Grace (The Shackleford Sisters Book 1)

by Beverley Watts

  “Don’t you ‘my dove’ me you… you… you bounder,” Agnes sobbed. She turned to her husband, drew back her hand and gave him a resounding slap. “Anthony will never grace the drawing rooms of London. Thanks to you, he will be lucky to have a roof over his head. We are all surely destined for the workhouse.”

  Blinking, the Reverend held his hand to his face, completely nonplussed. In all their years together, he had never glimpsed her so animated. If the situation weren’t so dire, he would be tempted to call her magnificent with her heaving bosom and her hair appealingly dishevelled. Unfortunately, her next words were akin to a bucket of water being tossed directly at his face.

  “What on earth were you thinking Augustus?” she wailed, “Abducting your own daughter…”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Felicity Beaumont was looking forward immensely to the Marquis of Blanchford’s Ball. She had managed to ascertain with a few discreet enquiries that the general consensus within the ton was that both Nicholas Sinclair and his wife were both at best plain as pikestaffs and at worst, entirely hideous. This was clearly the reason they had been eschewed by society up until this evening.

  If any of the female gossip mongers had thought to share their opinions with their spouses, the on-dits circulating may not have become so lurid. The Duke of Blackmore had attended White’s on two occasions and had been observed by several high-ranking members of the ton. However, given the fact that the majority of aristocratic marriages included very little contact between husband and wife, it had to be said that nearly every female under the age of ninety was anticipating the forthcoming evening with a delicious shiver of expectation.

  Felicity was very much looking forward to their collective open-mouthed astonishment when they finally got their first glimpse of the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore. In fact, she couldn’t recall the last time she had awaited an event with quite so much enthusiasm…

  ∞∞∞

  Grace hardly recognised the woman in the mirror - it couldn’t possibly be her. The gown had a low décolletage and clung to her curves almost indecently. Wonderingly she twirled around, delighting as the gold fabric shimmered in the candlelight. Dorcus had worked wonders with her hair, piling it high upon her head and securing it with what must have been at least a hundred glittering pins which shone and sparkled in turn.

  With a grateful smile she turned towards her maid who was looking on in satisfaction. “Thank you Dorcas,” she offered sincerely. “You’ve worked wonders, truly you have.” Her maid reddened in embarrassed delight. “In truth my lady, it is you I should thank. Seldom have I had the pleasure in dressing someone as lovely as your grace.” It was Grace’s turn to colour and impulsively she leaned forward to give Dorcas a quick hug before stepping back and taking a deep breath. Time to join her husband. She picked up her matching gloves and shawl and headed for the stairs.

  At long last she was to brave the lion’s den.

  Nicholas tapped his fingers on his leg, looking at the staircase with some irritation. Another ten minutes and they would be more than fashionably late for the ball, which would likely ensure they were gawped at by everyone attending.

  In all honesty, he wanted tonight to be over and done with. He wanted to quit London, go back to Blackmore and try to process the feelings he finally realised he had for his wife.

  Since his decision to leave Grace in London, the nightmares had been worse than ever. The thought of returning to Devonshire without her filled him with a sense of anxiety out of all proportion. How the devil had she managed to wheedle her way past his defences? Since partially revealing the cause of his nightmares, he’d found himself on more than one occasion on the verge of confessing the whole story. For the first time in his life he wanted - no craved - the closeness of another human being.

  Only fear kept him silent. Fear she would walk away. Fear she would abandon him like his father had.

  Fear he would lose her like he’d lost John…

  “Nicholas.”

  Nicholas glanced up and his heart faltered in his chest as he caught sight of his wife, looking every inch the duchess she was. Her shimmering gown accentuated her small waist, the skirts billowing out before her. The neckline was bare, with small sleeves at her shoulders and an impressive amount of cleavage on display for his perusal. “Christ you’re lovely,” he murmured as she made her way down the stairs.

  She blushed, her gloved hand sliding down the railing as she descended. Nicholas watched with a mixture of pride that she was his and irritation that others would have a claim on her after tonight. Both feelings completely hitherto unknown. Suddenly, as she neared the bottom, her mouth rounded, and she pitched forward, allowing him barely enough time to catch her before she tumbled down the remainder of the stairs.

  Nicholas held her close against him, his body reacting to her closeness as it always did, but the feeling was short lived as he heard her sniffle. Setting her on her feet, he spied the sheen of tears in her eyes. “Are you injured?” he asked sharply.

  She shook her head, staring down at the floor. “I-I am going to embarrass you tonight!”

  Nicholas shook his head, putting his finger under her chin and gently lifting her head until their eyes met.

  “You will not embarrass me Grace.” He hated the thought that he may have put her under so much pressure, thinking she had to be perfect to keep him happy.

  She was perfect to him.

  Frowning he thrust the thought away. Now was not the time.

  “But what if I stumble on the staircase at the ball? We will be laughing stocks.”

  Nicholas produced a clean kerchief and dabbed lightly at the tears on her face. This was the first time he’d seen Grace cry and he hated the feeling of helplessness it provoked. “I will be there to catch you,” he murmured softly.

  She gave him a watery smile, but he could see the doubt in her eyes. “Come,” he said taking her arm. “It’s time to see if you can steal their breaths as you did mine.”

  ∞∞∞

  Felicity waited for the arrival of the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore with barely restrained glee. Indeed, she was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the admittedly less than scintillating conversation being offered to her by her companion, one Colonel Daniels who was presently regaling her with the origin and symptoms of dengue fever. She had deliberately positioned herself near to the foot of the stairs in the event her charge should require her services.

  Under normal circumstances, as the poorest of relations and a spinster to boot, Felicity Beaumont would not have been invited to such an elegant occasion. However, in this instance Nicholas Sinclair had secured an invitation for her. So far, she had been assiduously ignored by the higher members of the ton, a circumstance that bothered her not at all. It simply gave her the opportunity to observe the myriad of mouths that would most certainly fall open at their graces’ appearance.

  Suddenly the conversation and laughter around her died, replaced with an anticipation that was almost tangible. Nearly everyone present turned towards the stairs as the Duke and Duchess of Blackmore were announced. Even from here Felicity could see the tightness of Grace’s grip on her husband’s arm as they slowly descended the stairs.

  Felicity drew in her breath as she realised that Grace’s inherent loveliness had surpassed everything she could have hoped for. She was draped in a shimmering gown of golden silk that clung to every curve of her slender voluptuous body. Nicholas Sinclair was almost impossibly handsome in superbly tailored black evening clothes. Glancing round, Felicity nearly laughed out loud at the expressions on the faces around her. She could only imagine the lively conversation inside every London drawing room on the morrow. Truly Grace Sinclair had outdone herself.

  Especially in reaching the bottom of the stairs without mishap…

  Chapter Seventeen

  An hour later, Nicholas had already had more than enough. He hated events like these.

  He hated the people around him, the fawning, t
he pretence. But more than anything, he hated the fact that his wife was the toast of the ball, her almost continuous laughter floating through the air.

  He hated that no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t crush the jealousy that reared its ugly head every time she laughed.

  Or smiled.

  Or fluttered her eyes in a direction that was not his.

  Swearing under his breath, Nicholas grabbed a glass of warm Champagne and forced it down his throat, grimacing as he did so.

  “I never thought I would see the day.”

  Nicholas turned to find James at his side, his eyes dancing with mirth. James Gilmore was the reason the Duke of Blackmore had accepted the invitation to the Marquis of Blanchford's ball. Indeed he was the reason Nicholas had joined the Royal Navy in the first place. Older by a dozen years, James had quickly become the father figure Nicholas so desperately needed. He too had been invalidated out after Trafalgar with the loss of his arm.

  “What?” Nicholas turned to his mentor a no small amount of irritation.

  “The day you cared about a woman,” James replied, shaking his head. “You’ve yet to take your eyes off her.”

  “Along with the rest of the ballroom,” Nicholas grumbled as Grace laughed yet again.

  James clapped him on the shoulder. “She’s popular because she’s newly married. All the young bucks are hoping she’ll be looking for another bed after being saddled with the likes of you.”

  Nicholas felt his jaw tighten as he continued to watch the men flirting with his wife. Dear God, just two months ago he was wondering what the hell to do with her and now look at him, casting calf eyes like a damned greenhorn. “They don’t stand a chance,” was his flat response.

  “No, they don’t,” James stated shaking his head in mock amazement. “She only has eyes for your ugly face.”

  Nicholas barked out a laugh, finally feeling some of the tension ease from his shoulders.

  Some, not all. “Tis a sight better than yours.”

  “I will give you that my friend,” James laughed. “Next time you come to London, I’d love to learn more about the woman who has wrangled you into wedded bliss.”

  Nicholas thought back to the unlikely beginnings of his marriage and grimaced slightly. He’d only seen James a couple of times since Gibraltar and, as both occasions were in White’s, there had been little opportunity to regale his old mentor of the circumstances surrounding his nuptials.

  Indeed, Nicholas was not entirely sure he wished to entertain James with the circumstances surrounding his marriage to Grace. He could visualise only too well the older man’s interpretation of his cavalier attitude.

  “A boring tale, almost identical to the beginnings of most unions I think.”

  James raised his eyebrows, clearly hearing something amiss in the Duke’s tone. “Mayhap I’ll save that particular conversation for your wife then,” he grinned as he secured a glass of Champagne from a passing servant.

  Nicholas shook his head, a dark chuckle escaping. “If you think I’d allow my wife to spend any time alone with a debauched scoundrel such as yourself, you must be completely addled.”

  James’ response was a shout of laughter which Nicholas did not hear as he was too busy observing another young buck writing his name on Grace’s dance card while wistfully looking at her décolletage as he did so. Nicholas had had enough. There was only going to be one name on his wife’s dance card. The rest could go to the devil.

  And once he claimed his dance, he intended to take Grace home and make love to her until she forgot about every man but him.

  If he didn’t, he would be sorely tempted to murder every male in this room who’d offered his wife more than a passing glance…

  He abruptly made his excuses to his old friend who remained where he was to watch the drama unfold. This was most entertainment he’d had since leaving the Royal Navy.

  Grace was enjoying her debut.

  Despite her concerns over embarrassing Nicholas, her introduction had gone without any mishap and she now had a full dance card with many dashing, young bucks crowded around her. Never in her life had so many taken a liking to her, but there was only one that she cared about.

  And he had yet to come and claim his dance.

  “Your punch your grace.”

  Grace turned and accepted the small glass from an eager young man, bestowing him a smile in return. “Why thank you. I am parched.”

  He grinned, bowing in her direction. “Then may I ask for the next dance set? I believe it’s the waltz.”

  “She’s already taken.”

  Grace’s eyes met Nicholas’s stormy ones as the young buck in question stammered and stuttered before taking back the glass and hurrying away. Nicholas extended his hand. Grace took it, and followed him to the dance floor, where they set up for the first strains of the waltz. “Where have you been?”

  His hand gripped hers. “I’ve been watching you my dear. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

  “There is so much to take in,” she admitted as Nicholas moved them through the first steps, “but I’ve yet to trip over myself at least”

  Nicholas didn’t respond, but the clench of his jaw told her that something was amiss. “Nicholas?” she asked hesitantly. “Is something wrong? Has something happened?”

  He looked down at her anxious face and his expression softened. “No,” he answered ruefully. “I’m simply not accustomed to watching other men ogle my wife.”

  Unsure whether he was teasing, Grace nevertheless gave him a shy smile and gave herself over to the music, determined to enjoy the fact that she was finally in her husband’s arms for all of London to see.

  The dance was over too soon, but instead of accompanying her to the fringes of the floor, Nicholas escorted her outside and into a small informal garden. The breeze was refreshing on her slightly damp skin and Grace sighed, inhaling the scent of roses that perfumed the air. To her delight, Nicholas enfolded her in his arms, nuzzling at her neck. “Tis a shame we are not able to leave just yet,” he murmured in her ear, “But as soon as propriety permits us to do so, I give you fair warning wife, my intention is to take you home to bed. My bed or yours, I have no care which.”

  Lost in the seductive invitation within her husband’s blue eyes, Grace leaned in and hesitantly lifted her arms, slipping them around his neck and pulling slightly. Nicholas groaned, wrapping her in a crushing embrace, his mouth moving hungrily over hers in a deep searing kiss.

  “Pon my oath, it’s deuced hot in there.”

  Nicholas stilled as the loud voice sounded at his back.

  “Tis a fine squeeze, it has to be said, but nevertheless it won’t do to remain out here for long. I have it on good authority that something’s afoot. I overheard Lady Granger talking to that bounder, Giles Northrup and if that damned ivory tuner’s managed to sneak in unannounced, you can be sure there’s something nasty smelling at the bottom of it.”

  The voices faded as the owners returned to the heat of the ballroom, but the mood had been broken and Nicholas placed a last reluctant kiss on his wife’s trembling lips. “It seems some poor unfortunate has fallen foul of the ton.” His wry observation caused a shiver down Grace’s back and she pulled back hurriedly. “Would you like some refreshment?” he asked gently, releasing her with reluctance.

  “Yes please,” Grace whispered. “If it pleases you, I’ll remain out here. I… I… I’m still a little hot.”

  Her voice was a slightly breathless and Nicholas grinned down at her, fully satisfied he’d supplanted any thoughts of the dashing young men vying for her attention earlier.

  “I’ll be as quick as I can,” he murmured dropping a chaste kiss on her forehead.

  Grace watched her husband go through the open doors, her heart still racing and lips still throbbing from the intensity of his kisses. How could she even have considered a life without him? Grace knew that whatever happened between them, there would never be another man for her. Somewhere, somehow, between t
hrowing up onto his immaculate hessians and dancing her first waltz with him, she’d fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with Nicholas Sinclair.

  Sitting down on a small bench, she put her head into her hands. She hoped with all her heart she was already with child. She was no simpering miss straight from the school room and consequently under no foolish illusions that a man such as the Duke of Blackmore would ever love such as her. But if they had a child together, mayhap that would be enough to hold him to her.

  She would take whatever she could get.

  Suddenly a figure loomed up to her right and startled she reared back, just as an arm gripped hers, pulling her up from the small bench she’d been seated on.

  “Nicholas,” she gasped in relief when she recognised her husband’s harsh features, “You had me worried for a second.”

  “Come, we have to leave,” he responded curtly.

  Frowning, Grace looked up at him and her stomach roiled as she saw his shuttered expression and clenched jaw. “Has something happened?” she asked fearfully, allowing him to lead her through a small gate into the formal gardens. Her husband didn’t answer, simply pulled her along at such a pace that she had to pick up her skirts and run to keep up with his long strides. “Nicholas,” she cried breathlessly, fearful she would fall headlong any second.

  Abruptly he stopped and thrust her behind him while he spoke in low tones with a shadowy figure. Panting, Grace peered around her husband’s back but could only tell that the figure was a man. She watched mutely as a carriage pulled up in front of them. The shadowy figure she finally recognised as the man Nicholas was speaking to earlier pulled open the door then shook Nicholas’ hand before moving swiftly away.

  Unceremoniously Nicholas thrust Grace into the darkened interior then followed, shutting the door with a thud. Seating himself opposite, he closed his eyes and leaned back, a picture of weariness as the carriage lurched forward.