A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls)

by Amanda Weaver

  Grace stopped just as she entered the room, her hand still on the doorknob. For a moment, she was unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Rupert and Honor were standing close together. Too close. Rupert was bent over her, which in itself was not unusual. He was so tall, he often had to bend over his conversational companions just to hear what they said.

  It wasn’t the position, or the closeness that had Grace rooted where she stood. It was the expression on Rupert’s face, and on Honor’s. His face was full of stunned joy, as if he was gazing upon an angel fallen to earth. And Honor looked up at him in mystified wonder, her large dark eyes brimming with emotion. Rupert’s hand was cupping Honor’s elbow, as he’d done to Honor and Grace herself a hundred times. But it was the quality of the touch, so gentle, so reverent. He’d never touched her that way, as if it was a caress.

  Their faces were only a foot apart and they were slowly, inexorably inching closer. Rupert’s head angled slightly, and Honor’s face tipped toward him. His eyelids lowered and Honor’s lips parted. It wasn’t a kiss, but it was definitely about to become one.

  When Grace raised her hand to her mouth in shock, she released the doorknob, and the mechanism clicked back into place. The tiny sound echoed like a cannon blast in the quiet room. Honor and Rupert startled away from each other. Then two pairs of surprised and horrified eyes met hers. Honor cried out and clapped her hands over her face. Rupert opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

  Grace closed her eyes in confusion and mortification. “I’m sorry... Excuse me.” Then she turned and fled Rupert’s house, not stopping until she’d reached Genevieve’s parlor.

  * * *

  “Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand what you saw?” Genevieve asked for the thousandth time as she paced a circuit back and forth across the parlor.

  Grace slumped into the corner of the sofa and took a sip of the wine Gen had insisted she drink. “I’m quite certain. They were about to kiss.”

  “Do you sense it’s been an ongoing thing?”

  Grace paused to consider the question. “No, I don’t. There was something in their expressions...a sort of stunned surprise. Gen, I don’t think it was something either of them planned. Neither is malicious that way. They don’t lie.”

  Not like me.

  Gen turned to examine her. “You don’t seem terribly upset for a woman who just discovered another woman in the arms of her fiancé.”

  “You know I don’t love him.” And she was hardly in a position to condemn Rupert. She’d done much, much worse.

  “So...what do you wish to do?”

  Grace raised a hand and let it drop. “I have no idea.”

  “If he cries off...”

  Gen didn’t have to finish the sentence. Grace’s position in Society had always been tenuous. A broken engagement would be the end of her, even if it was no fault of her own.

  Just then, the doorbell rang. They both stared at the parlor door.

  Gen inhaled and drew herself upright. “I’ll see him in and excuse myself.”

  Throwing back the rest of her wine, Grace braced herself for whatever might be coming next. Genevieve reentered the room with Rupert behind her. He was pure misery, from the slouch of his shoulders to his red-rimmed eyes to his stricken expression. His hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides, so tightly his knuckles went white.

  “I’ll leave you to talk,” Gen said before her mouth settled back into a grim line. Her eyes met Grace’s just before the parlor door closed, filled with worry and fear. Grace felt it, too. And more. She was so tired, exhausted from fighting for her future. She’d been doing it since she was a child and she was simply tired of it. Especially as it never seemed to do any good. She was still losing.

  Rupert stood still for a moment, then he squeezed his eyes shut in a paroxysm of self-loathing before he strode across the room. “My God, Grace, I am so sorry.”

  Taking a fortifying breath, she patted the sofa next to her. “Please sit down, Rupert.”

  He sat, slumping forward dejectedly, head in his hands. “How can you even bear to speak to me?”

  She licked her lips, trying to pick her way through the morass of conflicting emotions and thoughts to figure out what she should say.

  “I’m sure you didn’t plan it.” That much was true. Whatever she’d walked in on, Rupert was a good, kind person. He’d never willfully hurt her or anyone else.

  Rupert lifted his head and turned to face her. “I didn’t, I swear it. I don’t know what happened. We were talking and laughing about something and then...it happened. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Ah, how well she knew that feeling. She was swept up in it every time Julian was in the same room with her. Which made her wonder...

  “Rupert, may I ask you a question?”

  “Anything, of course.”

  “Are you... Do you have feelings for Honor?”

  He met her gaze, his eyes anguished. His throat worked as he swallowed thickly. Rupert was always so pleasant, so even tempered and steady. She’d never seen him so emotionally unsettled, which she suspected was the answer to her question.

  “Please...you can be honest with me,” she said gently. “I would like your honesty.”

  He closed his eyes briefly before he spoke. “It’s been... That is, I’ve always been fond of her, in a way. But not with any real thought of having her for myself. She seemed quite out of my reach and besides, she’s always been Julian’s.” He broke off, closing his eyes again. “Oh, God, Julian. I’m the worst kind of villain.”

  His misery was so acute, Grace couldn’t help but reach out to place her hand over his. “Rupert, don’t abuse yourself on that count. They’re not engaged.”

  “As good as. And he’s my best friend. It’s unforgivable.”

  “I suspect he won’t be as angry as you think,” she murmured, but Rupert was too lost in his recriminations to register her words. “And do you think Honor returns your feelings?”

  Rupert seized her hand, clutching it between his massive ones. “It doesn’t matter. I made a promise to you, Grace. I pledged myself to you and I won’t go back on my word. Honor wouldn’t want me to. She’s so distressed by what happened. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me, I’ll never give you a moment’s worry again.”

  He wasn’t swearing his heart was hers, she noted, because of course, it wasn’t. She suspected Rupert himself hadn’t realized the true depth of his feelings until today, when they burst through the wall he’d erected around them. Grace stared into his anguished face and resigned herself to what she was about to do. He’d still marry her, and she had every right to demand that he do so. But as mercenary as she’d been in pursuing this marriage, she couldn’t do it. She might be able to set aside her own feelings but she couldn’t set aside Rupert’s, or Honor’s.

  “That won’t be necessary,” she said. “I’m releasing you from our engagement.”

  Rupert’s mouth fell open in shock. “No, Grace... It isn’t right. You shouldn’t suffer because of my faithlessness.”

  “I would suffer if we married and I knew your heart belonged to someone else. I care about you, and I want you to be happy. And you won’t find happiness with me, at least, not now you know where your heart truly lies.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he said again.

  Shaking her head, she forced a smile. “Please, don’t abuse yourself any more. It’s better you realized how you felt now, before it’s too late. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I knew I was keeping you apart.”

  He raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. It was perhaps the most affection he’d ever displayed to her, which was rather telling. They’d been engaged for weeks and he’d never tried to kiss her. Now it was patently obvious why. He was fond of her, because she was
the first woman outside of Honor who’d been kind to him, but he didn’t love her. He never had and now, he clearly never would. “You are too good, Grace.”

  She dropped her eyes, unable to look at him anymore, not when she knew exactly how hypocritical it would have been of her to condemn him. “No, I’m really not.”

  “I promise, I’ll let everyone know the fault is entirely mine in our parting. I’ll take all the blame on myself.”

  “That’s very kind of you.” It wouldn’t make any difference, of course. Rupert could stand in the middle of Trafalgar Square and proclaim he’d betrayed her and her name would still be the one tainted by a broken engagement. It wasn’t fair, but it was reality. In a way, she deserved it for what she’d done to Rupert, even if he never knew about it.

  “Is there anything I can do to make this easier for you?” he asked. “Anything at all?”

  She gave him a smile, this time unforced, because she really was fond of Rupert. She always had been. If one person in this mess should find happiness in the end, it should be him. “You can make Honor happy. That’s all I wish for.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Honestly, Prudence, I don’t know why you wanted to spend the summer in Menton when everyone we know is at Brighton.” Lady Bosworth shifted on the sofa and sniffed dramatically. “It’s frightfully hot in the South of France during the summer months. Not at all the thing.”

  “I prefer the heat,” the Dowager Countess of Marlbury replied languidly, not looking up from her embroidery. “Grace, do you see my scissors? I seemed to have dropped them.”

  “Here they are, Your Ladyship.” Grace plucked them from the folds of the dowager’s skirt and slipped them back into her hand—again. The dowager’s eyesight was growing so bad there was hardly any point to her embroidery anymore. It was terrible, full of knots and missed stitches she was too dim-sighted to see.

  “And the company is so tedious,” Lady Bosworth continued. “There’s not a single person of interest staying at the hotel this time of year.”

  Grace shot her a nasty look from under her lashes. If Menton was so dreary, she could take herself off to Brighton and leave them in peace. But it wasn’t her place to say so. Lady Bosworth was the dowager’s guest. And Grace was no better than that, once again, tagging along as a dependent.

  There hadn’t been much choice, after the dissolution of her engagement to Rupert. As she predicted, rumors had exploded around her once the news was out. Rupert was the one to immediately align himself with another woman, but everyone assumed it was because he’d found something lacking in Grace. Or perhaps he’d just come to his senses and realized he could do better than a penniless orphan, especially one with such an ignominious father.

  Then that nasty Kitty Ponsoy had started whispering about her, pointing out Julian’s curiously timed and abrupt departure for America, and that was all it took. One or two questions about her conduct had been enough to sink her entirely. There was no point in fighting back, especially when it was true.

  Abandoning England altogether seemed the best choice for the time being, so she’d wired the dowager and fled to France. In time, the gossip might die down, or it might not. It didn’t matter, either way. Society had wiped its hands of her, declared her on the shelf, a failure, and now tainted by a suspected scandal.

  She could have written to Julian. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind he’d have come at once, and married her on the spot. His sense of honor was too fine to allow him to do otherwise. That was the last thing she wanted. She loved him too much to spend her life tied to a man who’d only married her out of a sense of duty, because a momentary infatuation and lapse in judgment led to an act he felt required it. Julian would never be cruel to her. But he’d always—even if he lied to himself about it—regret her. And that, she couldn’t bear.

  She’d freed him. Now some time had passed, and he seemed to have freed himself from the hold she’d had on him. She wouldn’t drag him back to her side now.

  “Oh, I don’t know, Lady Bosworth,” Frederick Musgrave drawled as he sauntered back into the room. “I’ve found plenty of stimulating companions in Menton.” He dropped down on the sofa next to his grandmother and shot Grace a loaded glance. “You just need to know where to look.”

  He didn’t even try to hide the predatory way he was looking at her. It would have been obvious had either Lady Bosworth or the dowager glanced up to see it. But they didn’t. Grace was well outside their notice or concern.

  “Frederick makes friends wherever he goes,” the dowager said, patting his hand absently. “Such a good boy.”

  That good boy had been plotting to get her cornered since the second he’d stepped foot in France. She suspected he’d followed her here for the sole purpose of finally making a conquest of her. No doubt, he thought her easy pickings after her failed engagement.

  The situation was rapidly becoming untenable. Frederick seemed to have marked her out as free for the taking, and other men probably would, as well. She was vulnerable, and they all knew it.

  “I think I’ll go check at the front desk for today’s mail,” she said, rising suddenly to her feet and heading for the door.

  Frederick made to rise as well. “Let me help you, Miss Godwyn.”

  She spun to face him and held up a staying hand. “That’s unnecessary, Mr. Musgrave. Please stay and enjoy your time with your grandmother. Your Ladyship, won’t you tell Mr. Musgrave about the new embroidery floss you bought this morning? I’m sure he’ll be as interested as I was.”

  “Oh, Frederick,” the dowager began, clutching at his hand. “I found the loveliest shade of blue. You must see it.”

  Grace smiled sweetly at Frederick, who glared back at her. He was dealt with for the moment, but only for a moment. He’d be sniffing around her soon enough, and if she didn’t take care, he’d endeavor to get her alone and take what he wanted, with or without her consent.

  Downstairs at the hotel’s front desk, the mail had indeed arrived, with several letters for both the dowager and Lady Bosworth. There was also one for Grace, from Genevieve. Taking a moment for herself, she sank into one of the plush gold-upholstered chairs in the lobby and read Gen’s letter first.

  London

  June 10, 1897

  Dearest Grace,

  My darling girl, I hope this finds you well. I’ve heard Frederick Musgrave has left to visit his grandmother in Menton. He can have only one objective in such a visit and devotion to his dear grandmother doesn’t factor into his schemes. Be careful, dearest. Your situation is precarious, now more than ever.

  On that front, I have done as you asked and put about discreet inquiries looking for a family in need of a governess, especially a position which would take you overseas. I’ve had a few positive responses, which I’ve enclosed on a separate page.

  I know you feel the need to support yourself, but I wish you wouldn’t consider going abroad. You should be here, near your friends, where we can assist you should you ever need it. You know Victoria, Amelia, or myself wouldn’t hesitate to take you in.

  All my love,

  Genevieve, Lady Grantham

  Of course her friends would do anything for her—she never doubted it. Victoria had dozens of spare rooms at her estate in Hampshire, and would happily invite her to stay indefinitely. But Grace simply couldn’t live as a dependent any longer. If she didn’t make the break now, she could easily wind up as the sad, penniless friend of the family, forever haunting the corners of Victoria’s estate.

  One thing the debacle of her last Season in London had taught her was that she needed to stop looking for security in others. Not in a man to marry, not in a friend to take her in. If she was ever to feel secure, now she knew she had to achieve it on her own, and that meant going to work.

  And as for why she had to leave England... It was absolutely n
ecessary. It would be difficult enough to take this step down in Society without forever facing the threat of Julian stumbling across her. What if he was a guest in a house where she served? It was too awful to contemplate. Leaving home was hard to imagine, but letting Julian see her slide down in the world was an even worse thought.

  She flipped to the second page, and the list of names and addresses Gen had included. There was no such thing as a discreet inquiry in London. No matter how careful Gen had been, by now everyone in London would know Grace Godwyn was casting about for paid employment. The final word in the sad story of her failed sojourn in Society.

  Some of the situations she rejected out of hand, the ones with families she already knew socially—a horrible possibility—or the ones with families who still intended to spend part of their year in London.

  Then she came to the bottom of the list.

  Major Herbert and his wife, seeking a governess for their daughters...during his upcoming assignment in India.

  India was as far from London as she could possibly get. There would be no chance of crossing paths with Julian, or Honor and Rupert, or anyone else she knew from her old life. Frederick Musgrave and his ilk wouldn’t pursue her there. She’d be on the other side of the world, but if she were cutting all ties with her old life, the farther, the better.

  Carefully, she refolded Gen’s letter and tucked it in her pocket before returning upstairs. She had a long night ahead of her, escorting the dowager and Lady Bosworth to the theatre and fending off Frederick’s increasingly blatant advances. But once they’d returned, and she had a moment to herself, she had a letter to write, to Major Herbert.

  * * *

  Grace was damp with perspiration as she hurried through the cobbled streets of Menton under the relentless midday sun. The dowager had lost her parasol at some point during the morning’s shopping expedition and Grace had to revisit half a dozen shops before she recovered it. When she found the dowager and Lady Bosworth again, they were standing before a shop window in conversation.