“But, Liza, I am falling out of this gown!”
Liza grinned. “That, my lady, can only be a good thing. Now, let us put on your mantelet before you go down to meet Lord Knighton. Promise me you won’t give him a peek until after you’ve arrived at the ball.”
Grace stared at her, doubtful.
“Trust me in this, my lady. I would never tell you to do anything that I wasn’t truly certain of.”
“All right, but we must hurry. Lord Knighton wanted us to leave at eight o’clock and it is already nearly ten minutes past. I fear he may grow annoyed if I delay much longer.”
“Oh, but you are early, my lady. There is no reason to hurry. A lady always makes a gentleman wait for her. Makes ‘em appreciate more the trouble you go through to look as pretty as you do. Gentlemen know that, otherwise they think you didn’t make the effort to look your finest for them. Ma always said when a gentleman says eight o’clock, he really means half-past.”
Grace looked at the maid, feeling not for the first time wholly untutored in the ways of women and men. “Liza, how does your mother know so much about these things?”
“Before Ma married my Pa, she had served as ladies’ maid here in London to none other than Miss Harriette Wilson.”
It was a name that was unfamiliar to Grace. “Harriette Wilson—she was a popular lady?”
Liza smiled, raising a brow. “You could say a good many of the gentlemen sought her company. Everyone from dukes to some say even princes.”
Princes? Well this Harriette Wilson must certainly then know the proper way to wear a shawl. In the face of such expertise, Grace shrugged and left the gown’s bodice where it was, even though she felt most indecently exposed. She focused instead on the challenge she had put to herself to become a proper marchioness. Christian’s marchioness. It was time she gave up girlhood modesty. It was time she stopped playing the role of The Anonymouse and became Lady Grace, Marchioness Knighton. She squared her shoulders. If this was what it took to make her husband notice her, then by heavens she would do it.
Grace stood while Liza slipped her silk mantelet around her shoulders, fastening it under her chin. When she had finished, Grace looked to the clock on the table beside her. It was now twenty minutes past eight. She certainly didn’t want Christian to think she had rushed in preparing for such a paramount event. She waited ten minutes more before heading for the door.
Christian, Eleanor, and Lady Frances were all waiting for her at the foot of the stairs when she appeared. Christian looked handsome and quite refined in his evening suit of strict black with just the stark white of his shirt and neckcloth against it. Grace felt a small tug deep inside herself; she had missed seeing him the past two weeks. But tonight, all that would change for the better. Yes, indeed, she thought, recalling Liza’s words, every lady will envy me for the man whose arm I will be on. She would not be nervous. She would act and speak as the marchioness she was—Christian’s marchioness.
Grace smiled hopefully when she saw he had noticed her descent. But Christian didn’t register any response to her appearance. Instead he glanced at the hall clock, barely giving her notice. He frowned. “I had hoped to avoid having to wait in the carriage line.”
Grace’s smile immediately flattened and she felt a tightening deep inside her chest. Liza had been wrong. She had displeased him by being late.
“Oh, but it is better that we arrive after most everyone else,” Eleanor said quickly. “There will be less of a crush to get in. Do remember the Easterley rout, Christian. We arrived promptly at eight and Mother’s hem was ripped when Lord Calder trod upon it trying to make an entrance before us. It was most clever of you, Grace, to consider that.”
Everyone knew perfectly well Grace’s lateness had nothing to do with any forethought and there followed a silent moment before Christian turned for the door, the cape of his evening cloak sweeping outward as he went. Grace remained frozen on the stairs, all her hopes, her plans stricken even before she’d begun. She wanted to turn and retreat to her bedchamber and never emerge again. But she couldn’t. She had to see this night through. So she renewed her vow to meet the challenge of the evening and continued down the steps, following the others outside to the waiting coach.
Eleanor, blessedly, chattered endlessly during their ride to the ball in an obvious attempt to keep Grace’s thoughts from both her sullen husband, who sat beside her staring out the window, and the butterflies fluttering through her insides. Grace realized they had nearly arrived when the coach slowed to a lazy crawl, picking its way along the street that was lined on each side with other coaches.
Soon they stopped at a stately house set on a corner across from Hyde Park. Candlelight glimmered through every window as shadowed figures clad in shimmering satins walked along the footpath toward the front door. Their coach halted and one footman opened the door while another let down the two steps, taking Grace’s hand to assist her to the walkway where Christian awaited. He offered her his arm and together they started up the stairs in silence.
Once inside the house, Grace waited while first Christian, then Lady Frances, and then Eleanor removed their cloaks. She remembered Liza’s words about how surprised Christian would be by her gown. The others had already turned toward the ballroom, seeming to forget her. Grace quickly unfastened her mantelet, handing it to the waiting footman with a smile. She joined the others atop the stairs just as the footman was announcing their arrival.
“My lord and ladies, the Marquess and Marchioness Knighton, Lady Knighton, and Lady Eleanor Wycliffe.”
It seemed as if a sea of faces immediately turned their way. Grace looked to where Christian stood beside her and noticed he wasn’t staring out toward the crowded ballroom below them. Instead he was staring at her as if he didn’t quite recognize her. The sullen look was gone, replaced by one of total astonishment.
Country mouse indeed! Grace thought, with a surge of confidence. Liza had been right. He did like the gown. She gave him a smile and asked, “Is everything all right, my lord?”
But Christian didn’t answer her. He was far too occupied with staring at her bosom.
Chapter Fourteen
“Really, Christian, could you endeavor to be perhaps a little less obvious?”
Eleanor’s comment broke Christian from his blind distraction long enough to realize that he was standing before a ballroom crowded with London’s most elite society, openly ogling his wife’s breasts. But good God! they were lovely. In the weeks since their wedding night, he’d forgotten just how lovely they were. Even now he found it difficult to tear his gaze away. He was mesmerized, totally taken aback, and even worse, he began to feel himself growing aroused beneath his breeches.
Buffoon! What the devil was wrong with him? What had happened to the unflappable reserve he’d adhered to so faithfully in the past weeks since returning to London? And more importantly, how had his modest mouse of a wife suddenly vanished, leaving this earthly angel in her place?
Christian knew the sudden urge to remove his coat, wrap her under it, and take her away from the leering eyes of every other man present. Either that or take her to the nearest closet and explore just how much farther her bodice could be lowered before it fully exposed her breasts. One thing of which he was now quite certain: This self-imposed celibacy was surely going to kill him.
He noticed that Grace was staring at him, the combined looks of uncertainty, hope, and anticipation shining brightly in her brilliant blue eyes. He could read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them. She had done this for him, donning the gown, taking care with her hair, all to please him. Why the devil did she have to worship him so obviously? He had virtually deserted her since their arrival in the city, never once walking through the door to her bedchamber or engaging in conversation more meaningful than the state of the weather. He had tried being sullen, hoping to give her a healthy dose of reality to temper that romantic wistfulness, fed by novels and comparisons of sex to the threading of a needle.
>
But he saw now that his efforts hadn’t worked a whit.
Christian didn’t want to be worshipped. He didn’t deserve to be worshipped. And he certainly didn’t want to be married to a woman who played on his last noble trait—an admiration he had for that which was innocent amid the depravity of the world. It was this same trait that gave Christian his total devotion to his sister, driving him to do anything he could to preserve it in her. And now, incredibly, he found that his wife possessed it in kind, making it nigh impossible for him to dislike her.
He hadn’t been fair to Grace, he knew, avoiding her, ignoring her as he had the past fortnight. He simply hadn’t had a choice in the matter. If he didn’t do everything he could to avoid her, he knew he would only lose himself to her, to her goodness, her innocence. He might even begin to look for the one thing he’d given up on— hope—even as he knew there could be no hope for him, never again. That was a fact made quite certain one cold spring morning twenty years before.
Still Christian realized that Grace had gone to a lot of effort this evening to look her best when she was presented to society as his wife. She didn’t wish to shame him before his peers. The very least he could do would be to acknowledge her trouble.
“You look lovely this evening, Grace,” he said, a statement that seemed pale in comparison to the vision she truly was. Her gown was made of a particular shade of green that only enhanced the color of her eyes, the cut of it carrying an air of seduction in the way that the bodice hugged her and in how the skirts swayed enticingly when she moved. Her hair had been swept back from her face into a wealth of tiny golden ringlets that danced about her neck when she moved, bits of it brushing loosely against her temple and ears. He had never realized what a slender and alluring neck she had, nor how fascinating the hollow of her throat could be before now.
Grace beamed under his attention. “Thank you, Christian. I am happy you are pleased.”
Christian forced his eyes away from her and set her arm upon his as the two of them started to walk together through the crowd, accepting greetings and well-wishes on their marriage from the various people they encountered. Christian introduced Grace to his acquaintances, less than delighted with the way so many of the men in the room were openly admiring the charms of his wife’s décolletage. How ironic, he thought to himself—they want to touch her and cannot; he can more than anyone else, but won’t. He’d already made that mistake once, on his wedding night, and he was still waiting to discover if it would prove a fatal one in the conception of a child.
They had come across the length of the ballroom and were standing at the far end beside an overgrown potted palm when a voice suddenly broke through the muted murmur of the crowd. “My eyes must be deceiving me. Can this be England’s most ineligible marquess?”
Christian turned and his face broke immediately into a whole grin.
“Noah!” he said, taking the outstretched hand of his closest friend, Lord Noah Edenhall. “I didn’t know you were going to be here tonight. When did you arrive in town? Why didn’t you stop to call at Knighton House?”
It was the first time Christian had seen him since the previous season, when Noah had left London after his own marriage to a lady with midnight hair and smoky eyes who was far too clever by half and equally as lovely. Lady Augusta was a celebrated astronomer and the ton’s latest fascination. To look at her, one would never think that the petite bespectacled damsel would soon be written of in the history books. She had been credited with a stunning celestial discovery the year before. She was also with child, a fact Christian remarked on happily.
“We arrived just yesterday,” Noah said. “Augusta had some work to complete with Lord Everton and I had some business to conduct with my brother. And of course, Catriona would never forgive us if we missed one of the balls she so scarcely hosts. Imagine my surprise when I arrived and heard that you had gotten married.”
Christian nodded. “We arrived a bit late tonight and missed seeing Robert or Catriona in the reception line.”
“Is that my name I hear coming from the newly wedded Lord Knighton?”
Their host for the evening, Robert Edenhall, the Duke of Devonbrook, came forward as if on cue to join them. Tall and dark, he presented a formidable figure wherever he went. But then a man with a formidable fortune usually did. At his side stood his wife, his lovely duchess, Catriona, a coppery-haired Scot who was another of the ton’s celebrated figures. It was solely because of her that the ballroom was as crowded as it was; no one in London would ever miss a fete hosted by the infamous Duchess of Devonbrook.
Catriona kissed Christian lovingly on the cheek, embracing him openly, heedless of the risk she took in crushing her lovely tartan-trimmed gown. “We heard the news the minute we arrived in town. Congratulations, Christian. I’m so happy you could come this evening. I assume this lovely young lady on your arm is the new Lady Knighton?”
Christian nodded. “Grace, allow me to introduce the Duke and Duchess of Devonbrook, our hosts this evening. And this is the duke’s brother, Lord Noah, and his wife, Lady Augusta Edenhall.”
Grace smiled timidly at the quartet of welcoming faces. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintances.”
As Christian would have expected, Catriona and Augusta instantly enveloped Grace. Any danger of social disapproval toward her would now vanish under their protection; it had been his foremost thought in choosing this particular event for introducing his wife to society.
“Lady Knighton,” said Catriona, “that is indeed a stunning gown. Is it one of Madame Delphine’s?”
“Yes, thank you, Your Grace, but please call me Grace.” She pulled a nervous face. “That sounded a bit silly, now, didn’t it?”
“Indeed, and it will be doubly confusing when you one day become a duchess and everyone begins calling you ‘Grace, Your Grace.’ ” She chuckled. “Let us avoid any confusion and simply address one another by our given names.”
“Splendid idea,” said Augusta then, taking Grace on one side while Catriona commandeered the other. “Come, let us leave the gentlemen to their port and conversation in the parlor while we badger Grace into telling us if Christian snores half as loudly as Noah does.”
“Oh, then it must be a family trait,” added Catriona. “I thought none could be worse than my Robert.”
Grace grinned, enjoying the banter. “If Christian does snore, it mustn’t be very loud for I never hear him through the door adjoining our rooms.”
Both ladies suddenly halted. Their respective husbands turned to stare at Grace, who hadn’t yet realized the significance behind her words. Immediately everyone shifted their attention to Christian. It seemed as if it had suddenly grown as silent as a church in the midst of that crowded ballroom. Christian wondered that every other guest present had not overheard the exchange.
Catriona, blessedly, came to the rescue, ending the awkwardness. “Come, Grace, let us find a quiet corner somewhere where we might get better acquainted.”
Christian stood and watched them go, silently cursing. He wasn’t angry at Grace; how could he be? She could have no notion of just what she had revealed by her innocent statement. Without even realizing, she had just disclosed to his two closest friends in life, men who were openly passionate about their wives, that she and Christian, newly wedded, did not share a bedchamber. He turned to regard his friends again. The stares he received in response saw more than he had hoped they would.
“So what business are the two of you transacting?” he said to Noah in hopes of diverting their attentions elsewhere.
Noah stared at him a moment before saying, “Robert has finally convinced Augusta to breed her mare Atalanta with his stallion Bayard. The only problem is deciding who will take the foal should it prove successful. I have suggested that they draw straws. Augusta is more inclined to a combined ownership where the beast shall live part of the year with Robert at Devonbrook Hall and part of the year with us at Eden Court,” he finished on a grin. “With Augusta,
of course, retaining possession in the summer months.”
The conversation progressed from there with neither Robert nor Noah making further mention of Grace’s comment. But then they were gentlemen and gentlemen rarely pried into such personal matters.
Ladies, on the other hand…
Catriona had found them a bit of quiet space in the back parlor, far from the noise and crowd of the ballroom. They dropped into a pair of matched brocade-covered settees that faced one another, Grace on one side, Catriona and Augusta on the other. Thus when Grace looked up, it was to dual sets of keen, inquiring eyes.
“So, dear,” Catriona said on a smile, “do tell us about yourself.”
Grace found herself suddenly tongue-tied before these two refined and elegant ladies. With hair the color of glistening copper and diamonds sparkling from her ears, Catriona was exactly what one would think of in a duchess. Poised and confident, Grace couldn’t imagine this woman having ever done anything improper in her life. In contrast, Augusta’s hair was a silky black and pulled atop her head in a coronet that gave her the look of the nobility she had obviously come from. She was quite intriguing. Grace had never met a woman who would dare to wear spectacles in public, let alone at a society ball.
Even as they had walked across the ballroom together, Grace had watched as Catriona and Augusta had drawn the notice of the crowd. She could only think that everyone else must have been wondering why she would be with these two most distinguished women.
Finally she said, “I’m afraid my upbringing is not what you would consider fashionable,” she began. “I cannot make much of a claim to society. I was raised in the country and—”
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