Grace (11 page)

Mr. Ackerly sat in silence for a moment, then looked down and cleared his throat gruffly. “All I’ve ever wanted for my girls is for them each to be happy in her own way,” he said. “What I have always
hoped
for is for them to have the chance to experience a love like the one I shared with their mother.” He stood and walked around the desk, reaching out and clasping Trevor’s hand in a firm handshake. “You have my blessing, son, but I’m afraid that’s only half the battle. I won’t force my Grace to marry against her wishes. Convincing her to accept you is your job. Don’t expect it to
be easy,” he warned. He shook his head at the thought of his headstrong daughter being told she had to do anything to which she was opposed.

Trevor smiled, relief evident on his face. “I doubt I’d enjoy it half so much if it were,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand. He looked down at Bingham’s copy of the legal document on the desk, now signed, and sobered. “I did not know Grace wouldn’t be here when I arrived. I intended to obtain your permission, sir, then take my time convincing her. Chasing her to London . . .” Trevor stopped and shook his head wryly, then continued. “Thank you for signing the papers.”

“You might want to hold off on telling Grace of the transaction until she’s made her own decision,” Bingham advised. “I have a feeling she’ll be of the view that she’s been purchased.”

Trevor chuckled. “Very good advice, sir.”

He turned and saw Mercy beaming at him from the large overstuffed chair in the corner where she had curled up and watched the whole exchange. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” she said happily. A sudden thought occurred to her. “When you marry my sister, you will invite the Duke of Blackthorne to the wedding, won’t you?”

Bingham shook a finger at his youngest daughter while Trevor laughed at her audacity. Mercy looked undaunted. “Well, it doesn’t hurt to ask,” she muttered to nobody in particular.

Trevor felt the texture of the road change, smoothing out as they neared the more frequently traveled and well-maintained streets of London. He sat up straighter, smiling to himself at Mercy’s marital plans for Sebastian. He would have to warn his friend to watch out, for he had a feeling young Mercy usually managed to get what she wanted, one
way or another. A quality that appeared, he thought with an inner smile, to run in the family.

The carriage began to slow with the increased traffic on the cobbled streets. Courting Grace would definitely prove a tricky business. He fully intended to win her over first, to let her think she had fallen in love with him of her own accord. He would take things slowly and patiently. Somehow he had to make her fall for him, while still managing to keep the upper hand. It would never do for Grace to think she had command of the situation, because he knew that if she did, she would take the bit in her teeth and run like an untried colt.

Once he had won her over, they would hold the ceremony in church, with all the beauty, pomp, and celebration she deserved, for he knew she would be the most breathtaking bride London had ever seen. Trevor imagined her walking down the aisle, smiling radiantly at him, her face aglow with love, and his hands itched to hold her again as he had held her beneath the oak tree in the glade. After the wedding they would hold a lavish reception at the Willows. The Ackerly home was much too small to host such a grand event. Besides, when they retired for the night, he wanted it to be in his bed and in his home that Grace finally became his.

The coach pulled up and stopped before No. 7, Upper Brook Street. Trevor leaped out of the carriage and vaulted up the steps of the immense town house before a footman had even attempted to reach the coach door to open it for him. Wilson managed to get the front door open, but only because he had just arrived himself and stood near the door.

Trevor swept inside, his cape swirling around him. He issued instructions as he went, the beleaguered servants rushing to do his bidding before they had even had a
chance to unpack. “Wilson, have my town carriage ready in fifteen minutes. I’ll be going out for the evening. Has Avery arrived? I’ll need him to lay out evening wear.” Trevor stopped, thought for a moment, then continued. “Never mind, I’ll tell him myself. Also, have the cook send up a tray of whatever he can find. I’m famished.” He put one Hessian-clad foot on the oak stairs, then turned and added, “I’ll also need flowers. Roses, I think, and . . . umm . . . daisies.” He turned and took the steps two at a time, already bellowing his valet’s name as he ascended.

Wilson watched Trevor disappear into the upper reaches of the house before he turned and directed a waiting footman to have the carriage readied. If the butler felt any trace of annoyance at the instruction to uproot his staff and head back to London after a stay in the country of only two days, he hid it well. Certainly, though, he must have wondered at the unusual actions of the normally predictable earl. Privately, when he received the summons to go to the Willows, he had felt a woman must lie at the bottom of it. Now, with Trevor’s last instruction, he was convinced. High time, too. In his opinion, the earl had been alone for far too long. He stopped a maid and sent her to find one of the footmen who had traveled with the earl on this last trip. He would get to the root of all this, he thought staring up the stairs in the direction his employer had vanished.

“Avery!” Trevor called again before he reached his chamber. The surprised valet came running out just as Trevor strode in, very nearly colliding with him on the threshold. “Evening clothes, please, and quickly.” He spotted a footman walking by the room. “Smythe!” The liveried man immediately reappeared in the doorway. “Have my secretary send up all the invitations we’ve received for events held this evening.” Smythe nodded and bowed backward out of the room, then turned and ran down the hall in his haste to do his master’s bidding.

Trevor turned back to Avery, who had a black coat and breeches already laid out and stood stooped over the bed, brushing nonexistent specks of dust from an impeccably pressed sleeve. “I’ll need a shave, too,” Trevor added, rubbing his chin.

Although he had yet to locate the bag that contained Trevor’s shaving things, Avery managed to look as cool and unperturbed as ever.

Twenty minutes later, Trevor descended the steps in immaculate, superbly tailored evening clothes, his jaw smoothly shaved. He held in one hand a list of the evening’s balls to peruse on his way to the address Grace’s father had given him, and in the other hand a tasteful bouquet of pink tea roses and white daisies. Wilson swept open the front door and Trevor strode out. He gave his driver the address on Curzon Street, then settled into the coach with a smile, looking forward with pleasure to the company of his unknowing fiancée.

M
iss Grace is not in to callers.”

“What do you mean?” Trevor snapped at the stooped, elderly butler who had answered the door at the home of Grace’s aunt. After traveling across half of England, Trevor felt his lighthearted mood begin to deteriorate in the face of yet another setback.

Greaves drew himself up as much as his diminutive height would allow, deeply affronted at the earl’s clipped, impatient tone. “I meant just what I said, my lord. Miss Grace is not in to callers.”

Trevor took a deep breath and slowly counted to ten, reminding himself that this man did not purposely keep him from Grace. “And where might I find Miss Ackerly?” he asked in a more patient voice.

“Which, my lord?” the butler inquired with raised brows.

Trevor closed his eyes, again trying to quell his irritation. “Which what?” he asked.

“Which Miss Ackerly, of course,” the old man said. He drew back into the house a bit and looked at Trevor as though he thought the young earl on the doorstep was bit batty.

Trevor’s hands itched to close around the servant’s neck, but he checked the impulse and forced himself to answer.
“Miss Grace,” he bit out between clenched teeth, enunciating each word clearly in an effort to control his rapidly crumbling temper.

A look of baffled uncertainty crossed the butler’s face. “I’m not quite certain I remember, my lord,” Greaves said, scratching his bald head thoughtfully. “I know they went out, and I’m most certain Lady Egerton told me where they would go.” He squinted up at Trevor for a moment, trying as hard as he could to remember, then visibly brightened, struck with a most brilliant thought. He looked at the earl eagerly. “Do
you
know, my lord?” he asked hopefully.

Trevor stared down at the smaller man in incredulity, unable to fathom why anybody with the slightest bit of common sense would employ this man, much less allow him to answer their door. “May I see Miss Ackerly’s maid, then?” he finally managed.

Greaves immediately opened the door wider. “Of course, my lord. Which Miss—” he began.

“Miss Grace!” Trevor snapped. He stepped inside and removed his gloves as the elderly butler shuffled off. Trevor hoped the man would manage to remember what he had set out to accomplish. He walked across the entranceway and glanced into the first room he found, a frilly, feminine salon with intricately carved furniture and knickknack-covered tables, a fussy room of the sort Trevor hated. He noticed, however, a large sideboard of drinks near the fireplace. He walked inside, poured himself a generous brandy, then sat gingerly in one of the impossibly fragile chairs that littered the room, waiting for the maid to come from wherever Greaves had gone to fetch her. Fortunately he did not have long to wait. In a matter of moments a small, round, frightened-looking girl with her mobcap set crazily askew atop her head stepped into the room.

“My lord?” Becky curtsied, hiding her trembling hands in the folds of her black skirts. She was quite terrified at the
thought of confronting the strange man Greaves had only just described to her as “rather unfortunately demented.”

Annoyed, because whatever the butler had told Becky about him had obviously scared her to death, Trevor did not even look at the girl, merely held his glass up to the light and slowly moved his hand in a circle. “Who is your mistress?” he asked evenly, watching the amber liquid swirl in the flickering light from the candles.

“Miss Ackerly, your lordship,” the maid immediately answered.

Trevor shook his head, smiling grimly.“Would that be Miss Grace or Miss Faith Ackerly?” he asked with a resigned sigh.

Becky blinked. “Both, my lord,” she replied in confusion.

Suppressing a new urge to throttle the now conspicuously absent butler, Trevor moved on patiently. “Of course. Very good. Perhaps, then, you can be of some assistance to me. Do you happen to know where Miss Grace has gone this evening?”

“Almack’s, my lord,” the girl immediately replied, visibly relieved that she could answer his question. “And afterward they were to go to a ball at the home of Lord and Lady Seth.”

Trevor nodded briskly. “Thank you,” he said in a short, dismissive tone.

Becky stood waiting for a moment, then realized he no longer required her presence. She curtsied quickly and vanished, more than happy to take her leave of the strange nobleman.

Trevor watched her go and shook his head. Wednesday night. Almack’s.

He took a final swallow of his brandy and gritted his teeth. The evening looked more and more grim. Of all the places he had hoped to find Grace this evening, he would have placed Almack’s at the bottom of the list. The moment he set foot in those exalted rooms, he would find himself
set upon by a multitude of matchmaking mamas and their sometimes less-than-demure daughters, all of whom hoped the same impossible hope: to snare the elusive Earl of Huntwick, considered the best matrimonial catch in England for several Seasons. Actually, he amended to himself without rancor, with Sebastian’s newly acquired ducal title, Trevor would now be considered the second-best catch. He grinned for the first time since entering the Egerton house, happy to relinquish the label.

He set his glass on a table and walked slowly from the salon, toying with the idea of going to White’s and playing a few hands, then catching up with Grace at Lord Seth’s. After a moment’s further thought, he decided against it. White’s would likely be short of good company tonight. Lord Jonathon Lloyd, the Earl of Seth, and his younger brother, Gareth, two of Trevor’s closest friends, would certainly not put in an appearance. If Amanda Lloyd planned to give a ball tonight, her husband would be at her side. She had probably roped in her young brother-in-law to help, as well. Trevor smiled affectionately at the thought of the staid Earl of Seth’s beautiful, effervescent young wife. He would enjoy seeing them again tonight.

His mind made up, Trevor walked back to the front door. The elderly butler who had so annoyed him a few moments ago now sat in a chair near the entrance, snoring peacefully, his chin resting against his chest. Giving the sleeping man a scathing look, Trevor quietly opened the front door himself and stepped outside. With a great deal of satisfaction, he slammed the heavy door as loudly as he could. The resulting startled yelp from just inside the door was like music to his ears. Feeling vindicated, he walked down the steep steps to his waiting carriage, grinning widely.