him peaceful and alone at last.
Philip stepped out into a clearing. The rose garden shone brightly in the full moon, each bloom shimmering in delicate dew. Philip was so busy admiring those blooms that it took him a minute to realize that not all was quiet after all.
A lady’s laughter reached his ears. He froze, listening, waiting for it again. The laughter sounded, somewhere off to his left.
I know that sound.
Without thinking about why he was doing it, Philip followed the sound of that laughter. He turned a corner in the yew bushes and peered between an archway made of wisteria into a small lawn where on a bench, a couple sat together.
The gentleman was familiar to him though Philip could not recall his name in that moment. Philip was sure the gentleman was a marquess though his title evaded him. The Marquess made some sort of jest, then the lady laughed again, her honey-colored hair swinging to the side with the movement.
That laughter…
How often had he heard it emanating from his library when Eleanor had invited around her club of bluestockings? The sound had been absent as of late, ever since Eleanor had married and moved out, but he knew it well.
“Grace,” he whispered her name aloud though the pair were too far away to possibly hear him.
It was indeed Grace. She turned to face the Marquess beside her more fully, her face now visible in the moonlight. She was smiling greatly with the sort of smile that Philip had never seen on her face when she was around him.
For him, Grace wore challenging smiles, triumphant ones when she had won a battle between them or knew that she had displeased him with her informal ways. She had never smiled so… sweetly. It was an aberration.
“Well, what do you think, My Lady?” the Marquess said, leaning forward and gesturing to the stars. “Beautiful, are they not? Like glimmering jewels.”
The words sounded so poetic that Philip jerked his head forward. He was sure he knew this gentleman from somewhere, but the Marquess was too difficult to place when he was sat so close to Grace.
Why are they out here? Alone? And where the hell is their chaperone?
“Indeed, they are, very beautiful.” Grace smiled though her words were spoken rather woodenly to Philip’s ears. “You study the stars, My Lord? I know so little about them.”
I do not believe that for a second.
Philip would have scoffed if he was part of this conversation now. Grace seemed to know something about everything, her learned and scholarly ways filling her head with facts that many would not know. It was as if she was pandering to the Marquess’ ego, eager for him to tell her something.
Once again, the absence of their chaperone infuriated him. He knew Grace hardly cared about doing what was right or proper, but this was beyond the pale! The two of them could be discovered at any moment.
Philip leaned forward, moving more into the shadows beneath the archway. He caught sight of the woman who was clearly supposed to be their chaperone.
The Duchess of Barlow, Violet, was wandering across the far side of the lawn. She seemed to have developed a very sudden interest in a tall fountain. Her gaze was solely fixed on the water that flowed freely out of an urn and into a pool by her feet. At her distance, it would be impossible for her to hear or see what the pair were doing.
Grace… you are playing with fire.
Philip took another inch forward, trying his best not to crunch the gravel beneath his boots and alert the pair to his attention.
“That up there, is Ursa Major,” the Marquess said, pointing to constellations in the sky. “And that there… is Ursa Minor.”
A small frown creased Grace’s brow. It was there for but a second before she softened her expression and leaned toward him.
She knows he’s wrong.
What little Philip knew about the stars meant he knew it in an instant as well. The Marquess was trying to show off but had pointed instead at Orion rather than Ursa Minor.
“Your knowledge is quite fascinating, My Lord.” Grace bowed her head a little. This look of demureness didn’t suit her, but the gentleman appeared to be lapping it up.
Her wild honey hair was in its usual state with strands falling out of the updo. One such strand now fell down past her cheek. At the movement, Philip’s hand suddenly itched. He had to scratch the back of his knuckles to put an end to the wish to push that strand of hair back himself.
Then the Marquess’ hand lifted, and he pushed that strand back instead. Grace lifted her chin a little, her eyes glinting in the most seductive way.
Philip could have been back at that pond again with Grace climbing out of the water, her sensuality obvious to him even if she was oblivious to it herself. Yet he was not the one there with Grace, but the Marquess.
Something snapped inside of Philip as he saw Grace lean toward the gentleman.
Philip marched forward. The sound of crunching gravel then the firm ground of the grass beneath his boots alerted the pair to his presence, and the two leaned back from each other jerkily.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Philip seethed with an anger that was almost unrecognizable to him. He lunged toward the Marquess, grabbed his elbow, and tugged him to his feet.
The man stumbled.
“Your Grace?” he murmured, his voice squeaking in surprise.
“You dare try to compromise this lady, and you will answer to me.” Philip thrust the man away.
“But —”
“Go back to the ball. Now!” Philip barked at the gentleman. He looked around, waiting for Violet to run up to them and demand what was going on, but she had mysteriously vanished from the lawn entirely.
Some chaperone she turned out to be.
“Your Grace, honestly, I meant no harm.” The Marquess was now holding his hands up in defense. “The Lady and I were just talking.”
“And that’s just how it looked without a chaperone, wasn’t it?” Philip said scathingly. “Go,” he commanded again, as if he was ordering a dog around.
Offended, the gentleman scurried back. He rearranged his cravat, his face meek and mild, and with that expression, familiarity clicked into place.
I know who you are.
It was the Marquess of Morton. With this realization came understanding, so much so that Philip could have roared with laughter, for Grace had never been in any danger at all. Any temptation to laugh at his mistake diminished in an instant, for he felt Grace swipe him around the arm.
“What the hell did you do that for?” She threw the words at him. She was wearing another one of those ridiculous gowns that were too big for her and that hid her curvy figure far too much. She had to grab the shoulder and shift it up before it fell off again and revealed too much.
“What? No ‘thank you’ for defending your honor?” he pointed out drily. “I would have thought that even you, Grace —”
“Even me? What is that supposed to mean?”
“That even you,” he emphasized, taking a step toward her, suddenly aware of just how close he had come to her, “would see the outrageousness of what you were doing out here alone with a gentleman at night. It’s scandalous, and with many men, you would have been in danger.”
“I needed no such protection. I-I knew what I wanted,” she stammered, her eyes wild and flashing with fury.
“And what was that, Grace? Hmm?” he urged her on. “A chance to be ruined? For your reputation to be in tatters around you?”
“I was only after a kiss!”
The words hit him as if she had kicked him in the chest.
“What did you just say?”