White Regency 03 - White Knight (13 page)

“Before Ma married my Pa, she had
served as ladies’ maid here in London to none other than Miss Harriette
Wilson.”

It was a name that was unfamiliar to
Grace. “Harriette Wilson—she was a popular lady?”

Liza smiled, raising a brow. “You
could say a good many of the gentlemen sought her company. Everyone from dukes
to some say even princes.”

Princes? Well this Harriette Wilson must
certainly then know the proper way to wear a shawl. In the face of such
expertise, Grace shrugged and left the gown’s bodice where it was, even though
she felt most indecently exposed. She focused instead on the challenge she had
put to herself to become a proper marchioness. Christian’s marchioness. It was
time she gave up girlhood modesty. It was time she stopped playing the role of
The
Anonymouse
and became Lady Grace, Marchioness Knighton. She squared
her shoulders. If this was what it took to make her husband notice her, then by
heavens she would do it.

Grace stood while Liza slipped her silk
mantelet around her shoulders, fastening it under her chin. When she had
finished, Grace looked to the clock on the table beside her. It was now twenty
minutes past eight. She certainly didn’t want Christian to think she had rushed
in preparing for such a paramount event. She waited ten minutes more before
heading for the door.

Christian, Eleanor, and Lady Frances were
all waiting for her at the foot of the stairs when she appeared. Christian
looked handsome and quite refined in his evening suit of strict black with just
the stark white of his shirt and neckcloth against it. Grace felt a small tug
deep inside herself; she had missed seeing him the past two weeks. But tonight,
all that would change for the better.
Yes, indeed,
she thought,
recalling Liza’s words,
every lady will envy me for the man whose arm I will
be on.
She would not be nervous. She would act and speak as the marchioness
she was—Christian’s marchioness.

Grace smiled hopefully when she saw he had
noticed her descent. But Christian didn’t register any response to her
appearance. Instead he glanced at the hall clock, barely giving her notice. He
frowned. “I had hoped to avoid having to wait in the carriage line.”

Grace’s smile immediately flattened and
she felt a tightening deep inside her chest. Liza had been wrong. She had
displeased him by being late.

“Oh, but it is better that we arrive
after most everyone else,” Eleanor said quickly. “There will be less
of a crush to get in. Do remember the Easterley rout, Christian. We arrived
promptly at eight and Mother’s hem was ripped when Lord Calder trod upon it
trying to make an entrance before us. It was most clever of you, Grace, to
consider that.”

Everyone knew perfectly well Grace’s
lateness had nothing to do with any forethought and there followed a silent
moment before Christian turned for the door, the cape of his evening cloak
sweeping outward as he went. Grace remained frozen on the stairs, all her
hopes, her plans stricken even before she’d begun. She wanted to turn and
retreat to her bedchamber and never emerge again. But she couldn’t. She had to see
this night through. So she renewed her vow to meet the challenge
of the evening and
continued down the steps, following the others outside to the waiting coach.

Eleanor, blessedly, chattered endlessly
during their ride to the ball in an obvious attempt to keep Grace’s thoughts
from both her sullen husband, who sat beside her staring out the window, and
the butterflies fluttering through her insides. Grace realized they had nearly
arrived when the coach slowed to a lazy crawl, picking its way along the street
that was lined on each side with other coaches.

Soon they stopped at a stately house set
on a corner across from Hyde Park. Candlelight glimmered through every window
as shadowed figures clad in shimmering satins walked along the footpath toward
the front door. Their coach halted and one footman opened the door while
another let down the two steps, taking Grace’s hand to assist her to the
walkway where Christian awaited. He offered her his arm and together they
started up the stairs in silence.

Once inside the house, Grace waited while
first Christian, then Lady Frances, and then Eleanor removed their cloaks. She
remembered Liza’s words about how surprised Christian would be by her gown. The
others had already turned toward the ballroom, seeming to forget her. Grace
quickly unfastened her mantelet, handing it to the waiting footman with a
smile. She joined the others atop the stairs just as the footman was announcing
their arrival.

“My lord and ladies, the Marquess and
Marchioness Knighton, Lady Knighton, and Lady Eleanor Wycliffe.”

It seemed as if a sea of faces immediately
turned their way. Grace looked to where Christian stood beside her and noticed
he wasn’t staring out toward the crowded ballroom below them. Instead he was
staring at her as if he didn’t quite recognize her. The sullen look was gone,
replaced by one of total astonishment.

Country mouse indeed!
Grace thought, with a surge of confidence. Liza had
been right. He did like the gown. She gave him a smile and asked, “Is
everything all right, my lord?”

But Christian didn’t answer her. He was
far too occupied with staring at her bosom.

“Really, Christian, could you
endeavor to be perhaps a little less obvious?”

Eleanor’s comment broke Christian from his
blind distraction long enough to realize that he was standing before a ballroom
crowded with London’s most elite society, openly ogling his wife’s breasts. But
good God!
they were lovely. In the weeks since their wedding night, he’d
forgotten just how lovely they were. Even now he found it difficult to tear his
gaze away. He was mesmerized, totally taken aback, and even worse, he began to
feel himself growing aroused beneath his breeches.

Buffoon!
What the devil was wrong with him? What had happened
to the unflappable reserve he’d adhered to so faithfully in the past weeks
since returning to London? And more importantly, how had his modest mouse of a
wife suddenly vanished, leaving this earthly angel in her place?

Christian knew the sudden urge to remove
his coat, wrap her under it, and take her away from the leering eyes of every
other man present. Either that or take her to the nearest closet and explore
just how much farther her bodice could be lowered before it fully exposed her
breasts. One thing of which he was now quite certain: This self-imposed
celibacy was surely going to kill him.

He noticed that Grace was staring at him,
the combined looks of uncertainty, hope, and anticipation shining brightly in
her brilliant blue eyes. He could read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d
spoken them. She had done this for him, donning the gown, taking care with her
hair, all to please him. Why the devil did she have to worship him so
obviously? He had virtually deserted her since their arrival in the city, never
once walking through the door to her bedchamber or engaging in conversation
more meaningful than the state of the weather. He had tried being sullen,
hoping to give her a healthy dose of reality to temper that romantic
wistfulness, fed by novels and comparisons of sex to the threading of a needle.

But he saw now that his efforts hadn’t
worked a whit.

Christian didn’t want to be worshipped. He
didn’t deserve to be worshipped. And he certainly didn’t want to be married to
a woman who played on his last noble trait—an admiration he had for that which
was innocent amid the depravity of the world. It was this same trait that gave
Christian his total devotion to his sister, driving him to do anything he could
to preserve it in her. And now, incredibly, he found that his wife possessed it
in kind, making it nigh impossible for him to dislike her.

He hadn’t been fair to Grace, he knew,
avoiding her, ignoring her as he had the past fortnight. He simply hadn’t had a
choice in the matter. If he didn’t do everything he could to avoid her, he knew
he would only lose himself to her, to her goodness, her innocence. He might
even begin to look for the one thing he’d given up on— hope—even as he knew
there could be no hope for him, never again. That was a fact made quite certain
one cold spring morning twenty years before.

Still Christian realized that Grace had
gone to a lot of effort this evening to look her best when she was presented to
society as his wife. She didn’t wish to shame him before his peers. The very
least he could do would be to acknowledge her trouble.

“You look lovely this evening,
Grace,” he said, a statement that seemed pale in comparison to the vision
she truly was. Her gown was made of a particular shade of green that only
enhanced the color of her eyes, the cut of it carrying an air of seduction in
the way that the bodice hugged her and in how the skirts swayed enticingly when
she moved. Her hair had been swept back from her face into a wealth of tiny
golden ringlets that danced about her neck when she moved, bits of it brushing loosely
against her temple and ears. He had never realized what a slender and alluring
neck she had, nor how fascinating the hollow of her throat could be before now.

Grace beamed under his attention.
“Thank you, Christian. I am happy you are pleased.”

Christian forced his eyes away from her
and set her arm upon his as the two of them started to walk together through
the crowd, accepting greetings and well-wishes on their marriage from the
various people they encountered. Christian introduced Grace to his acquaintances,
less than delighted with the way so many of the men in the room were openly
admiring the charms of his wife’s décolletage. How ironic, he thought to
himself—they want to touch her and cannot; he can more than anyone else, but
won’t. He’d already made that mistake once, on his wedding night, and he was
still waiting to discover if it would prove a fatal one in the conception of a
child.

They had come across the length of the
ballroom and were standing at the far end beside an overgrown potted palm when
a voice suddenly broke through the muted murmur of the crowd. “My eyes
must be deceiving me. Can this be England’s most ineligible marquess?”

Christian turned and his face broke
immediately into a whole grin.

“Noah!” he said, taking the
outstretched hand of his closest friend, Lord Noah Edenhall. “I didn’t
know you were going to be here tonight. When did you arrive in town? Why didn’t
you stop to call at Knighton House?”

It was the first time Christian had seen
him since the previous season, when Noah had left London after his own marriage
to a lady with midnight hair and smoky eyes who was far too clever by half and
equally as lovely. Lady Augusta was a celebrated astronomer and the
ton’s
latest
fascination. To look at her, one would never think that the petite bespectacled
damsel would soon be written of in the history books. She had been credited
with a stunning celestial discovery the year before. She was also with child, a
fact Christian remarked on happily.

“We arrived just yesterday,”
Noah said. “Augusta had some work to complete with Lord Everton and I had
some business to conduct with my brother. And of course, Catriona would never
forgive us if we missed one of the balls she so scarcely hosts. Imagine my
surprise when I arrived and heard that you had gotten married.”

Christian nodded. “We arrived a bit
late tonight and missed seeing Robert or Catriona in the reception line.”

“Is that my name I hear coming from
the newly wedded Lord Knighton?”

Their host for the evening, Robert
Edenhall, the Duke of Devonbrook, came forward as if on cue to join them. Tall
and dark, he presented a formidable figure wherever he went. But then a man
with a formidable fortune usually did. At his side stood his wife, his lovely
duchess, Catriona, a coppery-haired Scot who was another of the
ton’s
celebrated
figures. It was solely because of her that the ballroom was as crowded as it
was; no one in London would ever miss a fete hosted by the infamous Duchess of
Devonbrook.

Catriona kissed Christian lovingly on the
cheek, embracing him openly, heedless of the risk she took in crushing her
lovely tartan-trimmed gown. “We heard the news the minute we arrived in
town. Congratulations, Christian. I’m so happy you could come this evening. I
assume this lovely young lady on your arm is the new Lady Knighton?”

Christian nodded. “Grace, allow me to
introduce the Duke and Duchess of Devonbrook, our hosts this evening. And this
is the duke’s brother, Lord Noah, and his wife, Lady Augusta Edenhall.”

Grace smiled timidly at the quartet of
welcoming faces. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”

As Christian would have expected, Catriona
and Augusta instantly enveloped Grace. Any danger of social disapproval toward
her would now vanish under their protection; it had been his foremost thought
in choosing this particular event for introducing his wife to society.

“Lady Knighton,” said Catriona,
“that is indeed a stunning gown. Is it one of Madame Delphine’s?”

“Yes, thank you, Your Grace, but
please call me Grace.” She pulled a nervous face. “That sounded a bit
silly, now, didn’t it?”

“Indeed, and it will be doubly
confusing when you one day become a duchess and everyone begins calling you
‘Grace, Your Grace.’ ” She chuckled. “Let us avoid any confusion and
simply address one another by our given names.”

“Splendid idea,” said Augusta
then, taking Grace on one side while Catriona commandeered the other.
“Come, let us leave the gentlemen to their port and conversation in the
parlor while we badger Grace into telling us if Christian snores half as loudly
as Noah does.”

“Oh, then it must be a family
trait,” added Catriona. “I thought none could be worse than my
Robert.”

Grace grinned, enjoying the banter.
“If Christian does snore, it mustn’t be very loud for I never hear him
through the door adjoining our rooms.”

Both ladies suddenly halted. Their
respective husbands turned to stare at Grace, who hadn’t yet realized the
significance behind her words. Immediately everyone shifted their attention to
Christian. It seemed as if it had suddenly grown as silent as a church in the
midst of that crowded ballroom. Christian wondered that every other guest
present had not overheard the exchange.

Catriona, blessedly, came to the rescue,
ending the awkwardness. “Come, Grace, let us find a quiet corner somewhere
where we might get better acquainted.”

Christian stood and watched them go,
silently cursing. He wasn’t angry at Grace; how could he be? She could have no
notion of just what she had revealed by her innocent statement. Without even
realizing, she had just disclosed to his two closest friends in life, men who
were openly passionate about their wives, that she and Christian, newly wedded,
did not share a bedchamber. He turned to regard his friends again. The stares
he received in response saw more than he had hoped they would.

“So what business are the two of you
transacting?” he said to Noah in hopes of diverting their attentions
elsewhere.

Noah stared at him a moment before saying,
“Robert has finally convinced Augusta to breed her mare Atalanta with his
stallion Bayard. The only problem is deciding who will take the foal should it
prove successful. I have suggested that they draw straws. Augusta is more
inclined to a combined ownership where the beast shall live part of the year
with Robert at Devonbrook Hall and part of the year with us at Eden
Court,” he finished on a grin. “With Augusta, of course, retaining
possession in the summer months.”

The conversation progressed from there
with neither Robert nor Noah making further mention of Grace’s comment. But
then they were gentlemen and gentlemen rarely pried into such personal matters.

Ladies, on the other hand…

Catriona had found them a bit of quiet
space in the back parlor, far from the noise and crowd of the ballroom. They
dropped into a pair of matched brocade-covered settees that faced one another,
Grace on one side, Catriona and Augusta on the other. Thus when Grace looked
up, it was to dual sets of keen, inquiring eyes.

“So, dear,” Catriona said on a
smile, “do tell us about yourself.”

Grace found herself suddenly tongue-tied
before these two refined and elegant ladies. With hair the color of glistening
copper and diamonds sparkling from her ears, Catriona was exactly what one
would think of in a duchess. Poised and confident, Grace couldn’t imagine this
woman having ever done anything improper in her life. In contrast, Augusta’s
hair was a silky black and pulled atop her head in a coronet that gave her the
look of the nobility she had obviously come from. She was quite intriguing.
Grace had never met a woman who would dare to wear spectacles in public, let
alone at a society ball.

Even as they had walked across the
ballroom together, Grace had watched as Catriona and Augusta had drawn the
notice of the crowd. She could only think that everyone else must have been
wondering why she would be with these two most distinguished women.

Finally she said, “I’m afraid my
upbringing is not what you would consider fashionable,” she began. “I
cannot make much of a claim to society. I was raised in the country and—”

“Nonsense!” said Catriona.
“I was raised in the country, as well—in Scotland.”

“And I was raised on board a ship
among nothing but sailors,” broke in Augusta. “So much more
interesting than strapped to a backboard, pouring tea at a finishing school. So
tell us, how did you come to know Christian?”

“I didn’t really know him.”
Grace chewed her lower lip. “In fact, I didn’t know him at all. Our
marriage was arranged by our families.”

The two women looked at one another and
then together they nodded.

“You don’t care for him?” asked
Augusta.

“Oh, no—I mean yes, I do care for
Christian very much.” Grace hesitated, chewing her lip some more. “I
just don’t think he cares very much for me.”

“Impossible!” said Catriona.
“Why on earth wouldn’t he? You are obviously sweet and charming and
intelligent. He should be proud to have such a lovely wife.”

“He rarely talks to me; whenever he
does, he just seems angry with me.” Grace immediately regretted her loose
tongue. She had only just made the acquaintance of these ladies, and here she
was telling them the most awful truth of her marriage.

But they didn’t seem offended by her
candor. Instead they seemed concerned.