“I don’t want to ever have to live without you; I don’t know if I could,” Grace said quietly.
“There will be a point in time we will be forced to separate; we both know it will happen, don’t we, Grace? No matter what we want, our feelings and wishes won’t be considered.”
Grace’s eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to be forced to do something that will take me away from you. I don’t want what everyone else seems to; I just want you. Does that not count?”
Harry brushed his thumb under her eyes, gently catching the tears. “I wish it did.” He reached down and held her face before kissing her tenderly. His mind was not full of the passion it had been the previous times they had kissed; this was more an appreciation of who she was and what she meant to him.
Grace wrapped her arms around his neck as if she were drowning. She wanted to spend the rest of her life with Harry; she needed to spend the rest of her life with him, but she had no idea how that was going to be achieved.
Chapter 10
Grace was drawn downstairs by the raised voices coming from Peter’s study. It was obvious a full-scale argument was taking place. The footman in the hallway was trying to pretend nothing was amiss, but even he could not suppress the flinch when something was obviously thrown across the room followed closely by the sound of shattering glass.
Rosalind came out of the room, catching sight of the footman and Grace hovering uncertainly in the hall. “Could you please arrange for a brush and shovel?” she instructed the staff member. “There has been an accident.”
Grace waited until the footman left before turning to her sister. “Rosalind?” she asked.
“We have news,” Rosalind said, not needing to say anything else. They had all been waiting for the news of Isabella’s claim.
A maid appeared with a brush and shovel. Rosalind took them from her; she did not want staff to be embroiled in what was going on in her husband’s study. Grace stopped her from returning. “Let me,” Grace said, not wishing for her sister to be on her hands and knees sweeping.
Both women entered the room to see Isabella looking angry and pacing the room. Peter was seated clearly hoping his calm demeanour would settle the fiery woman, but it did not seem to be having any visible effect. Peter’s solicitor sat on one side, a pile of papers in front of him. He watched Isabella warily as if he were in a room with a caged tiger, which was probably a fairly accurate assessment of the situation from the looks of things.
Grace quietly knelt in front of the fireplace and started to sweep. She was well-practised at blending into a room without attracting anyone’s attention, so she was able to tidy up unnoticed.
“It is lies! I have a marriage certificate!” Isabella stormed. “You accuse Isabella de Lucca of lying? How dare you!”
“I have no doubt my brother convinced you he was going to marry you; he did it with others,” Peter said calmly, referring to another disastrous situation his dead brother had left behind.
“We were married! I have a certificate!” Isabella shouted.
“Miss de Lucca,” the solicitor intervened. “Our instructions sent over to Italy were quite clear; only when there was irrefutable proof to confirm or deny your claim should they respond. The evidence is here in signed statements.”
“It is lies! Baroness Leyland said you would throw me out! She speaks the truth!”
Peter rolled his eyes; he wished he could throw Baroness Leyland somewhere a long way from his family and home. “Isabella, we have welcomed you here, set you up in a home, provided for Roberto, which will continue even after all this. There is no doubt that Roberto is Robert’s son, but he has no legitimate claim,” he responded gently. He might be a calm man, but he was not giving up the home of his wife, sister and future children to a bastard of his brother. He was prepared to provide for Roberto though; he was already partially supporting another child of Robert’s.
“He should be Duke! You are robbing him of his title!” Isabella spat.
“Robert deprived him of his title when he did not marry you,” Peter said calmly.
“Roberto is the rightful heir!” the indignant mother persisted.
“He would have been if the marriage had taken place, but you lied Isabella,” Peter said, his tone sharper as he tired of going round and round in circles.
“He is still Robert’s son, whether we were married or not.”
“Yes, but the estate is not handed down in such a way,” Peter explained patiently. “If your marriage had taken place, Roberto would be the rightful heir, and I would happily step aside. Without a legitimate claim, I am still the heir, and then there is one other heir: Roberto is third in line at the moment and will become fourth in line once my own child is born. The estate is not entailed away from the female line.”
“Third in line?” Isabella stopped pacing. “He is next to inherit!”
“No,” Peter said. “I have explained: the estate is not entailed. I accept that Annie would not be eligible to inherit, but there is another who is older and has as equal a claim to the estate as Roberto.”
Isabella sank onto a seat. “There is another bastard?” she asked, the anger seeming to have been knocked out of her.
“I’m afraid so,” Peter said gently. “I am not prepared to reveal who she is, but Robert promised someone else marriage before he left for the continent.”
A burst of angry Italian spewed forth. Peter was sure that, if his brother was not already burning in the fires of hell, he certainly would be after the curses that were streaming from Isabella’s lips. He waited until she seemed to calm a little before continuing. “I understand why you did it, but your father being the Sindaco was the only reason he was able to persuade the Sacredote to forge a marriage certificate, but it was wrong, what he did,” Peter continued.
“Maledizione quel prete!” Isabella spat cursing the priest. “I knew the Sacredote was a weak man!”
Rosalind intervened, “You will have to excuse me, but I have no idea what is going on. My Italian is not so advanced.”
The solicitor responded. “Miss de Lucca’s father is the Mayor of the town they live in. The Mayor is the first citizen, the most important person in the locality, so he has quite a lot of influence. It appears he persuaded the local priest to forge a marriage certificate after Robert’s death.”
“How was it discovered?” Rosalind asked.
“The priest and the Mayor were insistent the marriage took place, but the witnesses did not exist, and we managed to trace a witness who overheard the gentlemen involved arguing over the situation. It seems the priest was not happy about being forced to do something illegal,” the solicitor explained.
“They lie!” Isabella insisted.
“Everyone has signed statements and sworn on the Bible, something your priest seemed very reluctant to do when questioned about the marriage,” the solicitor snapped.
“I understand why you did it, but there is more than your own welfare to consider,” Rosalind said gently. “Isabella, you and Roberto have a home on the estate. It is yours forever if you wish.”
“I don’t know! I need to think! This is not how it should be!” Isabella said, finally accepting that her scheme had been foiled. She stood. “I shall return to my son who will always be the Duke in my eyes!” With her final words she flounced out of the room.
Grace stood and quietly followed the woman, ensuring she closed the door to the study behind her. She had not wanted to move while the argument was ongoing, but now she wanted to give her sister and husband the privacy they no doubt needed.
Grace did not have opportunity to speak to Rosalind until the evening meal. They sat at the table as usual with Annie when Peter turned to his sister and opened the conversation about Roberto. Grace was surprised by Peter’s action; he was usually so circumspect around Annie, but he obviously wanted to inform his sister of what was happening.
He kept the details to a minimum, but finished with, “So, there is no need to leave Sudwo
rth Hall, Annie. Does that please you?”
Annie thought for a few moments. “I suppose so,” she finally said. “But I was looking forward to having my own house.”
“Oh! I never thought you would want to live anywhere else other than Sudworth Hall,” Peter said, the surprise at Annie’s words evident.
“I didn’t think so,” Annie said with a frown, trying to make sense of her feelings. “I just thought that having my own house would be nice. It would be mine.”
“This is all yours,” Peter said with a wave of his hand.
“No, it’s not, is it?” Annie responded. “It’s always been someone else’s really, hasn’t it Peter? When Papa was alive, if I wanted to come downstairs I wasn’t allowed, because it was his house. Robert allowed me to come downstairs but only when he was away from home, because it was his house. You let me go anywhere I wish, but it is still yours.”
Peter looked flabbergasted at the speech from Annie. She had never expressed so much in all her years. Rosalind looked like a proud mother beaming at her child while Peter’s mind whirled.
“I have an idea,” Peter said after a few moments. “If having your own home is so important to you, why don’t you move into one of the cottages on the estate? If there is nothing suitable, I am sure we can build something.” He looked at Rosalind quickly to see if she supported his suggestion; her smile reassured him.
“Can I still have my own home?” Annie asked, eyes sparkling at her brother. “Can I really?”
Peter felt a lump in his throat; it was such an everyday wish to have a home of your own, he had not realised Annie had longed for it just as any other person of her age. Her condition had always made him see her as a young girl rather than the young woman she so obviously was. He smiled at her; perhaps she would blossom with more independence.
“As long as you promise to visit us every single day, I don’t see why not,” he said with a smile.
“Every day?” Annie asked with a giggle.
“If you don’t visit every day, Annie, I would miss you too much,” Peter responded, fighting the lump in his throat.
Annie left her seat and ran to her brother, flinging her arms around him. “I’ll visit! I promise!” she said happily. “And now you can have the house for your own babies.”
“You know?” Rosalind asked, surprised. She had not mentioned anything about her condition to Annie, wanting to bring her round to the idea gently.
“I listen to servants talk,” Annie said with an impish smile. “They all know.”
Rosalind raised her eyes to her husband, “So much for our keeping the news quiet,” she said with an amused grimace.
“Yes, I thought it was a vain hope. Only now I see how vain,” Peter responded, amused at the alarmed glances the dining room staff were sharing among themselves.
*
Rosalind joined Grace for breakfast the following morning. “I’m thinking of having a small picnic tomorrow? I think we need to make full use of the weather while we can. What do you think?”
“How small is small?” Grace asked, immediately suspicious her sister was playing matchmaker.
“I thought ourselves, Annie, Isabella and Roberto; it might help calm Isabella a little; Mrs Adams of course; Lord and Lady Kettering and Mathilda; they are now introducing her as an orphaned relation and perhaps Mr Workman, the vicar and his wife?” Rosalind asked in mock innocence.
“Is that not too large a group for Annie?” Grace asked, knowing full well Annie did not like large gatherings.
“We shall be outside; if we set-out the lawn area near the orangery, there would be lots of space for her to feel comfortable. If she becomes distressed, Mrs Fisher can return with her to the house,” Rosalind said, with complete confidence of Annie’s companion’s abilities.
“Will it not be giving Mr Workman false hope?” Grace asked her sister directly.
“Is there no hope for him?” Rosalind asked, surprising herself by feeling a little disappointed with the lack of progress the young man had made.
“Rosalind!” Grace said in exasperation. “How many times do I need to repeat myself? I do not wish to receive Mr Workman’s attentions!” Grace was frustrated with her sister. Mrs Adams’s meddling she could forgive, but Rosalind was supposed to understand how she felt.
“I thought maybe you were developing a liking for him, and I just wanted the opportunity for us all to become more acquainted with him,” Rosalind defended herself.
“No, I’m not developing anything for him; I’m just being polite,” Grace explained. “And he hasn’t declared any preference for me nor do I wish him to.”
“It would be nice to invite him all the same,” Rosalind said recovering from her disappointment quickly. “He is a man in business; I’m sure not everyone is as welcoming as we have been.”
Grace groaned; she could not be as harsh on Rosalind when she was doing something so considerate. “You do know he has not changed his plans about travelling to America?” she asked, just trying to keep her sister from getting carried away with the matchmaking scheme.
“I was being selfish in wishing you would remain nearby,” Rosalind said with a small smile. “If you truly liked him, of course, I would not try to persuade you otherwise.”
“Well. I. don’t.” Grace insisted.
*
Grace dressed carefully to go into the gardens. She had chosen not to wear one of her usual, practical dresses, but one she would wear if she were out for the day. She wanted to look her best for Harry not having him see her always in thick cotton dresses.
They had agreed to meet in the orangery. It was the only place Harry tended to alone. He did not trust any of his staff to treat the plants as they should be treated. Each bloom was precious to him, and he took pride in the results as the plants flowered each year. While they were amongst those flowers they would not be disturbed.
Grace opened the door and paused on the threshold, taking a deep breath. The fragrance was almost overwhelming each time she entered, but she loved the smell. The almost still air soothed her and suggested sanctuary, something she was always drawn to.
Harry was waiting for her. He watched Grace enter the building almost breathless with the sight of her. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever been fortunate to lay eyes on. Her bonnet hung by her side; she never seemed comfortable with it on. The pale green of the dress she wore suited her perfectly. Once again he was reminded of his thoughts of fairies or pixies when he had first laid eyes on her.
“Hello,” Grace smiled shyly, blushing when she caught sight of Harry.
“Hello, my beautiful one,” Harry said quietly. He did not want to break the spell of having her eyes shine towards him with pleasure.
“Hello, my handsome one,” Grace smiled teasingly.
Harry chuckled before opening his arms to her. Grace settled into his embrace. “I feel like I come home every time you wrap me in your arms,” she whispered into his neck.
Harry felt the goosebumps rise across his skin as her words carried her breath across his neck. “I can ask for no more a compliment,” Harry said, kissing the top of her head. “What mischief have you been making today?” he asked, knowing full well there was not an ounce of mischief within her body.
“I’ve been watching carefully to try and avoid Isabella since her outburst yesterday,” Grace explained moving her head, so she could look Harry in the eye but not withdrawing her arms from around his neck.
“There was talk in the servant’s hall last night,” Harry said. It had been the gossip of the evening, the news of the proof being received that the existing Duke was the real Duke. Harry had kept out of the conversation; he did not want any part of the gossip, but he could not avoid it completely; they lived in too close an environment for secrets to be kept.
“I expect so,” Grace acknowledged. “At least Peter and Rosalind are secure here now. I’m glad for them; it would seem so unfair with all they have done is improve the estate. Isabella should
not have acted in the way she did: Peter is a decent man; he would never turn away Roberto.”
“But she could not know that,” Harry said gently. “People will do desperate things sometimes.” He held Grace a little bit closer. He often felt desperate when he thought of the reality of the future they must face: which was never together as man and wife.
“I suppose so,” Grace acknowledged. She raised the subject she was dreading, but she did not wish Harry to hear it from anyone else. “There is to be a picnic on the lawn tomorrow.”
“Is there?” Harry asked, but he had noticed a change in her posture, so he was wary.
“Yes, Rosalind has decided she wants to make the most of the outdoors before there is a change in the weather,” Grace replied, using the same feeble excuse her sister had.
“And who is going to be attending the picnic, as if I need to ask,” Harry said, his frown developing.
“No one that is important to me,” Grace said firmly.
“Someone they are encouraging you towards,” Harry said, jealousy causing his stomach to turn.
“They can do as they wish, but my feelings will not change,” Grace insisted, tightening her arms a little.
“One day they may,” Harry said with a shrug, trying to give the impression of nonchalance. It might have worked if Grace had not known him and his ways.
She took a deep breath. Harry would understandably always feel he was at the disadvantage, but she had to show him it was he whom she cared for. She was about to declare something she had never done before; it was the most frightening step she had taken yet, but she hoped it would reassure him.
“They could never persuade me to have feelings for him or anyone else. There is one man I love, no other.”
Harry stilled. He looked into her eyes. To Grace it felt as if he were seeing directly into her soul. “Do you know what you are saying?” he asked quietly. “Those are words that should never be said casually.”
“It has taken all my courage to utter such sentiments; I could never be casual with them,” Grace said with feeling. “I know exactly what I’m feeling, Harry Long. I love you. There will never be another for me. I think even on that first day I was drawn to you, but it took until our second meeting before I was totally smitten.”
Grace: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 3) Page 11
