Honor was a gentlewoman. They were social equals. She had her own fortune, large enough to match his. Her mother was a dear friend of his mother’s, one of the few women in London who never whispered behind her back about her husband’s shameful behavior. And Honor herself was kind and generous, almost a daughter to his mother already. He and Honor had known each other for years—he enjoyed her company. Her father was a consummate politician and Honor already had a thorough understanding of that world. She’d be a tremendous asset to him politically. For all these practical reasons, Honor was the clear choice for him. Once he’d taken up his seat in Parliament next year, he’d take the necessary steps to make her his wife.
That was sensible thinking. Those were the plans of the man he knew himself to be. Not the embarrassing spectacle with Grace Godwyn last night.
“Oh, I forgot.” Thankfully, his mother interrupted the obsessive spiral of his thoughts. “Your letters have come. You’ve got one from Phoebe, I think.” She slid a silver salver across the table to him with a small stack of letters. Indeed, on top was a letter from Phoebe, one of his cousins in America. He tore the envelope open with happy anticipation. He had a large American family, and more uncles, aunts, and cousins than he could count. But Phoebe was special. She was his exact age, and so, during all his childhood summer visits to Pittsburgh, they’d been best friends, partners in all their exploits.
Life had taken them in different directions—Phoebe was married now, with two small children, and he was elevated to the earldom—but she would always hold a treasured place in his heart, the sister he never had.
Her letter opened with her usual exuberant salutation before she went on to detail all the latest news and gossip from the Brennan clan.
“Does Phoebe have any news?”
“They’re all in a state, getting ready for Cousin Oliver’s wedding next month.”
“Who’s he marrying again?”
Julian skimmed Phoebe’s letter for a mention of Oliver’s bride’s name to jog his memory. “Ah, yes. Here. Sophie Miller.” No wonder he’d forgotten her. Sophie Miller, a shopkeeper’s daughter. Oliver had better know what he was about, marrying her.
“I’d forgotten it was coming up so soon. We should arrange a gift. Perhaps a piece of silver. Or one of those lovely vases Sèvres is doing right now. What do you think?”
“I leave it to you, Mother. You know I have no eye for that sort of thing.” Julian read through the remainder of Phoebe’s letter as she relayed the rest of the family news, the updates from Brennan Steel, and the progress of her children. “Mother, you might go, you know.”
Ada looked up at him in surprise. “Go?”
“To Pittsburgh. For Ollie’s wedding.”
“Oh...” She pressed a hand against her throat and shook her head. “It’s been ages since I’ve been back there.”
“All the more reason to go.” He couldn’t remember the last time Mother had gone home to America. He had spent every summer there as a boy, but his mother never accompanied him. He suspected she was ashamed of the failure of her marriage. The family wouldn’t have cared, of course, but Mother was too beaten down by the judgment and gossip of English Society.
“I’ll think about it,” she murmured, eyes resolutely fixed on the paper.
He knew her well enough to sense the matter was closed. For whatever reason, she didn’t want to face her American family, and after everything she’d been through, he wouldn’t force her to do anything which made her uncomfortable. She’d had enough of that to last a lifetime.
“As you wish,” he replied with a smile, refolding Phoebe’s letter and turning his attention to the rest of the correspondence, all of a more official nature. As always, there was the business of the earldom to see to. With every minute he spent on business, he felt more at peace. His anomalous behavior with Miss Godwyn—the inconvenient flare of passion last night—would not be repeated. As he resolutely worked his way through the letters, seeing to his responsibilities, he tried not to wonder what she must be thinking of him this morning.
* * *
“What are they serving today?” Rupert’s first question as he sat down across from Julian at White’s was, predictably, about the menu.
“I believe it’s stuffed quail today.”
Rupert made a face. “Ah, I hate those little birds. They’re too much work. A tremendous amount of bother for a very small bite of food.”
Julian chuckled. Leave it to Rupert to be perfectly frank when it came to food. Now he thought about it, quails were a lot of work for not much reward. Too many little bones. “I’m sure the kitchen will make you a beefsteak, if you prefer.”
The waiter was summoned and Rupert’s request sent off to the kitchens, and a carafe of wine left on the table. Julian poured a glass for both of them, bracing himself for the coming conversation.
“Did you enjoy the music last night?” Rupert asked, before he could sort out how to begin.
“I did.”
“When you left after the intermission, I thought you might not have. The bloke doing the singing wasn’t very good, not that I’m much of a judge.”
Guilt coiled through him as he remembered what had transpired at intermission. Staying for the second half had been impossible. “It wasn’t the music. I was only a bit tired from my trip.”
“Of course.”
Julian began to edge into the subject. “France was very trying.”
“I’m sure. Dealing with all that nonsense with your father.” Rupert shook his head. “A bad business.”
“Didn’t you say Miss Godwyn had only recently returned from France?” There, he’d at least brought her up.
Rupert nodded. “She was staying with the Dowager Countess of Marlbury down there, helping out as best she could. She’s so kindhearted.”
Yes, kindhearted, taking advantage of the trust of an old woman—her employer—while she wormed her way in with the woman’s grandson. “Rupert,” he began. “About Miss Godwyn—”
“I’m only sorry I didn’t meet her sooner. Perhaps if I’d met her on my first visit to London, I’d have returned sooner. She’s not like these other Society misses.”
“She seems quite friendly.”
“Not just friendly. She...” He paused and shrugged awkwardly. “She takes me as I am. She likes me as I am.”
“Everyone likes you as you are, Rupert.”
Rupert shot him a wry glance. “Not women, and you know it well. I know my manners aren’t what they ought to be. But Grace, she never makes a bloke feel bad about being a bit rough around the edges. She’s not running off to gossip with her friends about me, having a good laugh over something stupid I’ve said or done. Nobody’s ever been so nice to me, so welcoming. Outside you, of course. I don’t know what I’d do without your friendship to count on.”
Julian would have very much liked to crawl under the table and disappear. Rupert wouldn’t think him such a fine friend if he’d seen the way he’d put his hands on Grace last night. He’d known Rupert was fond of her, and it hadn’t stopped him. And the rest... Of course he’d be partial to a woman who’d shown him unstinting acceptance. Julian had his battles to face growing up, but Rupert had, too. And like Julian, those battles still affected him today.
The words condemning Grace were stuck in his throat, refusing to be spoken. If he blurted out the truth now, Grace would become no better than those other women in Rupert’s eyes, having a laugh about him behind his back.
Rupert deserved to know about Musgrave, but Julian didn’t think he could be the one to tell him, to inflict the blow. He’d have to confront Miss Godwyn, and demand she tell him herself. If she refused, then he’d do what was necessary, but he hoped, for Rupert’s sake, that a little of the decency Rupert saw in her was genuine.
Chapter Eight
&nbs
p; After the dreadful tedium of Lady Longville’s tenor the night before—and everything which transpired after the tenor sang—Grace didn’t feel particularly eager for another social engagement, especially not the variety, which was not her favorite. But Rupert had expressed a desire to go, so she expressed one too, and plans were made. He found them at intermission.
“Hello, Lady Grantham. Miss Godwyn.” He bowed awkwardly over her hand. “You’re looking very nice, as always.”
“Thank you, Rupert.” She was terrible at being a coquette, but with Knighton sniffing around, looking to cause trouble for her, she couldn’t afford to relax for a moment. “Did you happen to notice my corsage tonight?”
She indicated the cluster of pink roses pinned to the bodice of her gown, and Rupert smiled bashfully. They’d come from his bouquet that morning, the same one he had sent faithfully since the second week of their acquaintance. The choice was safe, if unimaginative, and the smell of roses often gave her a headache, but for now, they were her favorite flower in the world.
“They look quite well with your dress.”
“Thank you. I picked it specially to match them.”
He looked immensely gratified. “And it looks smashing on you. I came to see if either of you ladies are in need of refreshments before the second half starts.”
“Oh, some punch does sound good. I’m quite thirsty. Genevieve?”
Gen waved her off with a subtle smile. “I’ll stay here.”
It took some time to wind through the crush of audience members in the upper lobby. With her hand tucked into the crook of Rupert’s massive arm, she was well shielded. There was one thing she could say for him; he could always make his way through a crowd. With his massive form, he could cleave a crowd in two without even trying.
They were nearly to the refreshments when she heard the very thing she’d been dreading.
“Rupert. Miss Godwyn. Good to see you.”
Rupert swiveled around and broke into an enormous grin. “Julian and Lady Honor! I didn’t know you planned on attending tonight.”
“Honor enjoys the variety shows.”
“And how are you enjoying tonight’s performances, Lady Honor?” Rupert asked.
“Oh, tonight’s is marvelous, don’t you think so?”
“Yes, the bit with the ribbons and the dog?”
“I could scarcely breathe for laughing!” Honor exclaimed. Then they launched into an animated discussion of tonight’s various performances, leaving Grace and Julian standing in uncomfortable silence. Grace refused to break it, on principal. Rupert was busy with Lady Honor, so she could reasonably excuse herself to visit the refreshments table alone, thereby escaping any chance of having to speak to Knighton.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll be back in a moment.”
She hadn’t taken half a dozen steps down the corridor toward the punch when she heard his voice behind her.
“Miss Godwyn, might I have a word?”
No, she wanted to say. I’m done with being insulted and accosted by you. Go away forever. Although it would be satisfying, it would only make things worse. If her plans regarding Rupert were about to be dashed by him, then she had better know now.
She folded her hands in front of her, schooled her expression into disinterestedness, and turned to face him. Why did he have to be so blasted handsome? Even when she was furious with him, his face had the power to awe her.
“Yes, Lord Knighton?” she said with an admirably cool tone of voice.
His eyes darted around the crowded corridor. Then he motioned to his right, a narrow hall leading to the far side boxes, now all emptied for intermission. Oh, bloody hell, she’d have to be alone with him again. But he had a point. They could hardly have this discussion in public.
Without a word, she moved past him into the corridor and turned to face him again.
He watched her for a moment in uneasy silence. Was he enjoying making her squirm? Well, it went both ways. She’d been entirely too gullible last night, imagining they shared some sort of communion. If he meant to attack her, then she’d best go on the offensive as well.
“If you plan to tell Rupert what happened in France, I won’t hesitate to tell him what happened last night. The events don’t reflect well on either of us.”
Instead of the outrage she expected from him, he looked nearly shamefaced.
“I don’t intend to tell Rupert anything. You’re right. It was wrong of me to touch you that way.”
Oh. “You aren’t going to tell him?” The head of righteous fury she’d been building up deflated slightly. But if he wasn’t going to say anything, then why did he keep chasing her around hurling these accusations?
Knighton shook off his discomfort, drawing himself upright, chin arrogantly upraised. “What occurred between you and I was a...regrettable lapse. Your other relationships, however, pose a far greater problem.”
“Just what are you implying?”
“I’m hardly the only man whose attentions you’ve enjoyed.”
The shock of the insult left her momentarily reeling, but it didn’t take long for her fury to surge back in. “How dare you make that kind of accusation? You barely know me!”
“I know a great deal about you, Miss Godwyn. You see, I had a most interesting conversation with Frederick Musgrave while I was in Menton.”
A cold flush raced from her scalp to the soles of her feet. “Frederick Musgrave? What does he have to do with anything?”
He fixed her with a hard stare. “He told me everything. And if you’re not willing to tell Rupert, then I’ll have no choice but to tell him myself.”
Grace ground her teeth together in rage. She took a step back from him, lest she haul off and hit his smug, superior face for the second time in as many days. And then crossed her arms firmly over her chest, just to be doubly sure she didn’t do it. “What, precisely, did Mr. Musgrave have to say about me?”
“Only that you were his grandmother’s paid companion and—”
“I was not an employee! I was in Menton as the dowager’s guest!”
“—and you’d just come under his protection as his mistress.”
That unbelievable cretin. If he were here, she’d kill him with her bare hands. “And of course you believed him.”
“Why shouldn’t I?”
“I’m sure pompous windbags like Frederick Musgrave never lie about their female conquests.”
“You’re saying nothing he said was the truth?”
Why? Why did Frederick, that horrible ass, get the benefit of the doubt, when Grace’s character was vulnerable to ruination with a single word?
“You listen to me.” She advanced toward him, planting one hand on her hip and poking her finger into his chest. Julian’s expression grew alarmed as he registered the extent of her outrage. “Frederick Musgrave is a spoiled, entitled brute. Yes, he made an extremely improper suggestion to me, and he attempted to take liberties no gentleman ever would. I told him exactly what I thought of his repulsive offer and of the man himself, just the way I’ll tell you now. Based on his disgusting lies, you seem to have made up your mind about me, that I’m some whore handing out favors to strange men left and right—”
His expression was entirely conciliatory now, and he reached out a hand to her. “Miss Godwyn—”
She smacked his hand away. “—but you’re no better than Frederick, out to take advantage of a woman without money or power to defend herself.”
“Grace—”
She didn’t stay to hear whatever baseless accusation he might make next. Shoving past him, she returned to the crowded hallway, fighting against the sea of bodies. Julian was fast on her heels.
“Miss Godwyn, wait.”
She refused to face him, refused to hear another word he might say. A moment l
ater, she found Rupert and Honor. They were still engaged in conversation, but turned to her as soon as she approached.
“Ah, Miss Godwyn, Julian, there you are,” Rupert called. She could feel his agitated presence at her side, but she wouldn’t look at him or acknowledge him in any way. “Julian,” Rupert continued. “Honor tells me you’ve just received a great load of paintings from France.”
Julian cleared his throat. “Ah...yes. I did. Just part of my father’s estate needing to be seen to.”
“Well, I only mention it as Miss Godwyn here knows quite a lot about art. You ought to have her ’round to take a look at them for you.”
“That isn’t—” Julian began.
“I’m not—” Grace protested.
“What a marvelous idea!” Lady Honor cried. “I told you, Julian, some of them seem quite fine. You should know what you’ve got before you have a gallery come give you a price for them.”
“I’m sure Lord Knighton would rather handle the matter himself.” The last thing she wanted was to visit his house and be forced into further conversation with him. She’d happily never speak to him again, if she could manage it.
“Nonsense. I’ve got my charity work with the Ladies’ Relief Committee all week, but why don’t we all call at Knighton House on Thursday?” Lady Honor suggested. “We can all have a visit and Miss Godwyn can look at the pictures. It’s been an age since I’ve seen your mother, at any rate, Julian, and I’ve been missing her.”
“Smashing idea, Lady Honor!” Rupert said. “Why don’t I come ’round for you and Miss Godwyn and Lady Grantham and we’ll make an afternoon of it?”
Honor smiled gratefully at Rupert, laying her hand on his arm. “You are too kind, Rupert. Isn’t it a good plan, Julian?”
When Grace could bring herself to chance a glance at him, he looked as if he’d swallowed something nasty, but when he spoke, his voice was all ease and affability. “A delightful plan. I look forward to it.”
A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls) Page 9
