Confessions of Lady Grace

by Rachel Ann Smith

  With a weak smile and in a fake chipper voice, Grace said, “I understand. I shall see you at Saint George’s church then in three weeks.”

  At the mention of the church, Matthew’s posture stiffened a minuscule amount. Grace doubted anyone but she had noticed. Swiveling on his heel, he turned and left without a single word. Grace prayed, Please Lord, help Matthew find his way back… back to the gazebo.

  Chapter Nine

  Morning rays of sunlight hit the tips of Grace’s pink slippers as they peeked out from beneath her skirts. She lengthened her stride, eager to reach the whitewashed garden house that came into view. The gazebo. Her sanctuary. Climbing rose bushes wound up along the posts and covered most of the trellis that Matthew had ordered be installed on seven of the eight sides. He had claimed it was merely to shield the interior from wind and rain, but it had also served to provide them privacy during their numerous clandestine meetings. Grace smiled as she spied buds that would bloom into peach-colored roses in a month or so. Spring was her favorite season of the year. It signaled new beginnings.

  Grace sneaked a quick glance at her papa, who appeared to be deep in thought as he walked alongside her.

  Frowning, he asked, “What games are you playing with Ellingsworth?” Her papa’s clear eyes were trained on her as he continued, “Last eve you were behaving as if you enjoyed the company of that buffoon. His jokes…”

  Grace’s smile broadened. “Did you not like the one about oranges and bananas? I considered it a rather clever parody of Shakespeare’s Macbeth.”

  “Shakespeare?” His eyebrows crinkled. “Are you referring to the scene when a porter is awoken out of a drunken stupor by a man knocking at Lord and Lady Macbeth’s door?”

  “Exactly.” A surge of happiness filled Grace’s heart. Since Matthew’s departure, she hadn’t anyone to have playful intellectual debates with.

  Rubbing his chin, her papa said, “Hmm… If it was, in fact, such a satire, then perhaps he is not such a dunce.”

  “I believe he might have the intelligence to outwit our dear friend Archbroke.” Grace admittedly was impressed by Tobias’s playacting abilities from the prior evening. What caught her off guard was his ability to appear totally inept. He asked questions or made statements that, if taken literally, would infer the man certainly had air for brains. But when Grace took the time to listen to his speech, she found he was far from ridiculous. In fact, he was exceedingly intelligent.

  Her papa chuckled. “Archbroke. Doubtful. The man is an absolute genius.”

  “I’ve taken to viewing Tobias like an abacus.”

  “How so?”

  Grace ceased walking to explain. “Upon first glance, one might consider the instrument simple when, in fact, once you learn how it operates, there is nothing simple about it.”

  Tobias was indeed a conundrum. While her betrothed was a puzzle, she sorely missed Matthew’s direct honesty and openness. From their first meeting, Matthew had understood her inherent need for the truth. Matthew had the unique ability of being able to share facts with her, no matter how harsh they might be, disabusing her natural instinct to mistrust others. In running the Foreign Office, Grace often dealt with men of Tobias’s ilk, never knowing exactly what they meant or what their true intentions might be. With Matthew, she never doubted his intentions.

  Grace glanced up. Her papa was at least six feet ahead. The snap of a twig nearby had her frantically searching the grounds for Matthew. Her pulse raced with the anticipation of seeing him. When she spotted him behind a tree that was out of speaking distance, she rose both palms. She wiggled her fingers quickly, the signal for him to wait before she clasped them behind her back and scurried to catch up to her papa.

  When she came abreast with him, he said, “Gracie, I received new information early this morn regarding Burke’s plans. Convince Archbroke to send Mr. Jones to monitor the docks and gain employment aboard the Quarter Moon. It is not scheduled to set sail for a few weeks yet.”

  She must have misheard—Mr. Jones was a Home Office agent. “Papa, who did you say you wanted to be appointed to this assignment.”

  With a sudden lack of certainty, he replied, “Mr. Jones. Did I—”

  “Very well.” Eager to restore her papa’s confidence, she said, “I’ll meet with Archbroke as soon as it can be arranged.” However, in order for her to convince Archbroke to do anything, she would need a motive. “What is Mr. Jones’s objective?”

  “Burke is in dire need of funds. I believe he arranged for a private auction of the last remaining heirlooms he has in his possession. The items are being stashed down at the docks. We need to find them and the crown jewels before it is too late.”

  Grace nodded. “Very well, I’ll share your wishes with him. Although you know how wily the man can be when we request the services of one of his men.”

  Her papa crouched down by the edge of the path to touch a delicate snowdrop bloom—the first early sign of spring. When he stood, he looked about, and his eyes widened at the sight of her. He smiled and said, “Gracie, is it spring already?”

  Her heart sank as she answered, quoting him, “Time for new beginnings.” Grace was convinced her papa’s bouts of clarity would increase in frequency and length if she could manage to persuade Cook to refrain from preparing meals heavily laden with salt and fat.

  Grace placed her hand on her papa’s arm. “We should head back inside.”

  Patting her hand, her papa said, “It is a bit brisk out here. Your hands are cold as ice.”

  It wasn’t the chill in the air that caused her blood to leave her extremities; it was the thought of her future that had them devoid of feeling. Ushering her papa back to the house, a trickle of awareness ran down her spine as they neared the garden wall. Grace glanced about. Matthew popped his head up and pointed back toward the gazebo. Grace smiled and nodded. All her worries that Matthew would continue to ignore her vanished. While she wanted nothing more than to spend the day with Matthew in the gazebo, she could not neglect her meeting with Archbroke. Burke’s schemes needed to be put to an end.

  Silverman waited for them by the terrace doors. “Lady Grace, you have a visitor. He is in the morning room.”

  She inwardly groaned at further delaying her meeting with Matthew. Who the devil was calling at such an early hour?

  Matthew waited until Flarinton and Grace had reached the terrace before making his way to the gazebo. He stared at the wooden structure Flarinton had built for Grace to play in as a child. As she grew, it had become her private retreat—a refuge when she needed time and space from others.

  Initially, they had met there to discuss Crown matters, but when she confessed it was her oasis from real life, he refused to discuss Foreign Office matters in the space. His mind was filled with memories from the hours upon hours they had spent together in the haven. He could almost hear Grace’s laughter floating in the wind, unlike the fake laughter he’d heard her emit during her engagement dinner.

  This wasn’t his first early-morning visit to Flarinton’s gardens since his return to London. He lacked the willpower to stay away, but he had managed to remain undetected. Arriving before dawn, he waited for Grace to arrive. Flarinton accompanying her this morn was a shock, but details of their discussions were even more so, for it provided him with the last piece of information he needed. The location of the last of the stolen antiques.

  Alongside the shuffle of Grace’s slippers, boots crunched on the pebbled path that led to the gazebo. As Matthew peered around the tree, Ellingsworth came into sight.

  Grace had dared to bring him to their space. Matthew’s hands balled into fists, and stars appeared before his eyes. How could she? Had he truly been replaced?

  He flattened a hand against the tree trunk. It didn’t make sense for her to invite Ellingsworth when she was aware Matthew was waiting. Unless this was her way of telling him she no longer cared for him, that Ellingsworth was her choice. His fingers dug into the bark. His heart ached—it was just one m
ore organ bruised and hurt. He would recover. Time would heal him.

  He pressed up against the rough bark as the couple passed him.

  Ellingsworth asked, “Where are you taking me?”

  The man’s words echoed Matthew’s exact thoughts. Grace was always thinking strategically and never acted without purpose.

  “To the gazebo. It is the only place I can be certain we can talk freely.”

  “There are always eyes and ears about.”

  With their voices trailing off, he would have to move closer to the gazebo. Closer than he normally would dare to go. He needed to know for certain what Grace was about. He crept along the tree line. He should leave and not intrude, but he couldn’t force his feet in the opposite direction. Dashing to stand next to the trellis, hidden from sight, he took a deep breath and peered through the small gap in the wood.

  Grace stood facing her fiancé. “My papa believes there are valuable items hidden upon the docks.”

  Ellingsworth clasped his hands behind his back. “Is that so? And how did he come about this information without your knowledge?”

  It was a question Matthew himself had pondered earlier.

  Her fiancé paced in a small circle and continued, “Burke is the master of manipulation. I cannot tell you how many times he has boasted that life is merely a game of chess. Like Archbroke, my sire does not make information available unless he wants it known. He plies people with favors, coin, and threats into doing his bidding. Burke will lead you on a merry chase if you let him.”

  “And you?”

  Ellingsworth stopped in front of Grace, leaned in, and pushed a loose tendril of hair behind her ear. Matthew used to execute the exact same motion. He inhaled deeply as he waited for Grace’s response.

  When she remained still, he slowly released the air from his burning lungs. His mind was a mass of conflicting thoughts, but his blackened heart fluttered with hope.

  “I’m not one for games.” The answer brought about further madding questions for Matthew. What were Ellingsworth’s motives for agreeing to the engagement?

  What did the man have planned?

  What resources did he have at his disposal?

  The scorn in his voice when he spoke of Burke left no doubt Ellingsworth had no real affection for his sire.

  Matthew blinked as the blighter dared to lean in and brush his lips against Grace’s cheek.

  Grace turned her face away and said, “Neither am I.” She stepped back, placing another foot of distance between them, before continuing. “You informed me yesterday you have no intentions of marrying me and requested a boon, which I fulfilled more than adequately last eve. It occurred to me this morn I failed to ask. If we are not to wed and I am to be jilted, what assurances do I have that you will indeed see that Burke receives his comeuppance?”

  What? Ellingsworth was going to jilt Grace, and she had agreed? The woman had lost her mind; she hated being the center of attention.

  Matthew’s body tensed as Ellingsworth stepped forward and leaned over Grace. An attempt to intimidate her. God help him, Matthew wanted to pummel Ellingsworth for daring to embroil Grace in a scandal.

  But she did not cower. Instead, Grace placed her hands on her hips and said, “My lord?”

  “I give you my word, which I rarely provide, that Burke will meet his maker sooner rather than later.”

  “What! You intend to have him killed?” Grace expressed Matthew’s own shock at Ellingsworth’s calm declaration he intended to have his sire depart this earth.

  “Indeed, I do.” Ellingsworth sat on the cushioned bench.

  What would motivate a man to take such an action without remorse? Hatred and revenge were Matthew’s first thoughts, but neither motives rang true for Ellingsworth.

  Ellingsworth appeared relaxed, but his gaze searched the trellis walls until his eyes landed on the section Matthew hid behind. As if Ellingsworth was talking to him and not Grace, he said, “It’s imperative no one knows of our plans not to wed. We have to ensure Burke never hears a whisper that our betrothal may be at risk or a sham.” Ellingsworth must know Matthew would never endanger Grace.

  Reasoning the man’s words were a warning for Matthew to keep his distance, Matthew’s fists clenched. Ellingsworth was right. If anyone caught sight of him here, visiting Grace in secret, it would place her in peril. Pretending she no longer mattered to him while he resided hundreds of miles apart had been excruciating torture. How was he to ignore her now that she was within a few miles of him at all times?

  With her back to Matthew, Grace answered, “Very well. I shall go along with your scheme. If that is all you came here to discuss, I have other pressing matters I must deal with today.”

  “I think it best we review the social engagements we will attend as a couple.” Ellingsworth patted the section of the bench next to him.

  Grace moved a few pillows aside, building a small barrier between Ellingsworth and herself. She reached between the wood of the bench and cushion retrieving a leather-bound book. Matthew recalled she used to keep detailed records outlining every social and political event hosted. What was her journal doing out here and not in her papa’s study?

  Grace placed the volume in her lap and opened it. The couple’s social calendar was of no interest to Matthew. He needed to return home and reconsider his plans—Ellingsworth’s involvement complicated matters. Tiptoeing from the gardens, he sat upon the low stone wall and pulled on his stockings and boots. He’d return later this eve to speak with Grace.

  If Ellingsworth had no intention of marrying Grace, then there was still a chance she could be his. A seed of hope nestled deep into his heart.

  Chapter Ten

  Matthew stood in front of Hadfield’s townhouse. Merely six blocks from Grace’s gazebo, the brisk walk failed to clear Matthew’s muddled mind. He stepped back to look at the structure in front of him—clean clear windows with a new coat of paint along the trim. The transformation from a neglected rarely used townhouse to its current refurbished state was remarkable.

  Matthew quickly mounted the steps that led to the freshly painted front door. His eye was drawn to the brass door knocker. The symbol he and Grace had pieced together during the past few years was staring right back at him—a horse with a falcon perched on its back, circled by laurel leaves. It wasn’t the official Hadfield family crest. No. It was the mark he believed only three families could claim, that of a PORF. What the devil!

  The front door swung open to reveal the old butler, Morris. “Lady Archbroke is awaiting your arrival, my lord.”

  Matthew nodded as he stepped forward to enter. His eyes darted back to the symbol one last time as Morris closed the door. If Grace and he had correctly assembled the design, it meant Hadfield was a PORF, which meant Theo would have been a PORF even before marrying Archbroke. Damnation—the last family in the trinity he sought had been right in front of him all this time. The burst of excitement the revelation caused was dampened by the fact he couldn’t immediately seek out Grace and share the information with her. Grace had signaled her wish to meet with him. This new information provided him a valid reason to meet rather than admit his wish to simply be alone with her once again.

  Morris ushered him into an empty drawing room. Matthew paused to gaze about the room, elegant but rather utilitarian in fashion, the walls and furniture covered in muted fabrics and not one decorative pillow in sight.

  Decorative pillows. The Oldridge drawing room was full of them—there was a time when he and Grace would lie upon them, scattered about the floor, discussing everything and anything for hours.

  Theo breezed into the room, breaking his train of thought. She strode directly to the fireplace and placed her hands before her to soak up the warmth. “I expected you much earlier. It’s nearly time for luncheon. Have trouble sleeping?”

  “My apologies for keeping you waiting. Why are we meeting here, at your cousin’s residence?” He joined her by the fire.

  “Archbroke and I were s
ummoned here early this morn. Rather than return home, I decided to stay and visit with Aunt Henrietta while I waited for you.”

  Theo’s military-like posture indicated the woman was in no mood to socialize. He too was eager to be done with matters here. His mind was on the woman who had stolen another night’s sleep from him.

  Matthew said, “Then you are ready to explain exactly what it is you need my assistance with, and why you simply do not ask for your husband’s aid.”

  “You need to return the crown jewels that my cousin left in your possession to Archbroke.” Theo turned to face him, but her gaze lowered to his hands, which were shaking slightly at his side.

  “Why is it so cold in here? Did Hadfield not fix the drafty windows?” Trying to avoid Theo’s prying eyes, he pressed his palms together and rubbed them in front of the fire.

  “Don’t attempt to distract me.” Theo turned back to the fire and balanced on one foot while she raised the other to warm it near the grate before it slipped back under her skirts. Back on two feet, she continued, “My cousin is not pleased with you. He believes he gave you clear instructions to return the jewels as soon as you returned to England. You have been home for more than six months, and not once did you attempt to reach out to Archbroke to return the treasure.”

  He folded his arms across his chest. This was his opportunity to see what information, if any, Theo would divest about the PORFs. “Who is Hadfield to give orders? Your cousin is a peer, not my superior.”

  Theo’s steady gaze remained on the fire. Oh, how he wished Grace was here to assess Theo’s reactions. He was good at interpreting nonverbal cues, but Grace was far more skilled than he.

  “Don’t be obtuse. You know exactly what the right course of action is—return the jewels to Archbroke.” Theo tilted her head and met his gaze.