“Your wife needed help rising. You ought to pay closer attention to her,” Rotheby grumbled. “I will be rather cross with you if anything should happen to my great-grandchild. Or great-grandchildren, as the case may be. Are you certain there are not twins in there, Aurora?”
It was touching how he had come to dote upon her in the last year. Indeed, after their first house party the previous summer, he had taken to calling upon them rather often. Not because he didn’t trust that Quin would maintain the new lifestyle he had taken upon himself—Rotheby assured them he was quite satisfied with the turnaround Quin had made in his deportment and so the abbey and its profits were theirs until such time as Quin inherited everything—but because he was an old and lonely man, and it was his prerogative to do as he pleased.
Which, he claimed, it pleased him greatly to be in Aurora’s presence. Any chit who could convince his grandson to leave behind his wayward path had to be an entertaining young lady, to be sure.
After six months had passed with Rotheby making regular visits, Aurora took it upon herself to give the earl an open invitation to come stay with them whenever the mood struck him. After all, the abbey was vast. Quin’s grandfather could have an immense amount of freedom staying there, but he could also have company when he so chose. And she and Quin would be there to care for him, should he become ill or frail. Most days it was hard to imagine the curmudgeon as frail. But time was no longer on his side.
Quin hadn’t been overly pleased with the arrangement, but he eventually gave in to Aurora’s request, particularly because it proved to him she was no longer thinking primarily of herself. It seemed he was beginning to heed his mother’s unremitting refrain: Aurora is always right. Except in those instances when she was egregiously wrong, like in her assessment of Lord Norcutt the previous year.
Now that Aurora was rather well along in her pregnancy, Lord Rotheby had taken it upon himself to be her protector. Of course, Quin also thought himself to be just that. And Zeus, being her diligent companion, also thought it to be his job.
Needless to say, Aurora could hardly sneeze without one of them yelling at another to do something about it.
Which was rather nice, actually. But also rather tedious.
Perhaps, once the abbey was once again filled with other guests, they would have someone else to look after at least some of the time. It would be rather unsporting of them to expect her to do it all.
But then again, Rebecca and Nia had both promised to assist with Aurora’s plans for all of the entertainments, and Minerva had requested permission to take over the responsibility for planning three full days’ events. She would not be alone in her efforts.
Indeed, all of the assistance she would be receiving might be just the thing she needed in order to resume her matchmaking enterprises. Aurora looked over to where Nia sat with her mother by the hearth, working on her embroidery.
Perhaps she ought to direct the girl’s attention to another gentleman this summer—someone other than Sir Jonas. Perhaps then the two would realize they were destined for each other and stop fighting against it. The wheels of Aurora’s mind set to turning as she planned how she would go about it, schooling her features into a placidly content look as Quin came over to steal a hurried kiss before returning to his business affairs in the undercroft. No reason to raise anyone’s suspicions. Least of all his.
Aurora made her way over to the escritoire by the window and took a seat. She pulled out some foolscap to set upon the blotter, and then dipped a quill into her inkpot.
It was time to write again. A smile threatened to consume her entire face. This time, she would not write of her own life. Nor would she write of her fantastical, imagined life.
Indeed, she would not write of the lives of anyone she knew, real or otherwise.
This time, she wanted to write a story. A novel, to be precise. It wasn’t quite fashionable for a lady to be a writer, but when had Aurora cared about being fashionable? Scandal was, after all, her middle name, it seemed.
She would ask for Quin’s favor later. After all, it was much easier to beg forgiveness than permission.
About the Author
Catherine Gayle has been an avid reader of romance novels (and almost anything else she can legally get her hands on) for as long as she can remember. Her mother might say it started in the womb. When she is not writing or reading, she can often be found buried beneath her sleeping cat or chasing the Nephew Monster.
Catherine would love to hear from her readers. You can send her an email at [email protected].
Saving Grace
© 2011 Catherine Gayle
The blasted man will not stop following her. Well, he isn’t following her…not exactly. They are just always thrown together, and he is everything she wants but cannot have. It is downright infuriating—especially when he kisses her.
Lady Grace Abernathy has been ravished and left pregnant (and thoroughly unsuitable for any honorable gentleman). This would not be such a gargantuan problem if Lord Alexander Hardwicke would simply stay away from her as she asked. But leave it to her meddling Aunt Dorothea—who means well, of course—to continually thrust the two into each other’s company. Against both their wishes. These distractions are almost more than a reasonable lady should be forced to bear, let alone one who is dealing with all the difficulties inherent with both an unwanted pregnancy and a dire lack of a husband.
Alex left London to get away from his mother and her matchmaking schemes, only to run into more of the same at every turn. Why can he not determine for himself the course his life will take before everyone pushes him to take a wife? But the more time he spends in the company of Lady Grace, the less he finds himself able to ignore his growing attraction—and his burgeoning need to protect her. Must he cause a scandal in order to protect her from one?
Look for Saving Grace in May, 2011.
Twice a Rake Page 33
