Grace (30 page)

Gareth had just poured himself a drink when she threw open the doors. He took one look at her face and reached for another glass. “Shall I pour you one also, my lady?”

“Sherry.” She nodded.“Tell me it isn’t as bad as I think it is.”

He handed her the glass. “It’s worse. How is it that you already know?”

“I was with Grace when that misguided footman of hers returned,” she said. “Is there any chance nobody knew who employs O’Reilly?”

Gareth shook his head. “I’m afraid not.”

Amanda sat down in a winged leather chair, one foot tapping furiously as she tried to think. “The message didn’t necessarily have to have come from Grace. For all anybody knew, it could have been from Lady Egerton regarding some business venture for which she needed advice, or an investment she had immediate questions about.”

Again Gareth shook his head. “There are two reasons nobody would ever believe that. The first is that Hunt was quite obviously furious about the message. Since there are only ladies living in the Egerton town house, it will be assumed that the message came from one of them.”

Amanda’s face fell, and Gareth continued.

“Lady Cleo would hardly have sent a message that would have inspired such a reaction in Hunt, so obviously the message had to have come from one of the younger ladies.” He paused and smirked a moment. “Can you imagine
our incomparable and ever-so-correct Miss
Faith
Ackerly pulling a stunt like that?”

Miserably, Amanda shook her head.

“Neither will anyone else,” Gareth finished. He swallowed the last of his port and poured another.

Amanda took a restorative sip of her sherry, then remembered what Gareth had said. “You said there were two reasons that everyone would think it was Grace who sent the note. What is the second?”

Gareth closed his eyes, his cocksure, arrogant attitude gone for the first time since Amanda had known him.

“What is it?” she asked in alarm.

“The second reason is entirely my fault,” he began, his voice heavy.

“Yes, it is,” came a voice from the doorway. The Earl of Seth stood there, glaring at his younger brother with cold displeasure. “Please,” he invited scathingly, “tell my wife what you’ve done to her friend.”

Gareth’s chin rose. His eyebrows snapped together as he glared back at the earl in a clash of wills that had begun years earlier. “You tell her,” he said coldly, then strode from the room. He slammed the door behind him. A moment later they heard the front door slam, too.

“Really, Jonathon,” Amanda chided, “You leave him no choice. It can’t be all that terrible.”

“Perhaps you should reserve judgment on that score, my dear, until you’ve heard what he’s done this time.” He helped himself to a glass of brandy before seating himself in the chair opposite his wife. “Yesterday my reckless little brother placed a public bet in the sum of one thousand pounds.” He paused. “The entry reads, ‘Miss Grace Ackerly will bring the Earl of Huntwick to heel within one week.’ ”

Amanda gave a gasp of horrified laughter. She quickly stifled it at the quelling look from her somber husband. “Oh, my,” she said, unable to manage any other response.

“Quite,” said Jon. “By this evening your friend will be known as an extremely fast and bold young lady. On top of that, because Hunt left White’s almost immediately after receiving the message, everyone will assume he left to obey her summons, making him look like a fool in leading strings.”

That statement deeply alarmed Amanda. She caught her breath. Trevor would hate Grace for making him look so foolish, leaving her little if any chance of ever winning him back. She knew her friend could care less about her own reputation, but she also knew Grace cared a great deal about the reputation of her family, and even more about what Trevor thought of her. Considering the situation a moment, she could come up with no new ideas. In frustration, she gave up and changed topics. “Must you ride Gareth so hard?”

Jon’s scowl deepened. “He must learn some responsibility, Amanda. Had he thought this through before placing the bet, he would have seen the most likely possible consequence and not done it.”

“But, Jon, he feels terrible already. You couldn’t possibly make him feel worse, and I’m afraid you’ll drive him away from us again.”

The earl fell silent a moment. That possibility had occurred to him as well. He well remembered the year immediately following their father’s death, when Gareth had fought the control Jon had tried to exert over him. That year had ended with Gareth running away to join the army, only to come home nearly dead after taking a bullet fighting Napoleon.

Her husband remained silent, so Amanda pressed her momentary advantage.“He’s a grown man, Jon, needing to make his own choices and mistakes. Stop trying to control him or he’ll do something drastic. I heard him discussing a possible move to the American Colonies only the other day.”

Jonathon looked at the earnest face of his beautiful wife.

His eyes turned tender. “Marriage would settle him down, you know.”

Amanda stood and walked to her husband’s chair. She settled herself comfortably on his lap. “I couldn’t agree more, darling.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and rested her head against his chest, then tipped it back to look up at him. “I’ll have to give it some thought,” she murmured, then promptly forgot Gareth, Grace, and Trevor as Jonathon’s lips claimed hers.

G
race stood before the full-length mirror in her bed-chamber, tugging on her clothes and finding critical flaws in her appearance where none really existed. She wore a shimmering gown of turquoise satin, a shade that exactly matched the bright blue of her eyes and set off to perfection her creamy complexion. Becky had fussed with her hair awhile, but in the end Grace decided to wear it down, held back from the sides of her face with mother-of-pearl combs. Long satin gloves in the same shade of blue as her dress encased her arms, ending just above her elbows. The gown itself had no adornment, elegant in the simple style Grace liked best, cut straight across her chest with short, square sleeves, a row of darts beneath her breasts and across her back. From the insert of each dart, a panel of teal chiffon fell in gossamer folds, forming the effect of an underskirt that just brushed the tops of her soft turquoise satin slippers.

Amanda gave Grace a final appraising look. She took in the girl’s delicate cheekbones, made more prominent by the weight lost during her illness. Her slightly tilted eyes appeared larger, and her face was still a bit paler than normal, but the combination gave Grace an exotic and vulnerable
look. Amanda was counting on that vulnerability to help pull off the scheme she had concocted with Gareth.

Grace gave her bodice another tug, uncomfortable with the low, square neckline, above which her rather smallish breasts swelled enticingly. “I can’t do this,” she said. She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm the nerves that were making her stomach do flip-flops.

“Nonsense,” soothed Amanda, “you look beautiful. You have nothing to fear. They’re just people.”

“It’s not the people who worry me,” muttered Grace.

“Trevor’s just a person, too,” said Faith, as pragmatic as ever.

Grace glared at her sister in the mirror. “You’re wrong,” she said flatly. “He’s two people, and right now I’d much prefer if he were the Trevor who chased me, rather than the one I’m chasing.”

“You could have had him then, girlie,” said Aunt Cleo from the doorway. She moved into the room, inspecting her niece’s appearance through a lorgnette. “Although I think you’ll appreciate him more now when you get him.” She stopped before Grace and nodded. “I suppose you’ll do. You all will. Let’s go.” She rapped her cane on the floor in impatience.

They rode to the ball in Aunt Cleo’s well-sprung carriage, Amanda rattling off last-minute instructions. “Gareth, Trevor, and Sebastian should have been there for at least an hour by now. Gareth and Jonathon have been putting about the word that the whole incident was a simple prank of Gareth’s, which should be believed, since he is always pulling stunts like this. Gareth has also promised to convince Trevor to go along with the plan and to behave toward you, Grace, as he always has.”

“He won’t do it,” said Grace, a note of despair beginning to thread itself into her voice as the carriage neared their
destination. “Trevor won’t give a hang about what people think of him, and he’ll be more than happy to see my reputation suffer.”

“Stuff and nonsense,” barked Cleo from the corner of the carriage, her voice loud in the closed space. “Huntwick won’t tolerate people thinking he’s a fool. Men don’t, you know. Can’t abide it.” She nodded wisely.

Faith, who had remained quiet until this point, finally spoke. “Lord Caldwell will go along with the plan,” she said quietly. Three pairs of eyes swiveled in her direction. Faith sat primly erect in her corner, her hands folded in her lap, a small smile on her composed face.

“How can you be so sure?” Amanda asked.

“Because I took the liberty of sending your brother-inlaw Gareth a message as soon as you told us what you had planned.”

When her niece did not elaborate, Cleo lost patience and thumped her cane on the floor. “Spit it out, girlie! What did you tell him?”

Faith smiled tolerantly. “Well, it’s perfectly obvious that if his lordship’s ability to handle a mere female is questioned, his business partners may also question his ability to select sound investments.”

Cleo, Grace, and Amanda stared in openmouthed amazement.

“It’s true,” Faith insisted. “Lord Caldwell’s business reputation is entirely based upon his uncanny ability to judge whether or not an investment will reap good returns. Among the wealthier members of the ton, he is viewed as having rather a golden touch, because he seldom makes a poor business decision.”

Amanda shook her head in admiration. “How do you know all this?”

Faith raised disdainful brows. “Because,” she said loftily,
“there is a great deal
more
to a newspaper than the society section.” She turned her head to look out the window as the carriage came to a stop.

Making a mental note to ask her husband more about Lord Trevor Caldwell, Amanda quickly got back to the subject at hand. “Does anyone have anything to add?”

Faith remained silent. Grace shook her head, her face a taut mask of misery. The footman opened the door. She took a deep breath and prepared to step out of the carriage into a crowd of people who would immediately begin whispering about her.

Aunt Cleo suddenly checked Grace’s exit with her cane. “It won’t work!”

Amanda and Faith turned their heads sharply in her direction. “Why not?” Amanda asked.

Aunt Cleo gestured at Grace, who remained grimly by the door, steeling herself to face the crowd. “Huntwick can agree to be his most charming, and young Gareth can spread all the rumors in the world,” she declared, “but it will all be for nothing if Grace walks in there looking like a sacrificial lamb.” She leaned toward Grace for emphasis. “I don’t care how you manage it, but you go in there with your head high, your spine straight, and you smile, missy. If you don’t, they’ll slaughter you within moments—” She broke off as the footman lowered the steps and held out a hand to help them alight.

With a last, long look at her aunt, Grace raised her chin, squared her shoulders, and stepped down, followed immediately by Aunt Cleo, Faith, and Amanda. They had not walked ten feet before heads swiveled toward them and whispers began. With a fixed smile, Grace offered her arm to Aunt Cleo, who took it and leaned in with a last bit of advice before they entered the lion’s den. “Just remember this, my dear: if tonight goes badly for you, Huntwick will still have his title, his money, and entrée into the highest
circles of society. You, however, will be dropped so fast your pretty little head will spin.” Cleo felt Grace’s spine stiffen beside her, and watched as the intimidated look in her eyes changed to one of angry resolve.
Much better,
Cleo thought with satisfaction as they entered the beautiful Upper Brook Street mansion. Huntwick would not know what hit him.

They gave their wraps to one of the footmen stationed just inside the door, then ascended to the third-floor ballroom. Grace felt her stomach tighten again as they neared the top. The music spilling from the entranceway grew louder, along with the din of the more than six hundred invited guests. Just outside the entrance she took a deep breath in an effort to calm her rampaging nerves.

Grace felt an encouraging squeeze on her hand. “Are you all right?” Amanda asked in a low voice, as Faith and Aunt Cleo entered the ballroom ahead of them.

Grace nodded, determined to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. She pasted a serene smile on her face, then stepped up to the entranceway with Amanda. The butler bellowed out their names, and they began their slow descent.

Those nearest the entrance responded with blatant immediacy. Heads turned sharply toward the top of the staircase, then back toward their neighbors. The news that Grace Ackerly had arrived spread in an ever-widening arc of whispers. Grace fixed her eyes on a point just above the blurred sea of faces and continued her poised entrance into the room.