Redeeming the Deception of Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  Exasperated, Grace flung herself onto the settee after she heard the door close after Ewan's abrupt exit. Her stomach was in knots. She breathed as deeply as her corset would allow and wished she were a man so it would be proper to drink something stronger than sherry.

  Closing her eyes, she gathered her self-control and fought for balance. Did Ewan have any idea of the effect he had on her? She hoped not, yet a part of her still tried to hope that maybe, just maybe, Ewan was beginning to see her as more than the annoying little girl of the past.

  "Dear, what posture!" her mother scolded as she entered the room, bringing the scent of lemon and lavender with her.

  Mildly repentant, Grace straightened her posture so she once again looked the part of a lady.

  "I take it your walk in the park was not as grand as you had hoped?" Lady Jarvais asked as she walked over to her daughter and sat next to her, gently touching her shoulder.

  "You could say that." Grace's posture relaxed ever so slightly at her mother's touch, feeling a bit of the tension release from her body.

  "Why? I trust Shiply was a gentleman?" Lady Jarvais gently prodded.

  "Oh, Shiply was indeed a gentleman. He was not the issue. He was polite, full of humor and delightful to converse with on our walk," Grace explained with exasperated tones as she picked at her dress with her dainty gloved fingers, not meeting her mother's affectionate gaze.

  "So?" Lady Jarvais asked, reaching up to tilt her daughter's chin up.

  "So, I…" She paused, looking at her mother. "Why? Why did you ask Ewan, or he ask you…" She sighed. "It doesn't matter. What does matter is why? Why Ewan, Mother? You know what he does to me. Truly, he tries my patience in every way imaginable and exasperates me beyond all recovery!" Grace's voice rose as she completed her question with more aggression than she had begun. She searched her mother's face.

  "Sweetheart," Lady Jarvais began, caressing Grace's hand with her own. "I know Ewan has his faults, but I believe this situation is for the best. After all, he has your best interests at heart."

  Grace wasn't so sure of her mother's answer. When it was apparent that her mother didn't intend to elaborate, Grace opened her mouth to ask another question, but her mother's gently raised hand silenced her.

  "I know you wanted more, but you'll have to trust me, love. Remember: I know you better than you know yourself." After giving a gentle caress over her daughter's face, she rose and left.

  Chapter Five

  "For the love of…" His words trailed off as he tried to rise from his uncomfortable position on the chair in his study. Ewan's head pounded as he tried to pinpoint the reason for waking up in the first place. As he tried to open his eyes, he squinted against the light that intensified his headache and fell back into the chair with a grunt.

  "Sir, if I may suggest? You may want to rise and, er, shine." With a dry cough that was a pathetic effort to cover a laugh, his butler, Whit, entered the study. Even though Ewan couldn't see, he could hear the giant's footfalls; most of Mayfair likely could.

  "Whit, have I threatened to fire you yet today?" Ewan asked, his eyes still closed, but he massaged his temples as he tried to grant himself momentary relief from the pain.

  "No, sir. I doubt you've done much of anything today." His reply was accentuated by another cough-laugh.

  "You're fired," Ewan mumbled, not wanting to speak too loudly and cause his head to explode.

  "I see. Then I'll just head back to the missus and leave you to ready yourself for the Lordington's ball tonight. Alone. Without my help." Whit paused for effect. "How do you think you'll tie your cravat without opening your eyes? Maybe you'll start a new trend? And I suppose you'll fix your own tonic to relieve the pain threatening to split your skull as well. Brilliant. Cheerio. I'm off. Have a lovely evening." Loud footfalls echoed as Whit began to retreat into the hall.

  After a huff, which caused Ewan's head to increase its pounding for a moment, he mumbled, "I will not be in attendance."

  "Excuse me sir? What did you say?" Whit asked.

  "I said…" Ewan raised his voice, but pain made him immediately grab his head and lower his tone once again. "I'm not going," he all but whispered.

  Ewan's irritation rose as he noticed that Whit was chuckling. He had done that on purpose!

  "You're lucky I'm not able to beat you right now," Ewan whispered menacingly.

  "Ah well, since I'm relieved of my employment here, I'll just take my leave before you're able to attempt any physical harm on my person." Whit took a step then paused. "But, I feel compelled to mention a certain young miss will be left to her own devices… and the devices of others…" Whit drew out the last sentence before walking away once again.

  The sound of receding footsteps caused a momentary panic to rise in Ewan.

  "Wait!" he shouted, immediately regretting the rash action. He had to start thinking before he acted!

  "Yes, sir?" The footsteps halted, causing Ewan to relax slightly before speaking once again, only much softer.

  "I re-hire you. Now, go and fix me that vile concoction." Ewan continued to massage his temples and mumbled, "I swear it's poison."

  "No, sir. Poison is the reason you're in this condition," Whit remarked wryly.

  "Brandy is not poison," Ewan argued, but his body told him otherwise.

  "Large quantities of anything can be poison," Whit replied, earning a sarcastic huff from Ewan.

  "Don't you have a job to do?" Ewan asked, annoyed, still not willing to move from his position on the chair.

  "As you wish, sir. I'll be back in a moment. Try not to pass out or worse while I'm gone." With a clearing of his throat, Whit once again began to leave.

  "I thank you for your genuine concern for me," Ewan replied sarcastically.

  "Always a pleasure, sir." And with that, Whit left Ewan alone with the tiny hammers attempting to pulverize his head.

  ****

  All last night, Ewan had tried to make sense of the well of emotion that was bursting within him. He was a rake, a rogue, and therefore not accustomed to dealing with emotions, especially his own. No, when emotions were involved, he usually removed himself or drank, often both. But last night, no amount of brandy was enough to eliminate the stirring caused whenever he thought of Grace. If anything, it intensified his desire.

  What was it about her, and why had it happened now? Why not earlier? Hadn't he known Grace for years? Ever since she was in leading strings, he had been there, torturing her the entire way and loving every moment of it. He paused at the thought of the last sentence. He loved torturing her, teasing her — loved.

  Could that be the root? Was it nothing more than his fear in losing his constant playmate in verbal sparring? He thought about it, mulled it over, and realized that though the joy attained from besting her and teasing her mercilessly was indeed profound, his emotions went far beyond just that.

  As he thought about her smile, her constant efforts to put him in place and ignore all charm he used on her, he felt himself smile — a sappy sort of grin he often pitied when seen on others. He closed his eyes and ran his fingers down his face, feeling the friction of his stubble. He must look frightening. And tonight he had to go see Shiply charm Grace all over again.

  The thought of Shiply dissolved the grin from his face and replaced it with a grimace. A bit more than disgusted with himself, he groaned and leaned back on the chair, closing his eyes.

  As much as he hated the thought, he needed someone to talk with, someone who could help him sort everything out. A silent fortifying breath later, he rose from the chair and held it for support as he gained his bearings.

  He walked out into the hall toward his room and bellowed, "Whit!"

  He promptly regretted yelling. Maybe the splitting headache would simply kill him, and he'd no longer have to deal with the harrowing emotions one gained when finding himself in love.

  The hitch in his chest made him realize the truth of the word he had just confessed in his own mind.

 
; He was in love with Grace.

  Of all the rotten things to happen to him! Love Grace! He might as well allow the brandy to continue its slow attempt at poisoning him. He had no chance to win her affections, did he? Leaning against the wall he rested his head against the cool wood and closed his eyes.

  What a mess.

  As he saw it, there were only two options. One was to win her affections, something he had never succeeded at in the past; although, to be honest, he had never tried. However, the fact remained that Grace was immune to his charm, and he was concerned that charm was all he possessed to woo her. Oh, he knew he was handsome and proficient in romancing the fairer sex, but Grace was different, because she wouldn't be impressed. She never had been.

  The only other option was to give up, let Shiply or someone else win, and resign himself to watching her belong to someone else. The thought made his blood run cold.

  No, that was not an option.

  Which left the first. He must win Grace's affections.

  The question was how. With a heavy sigh, he straightened his posture and walked into the room as he heard Whit down the hall behind him.

  The unsettling feeling of not being sure of one's actions or emotions gnawed at Ewan, and he waited, pacing the floor. Whit came into Ewan's room with a polite expression that was overdone. Though he was the butler, he had also become Ewan's confidant.

  A clearing of the throat broke Ewan from his musing. In looking up, he noticed Whit was waiting patiently by the doorway with an expectant look in his eye.

  "Took you long enough to get here," Ewan barked.

  Whit's eyebrows rose at Ewan's surly attitude. Ewan knew it was in response to his exceedingly foul mood. The lack of control over his own emotions was frustrating. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his forefingers.

  "Yes, sir. My apologies," Whit remarked with a slight bow. He set the cure for Ewan's headache on the side table, and Ewan's eyes narrowed in suspicion at the vile concoction.

  "Your meek response is lost on me, Whit. I know you aren't the least bit repentant," Ewan said.

  "True, sir, but it always pays off in the end to feign humility," Whit's replied as he put his hands behind his back.

  "Feigning humility? Is that what you call it?" Ewan mumbled. He stopped pacing and closed his eyes. Inhaling a deep breath, he closed his eyes for a prolonged moment before speaking the overdue apology.

  "Whit, I owe you an apology, though I am loath to admit it," Ewan began, and Whit looked as if trying to suppress a grin.

  "No need, sir." Whit spoke with a perfectly emotionless tone that, even after years of service, annoyed Ewan with its detachment. The last thing he wanted was to be reminded of was his butler's perfectly controlled emotions when his were driving him mad.

  Ewan looked at Whit without moving his fingers and gave him a disbelieving look. "We both know you're crowing over there, knowing I'm tied up in knots, but regardless, you don't deserve my ire." Ewan expelled another deep breath and straightened his posture.

  "Accepted, sir."

  "Good, now…"Ewan began to pace again. "I find I'm having an issue with a lady…" Ewan trailed off.

  "A mistress?" Whit asked.

  "Oh, no." Ewan chuckled without mirth. "That would be far too easy to address. No, this is with a young lady."

  "Has she set her cap for you? Lured you into a compromising position?"

  "No. That I could deal with as well." Ewan pinched the bridge of his nose once again.

  "A widow?" Whit tried again.

  "Would you simply quiet yourself and let me speak?" Ewan roared, his anger earning an honestly repentant look from Whit. "No, it's none of those things! That is the problem! All of those situations would be easy to take care of!"

  Exasperated, Ewan flopped into a chair by the fire, staring at the orange flames licking at the wood.

  "It's Grace." Ewan spoke in a reverent whisper.

  "Lady Grace, sir?" Whit waited for Ewan to explain.

  "Yes, Lady Grace." After a moment's pause, he continued. "I think I might love her," he whispered quietly, uncertain about speaking the words out loud.

  "You might love her, meaning…?" Whit asked.

  With an impatient glance, Ewan regarded Whit before answering. "What do you think? As a wife! I'm wretchedly in love with Grace, want her to be my wife, and she won't give me the time of day! What's worse is that degenerate Shiply is paying her court, and…" He paused in his tirade before continuing. "Everything would be fine — normal — if Shiply would have just kept to himself, away from Grace! I'd still be blissfully unaware of my feelings toward her, and I wouldn't be wallowing, pouring out my bleeding heart to my butler!" He gestured to Whit as he spoke the last sentence, then sighed and let his head fall back on the chair, knocking it soundly on the wooden knob on top.

  "Ouch!" He cursed, rubbing the offended area of his head.

  "Sir?"

  "What?" Ewan mumbled, still rubbing his head.

  "If I may sum it up, to ensure I understand?" Whit took a step toward Ewan with a thoughtful expression on his face.

  "If you must," Ewan grumbled.

  "You love Lady Grace, blame Shiply for bringing it out, and now regret loving her and want everything to go back to the way it was?"

  "Yes. I mean, no… I mean, that is the problem!" Ewan stood up and rubbed the back of his neck before allowing his hand to drop to his side. "I don't know what I want, other than I want Grace, and…" Ewan didn't know how to articulate the deep fear that choked his ability to speak. "And, I think, perhaps I'm afraid that…"

  After a prolonged silence, Whit prodded, "Yes, sir?"

  "That she won't want me," Ewan whispered.

  "I see," Whit responded, rocking back on his heels. A moment later, he began working his jaw and appeared to be deep in thought. "Is she worth the risk?"

  Ewan gave Whit an impatient glare that offered a clear view of his opinion on Whit's intelligence in asking such a question. "Of course she is! That's not the issue or the problem!" Ewan paced back and forth across the plush rug.

  He paused, watching the fire dance in the hearth. After a moment he continued. "Grace is wonderful, witty and lovely. She won't allow me to be selfish or arrogant but pushes me.

  "As much as I find that annoying at times…" He offered Whit a wry grin before becoming serious. "I love her for it. She is not the issue — she's worth so much more than I am, and that… that is the problem."

  Ewan paused, rubbing the stubble on his chin with his fingers, letting the friction distract him from his misery for a moment. "I love her, but I don't deserve her. Is there anything more wretched?" He gave Whit a small, humorless laugh. "To want someone so desperately, yet at the same time, wanting someone better for her than yourself, because you're not good enough," he whispered. "I'm not good enough." Desperation echoed in his heart as he spoke the words, knowing how they were exceedingly true.

  "Well spoken, sir." Whit held none of the usual dry humor in his tone.

  "It's the truth, Whit." Ewan stood straight, examining Whit's expression for a trace of what the man was thinking.

  "I can see that, sir." After a moment, Whit moved to stand beside Ewan in front of the fire. "So, what are you going to do about it, sir?"

  "Do about Grace? Nothing. That is the difficult part. I want to charm her, woo her…" He paused with a small curse. "I want to ruin her, Whit, so I can force her to marry me, but I won't do it." He looked heavenward. "I can't. This love business is miserable." Ewan's spoke more to himself than to anyone else.

  "So you're going to give up?" Whit's question sounded more like a challenge.

  "Yes — no… I don't know." Ewan shook his head as he deliberated. "I didn't think so, I even issued an overt challenge to Shiply earlier, but now I just don't know." The clock's ticking echoed in the silence as Ewan lost himself in thought.

  Only after a few minutes did he realize that Whit had also been quiet.

  "Sir, have you ever considered that per
haps Lady Grace deserves the option of choosing you?" Whit turned to face Ewan.

  Ewan gave a humorless laugh. "Me? Why would she choose me?"

  "Ah, so Shiply is better for her?" Whit continued to prod.

  "Shiply, no! Not at all!" The horror Ewan felt at such an idea must have been apparent on his face, for Whit gave him a cautionary look before continuing.

  "But by giving up, you let him win, or give him the chance to win by default. Have you considered that?" Whit asked softly.

  "Actually, no," Ewan admitted, a fierce hope illuminating his heart.

  "I see."

  "But what if Shiply is honorable in his intentions? What if… what if he is reformed and is genuine in his affections toward Grace?" Doubt settled once again into Ewan's heart.

  "Could he love her more than you do?" Whit asked.

  "No." Ewan knew it wouldn't be possible, so he spoke his answer with strength and confidence.

  "Could he protect her heart better than you?"

  "No," came Ewan's definitive reply, full of the passion of a man in love.

  "Who knows her better?"

  "I do. I've known her my whole life." Ewan's thoughts followed the trail that Whit had led him toward.

  "You're right, Whit." He slapped his butler on the back and grinned.

  "I usually am, sir." Whit remarked with a sly grin, alleviating some of the tension in the room.

  "I will never admit that," Ewan replied giving him a sidelong glance.

  "So now, sir, if I may ask?"

  Ewan rolled his eyes. "Whit, would you stop your 'feigned humility,' as you call it? We both know you'll ask, regardless of my granting you permission."

  "Sir, what are you going to do about Lady Grace?"

  With a fierce beating in his heart, Ewan placed a strong hand on Whit's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "Win her, Whit. I'm going to win her heart." Ewan felt his face brake into the grin of a man that had hope once again.

  "Excellent, sir! Excellent. See that you do." Whit nodded his approval, walked to the table, and picked up the cure he had prepared for Ewan's diminishing headache.

  Ewan grimaced as he accepted the glass and held it up in a toast. "To love."