A Lord Rotheby's Holiday Bundle

by Catherine Gayle

  “Dorothea, can you manage to pour, or are you too flustered?” Sir Laurence gave his wife a wicked grin, proving the facetious spirit in which he delivered his query.

  Lady Kensington frowned at him but served the tea anyway.

  “Grace, have you settled in?” Sir Laurence asked. “I hope the chamber is to your liking. We have some larger suites, but we thought you might appreciate the coziness of the one we chose. It is bright and cheerful in the mornings.”

  Cheerful in the mornings would be very much appreciated, indeed. Grace hadn’t felt cheerful in far too long. But that must mean they were prepared for her to stay for more than only one night. Would that change if they learned the truth?

  “Yes, my lord, the room is lovely. It will be more than adequate.”

  She accepted the cup of tea and plate of sandwiches, scones, and cakes, trying desperately to be dignified in all of her speech and responses. Perhaps she could make herself acceptable to them yet.

  Her aunt and uncle would surely not be pleased with her if she spoke out of turn or said something inappropriate. Grace focused her attentions on her manners, trying to eat slowly and neatly. Having eaten little for the last few days though, she was ravenous. Soon, she was shoveling food into her mouth in a most unbecoming manner, decorum tossed aside in favor of satisfying the beast inside her stomach that threatened to eat her alive if she did not provide it with ample sustenance in short order.

  “Go on, go on, my dear,” her uncle said. “Eat up. You must be famished. And just to be clear, there will be none of that ‘Sir Laurence’ or ‘Lady Kensington’ business. You should call me Uncle Laurence or just Uncle. The same will go for your aunt. She is either Aunt Dorothea or simply Aunt. We are not so terribly formal around here.”

  She glanced up sheepishly from the task of filling her stomach as her aunt nodded in vigorous agreement with her husband. This would mean even more adjustment.

  At her father’s house, she rarely even called him Father. He expected her to call him ‘my lord’ more often than not—and always in front of servants or guests.

  Aunt Dorothea refilled Grace’s teacup before giving her another helping of scones. “I do not imagine you had much to eat on your journey, did you dear? You seem fair gutfounded. That is quite all right. Have as much as you like now, and there will be plenty more at supper. I’ll be sure Cook prepares a feast. We’ll not have you go hungry. No ma’am, not in my house, you will not be hungry. The abomination of the thought!”

  Aunt Dorothea seemed to have calmed, now showing immense interest in seeing to each of Grace’s comforts. What a truly odd sensation, being looked after. Not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. But very, very different. She mustn’t become too accustomed to such treatment. It would only make it more difficult when she must eventually take her leave of their generosity.

  Uncle Laurence settled into a nearby armchair and tucked into his scone. “Do you think Tess will work out for you as a lady’s maid? She has never served in any position, really, but she grew up in our home. She has been with us since she was just a wee tot, still in leading strings. I would like to find her a position here at New Hill Cottage, where she can stay with her aunt.”

  Grace’s eyes widened again. They cared enough to provide her with a personal servant for not only the duration of her stay, but possibly as a permanent position? Oh dear. She had not expected this—not any of this. It was all quite more than she had been prepared to accept. Everything had started to look up for her, literally out of nowhere.

  Yet she could virtually see a mountain of debts she would soon owe to her aunt and uncle piling up before her, with no real way to return the favor of their kindness. She’d have to find a way to make herself useful, if she were to stay for very long. They could not simply give and give and give her more, without her doing something for them in return. But what?

  She’d figure that out soon enough, she supposed. “Yes, Uncle. I am certain Tess will be wonderful for the position. I have never had a lady’s maid before, so she and I can learn how things should be done together.”

  “You have what?” Aunt Dorothea dropped her napkin to her lap. “Never had a lady’s maid? Laurence, did you hear that? Goodness child, your father is a marquess! Could he not part with enough of his precious coin to hire someone to care for your needs?”

  “No, ma’am. Father did not employ very many servants. He thought his money better spent elsewhere.”

  She flushed at the memory of just exactly how her father found better use for his funds. Grace did not feel it pertinent to share the precise manner in which he spent his money. He may not be a kind man, but he was still her father. Not knowing her Aunt and Uncle Kensington very well, she had no idea how they would handle such information.

  They could very well be some of the biggest gossips in society. If so, word could spread all over London that her father was a drunkard who loved to gamble and whore. Granted, word could already be all over London about that—and it would be true—but it was not Grace’s doing.

  She needed to keep her location secret. No one could discover her, unless absolutely necessary.

  Of course, letting such information about Father slip might allow Grace a means to gauge the Kensingtons’ possible reaction to the fact that she had run away from him. Goodness, how could they have allowed her to stay in their home for even this long without demanding an explanation for her arrival?

  Uncle Laurence set about calming his wife again, patting the back of her hand and muttering something about “things will be different for Grace while she is with us.”

  Grace returned her focus to the food before her. After a third helping of sandwiches and the like, she finally started to feel some relief in her stomach. She slowed her eating and returned her attention to the conversation of her relatives.

  When they reached a lull, Grace took the opportunity to satisfy her burning curiosity. “Might I enquire what artist painted all of the pieces here? They seem to be of the local area. Is it someone who lives nearby?”

  Aunt Dorothea brimmed with pride. She glanced over to Uncle Laurence, then spewed forth when he did not respond within about three seconds, “Why, your uncle is the artist!”

  Grace covered her surprise by taking a sip of tea. Uncle Laurence good-naturedly allowed his wife to gush about him until she had spent the full frisson of her emotions and moved on to the next subject.

  “Laurence is a wonderful painter,” Aunt Dorothea continued, “though I have never yet convinced him to do my portrait.” She feigned a pout in his direction.

  “I will not have you filling the girl’s head with fabrications. I can paint a landscape with the best of them, but I am no portrait artist.” He glanced at Grace, and told her as though he were confessing to a cardinal sin, “I cannot quite seem to get the details in a face right—the lines and angles are all wrong. Portraits are some artists’ specialties, but not mine. I shall stick to my landscapes, even if she badgers me to my grave about doing her portrait.”

  Grace didn’t manage to suppress a grin at the huff her aunt expelled.

  It seemed staying with the Kensingtons would turn out to be all right after all. They were genuinely kind and considerate, and appeared to enjoy teasing each other. For once in her life, Grace might live in pleasant surroundings—at least for a time.

  Though, one could never tell when one might be turned out. If only she had known them better through the rest of her life, she might know better how to interpret their moods.

  Once more, Grace gathered her courage and prepared herself to be disappointed, even though it had become apparent they would deny her nothing within their power. Still, asking for things she wanted went against her nature. It was rather uncomfortable to break free from the mold into which her father had her so firmly planted. Nevertheless, she barreled through. “Uncle Laurence, might I join you sometime on a painting excursion? I brought a few oils and brushes with me. I would love to see more of the area.”

>   He beamed at her. “Of course you can, Grace. We’ll head out early next week if you can wait so long. I’ve wanted to go over to the Cary River and paint for a while, if that sounds like a good destination to you.”

  She nodded. All it had taken was for her to ask for what she wanted in order for it to be granted. Life here would certainly be rather different from life with Father.

  Maybe, just maybe, she would not be forced to leave them, at least for a time. Perhaps they would allow her to stay at least long enough to form a new plan.

  Uncle Laurence patted the back of her hand. “Your mother told us you were becoming a little artist when you were only three or four years old. It seems your father did not break you of that, at least.” He winked at her over his cup.

  Could they know? Did the Kensingtons realize what her father had been like all that time? What her life had been like? It seemed unreal she could be granted such a reprieve as to stay with people who cared for her, who wouldn’t keep her locked in her chamber, and who would allow her to get out in nature and experience some of the joys of life.

  “Oh, wonderful!” Aunt Dorothea said. “I’ll come with you, and we can make a picnic of it. Gracie…oh dear, I hope you don’t mind that I call you Gracie, being a grown woman and all now.” She frowned and brushed a stray hair back into place. “It is what we called you when you were just a little girl you know, and old habits are difficult to curb my dear. I am not much for painting, myself, or drawing for that matter. But I’ll bring a touch of embroidery with me and it will keep me busy while the two of you deal with your canvases. I’ll just keep to myself and won’t be a bother to anyone.”

  Aunt Dorothea prattled on, and Grace and Uncle Laurence allowed her to do so. Grace no longer knew what her aunt was talking about—it didn’t really matter. The non-stop chatter comforted her. Finally, she could breathe again.

  She spent some more time swimming about in her thoughts while her aunt talked. Perhaps she could stay with the Kensingtons—if Father never found her, of course. And if they would forgive her for coming to them in such a condition, and if they dared to risk the ostracism of what it would mean, and—

  “—and we shall travel to Roundstone Park tomorrow afternoon to visit and take tea with Lord Rotheby, Grace.”

  Grace jolted into the present. She ought to have been paying closer attention. Lord Rotheby? Oh, dear.

  “I hope you will not mind paying a social call so soon after you’ve arrived,” her aunt rushed on, “but we accepted his invitation before we knew you would come to stay with us, sweetheart. The earl really is a dear old man, and will not mind in the least if we bring you along.”

  A visit for tea with an earl? Oh no. Father might find out, if word traveled to Town. Surely, as a peer, Lord Rotheby must know her father. She had to think quickly.

  “I’m terribly sorry, Aunt, but I don’t think Father would approve of my visiting with anyone in town while I’m here.” She searched her mind for a good reason he might have for such a disapproval. Drat! “He…er, well, he wishes to keep me away from all society until I can be properly introduced.”

  Please let them not have heard she had a come-out last Season, however paltry the affair turned out to be, with only attending a single ball before the Duke of Walsingham and her father came to their agreement.

  Aunt Dorothea looked horrified. “Oh, lud! Your father can—”

  “Dorothea,” Uncle Laurence cut in. “Watch yourself. Chatham is still Grace’s father, despite how you and I may feel about the man.” Uncle Laurence turned to Grace and held her gaze. “Grace, your father obviously sent you to stay with us, and therefore he chose to trust your aunt and me with your care. As such, some decisions we make for your well-being may not line up precisely with what his decisions might have been under the same circumstances. Are you all right with that?” He paused and allowed her time to react.

  She merely nodded in assent. If word somehow did travel to London, hopefully she would have enough time to escape again. Father would not force her to marry Barrow.

  But, oh, how she wished her aunt had said whatever she had planned to say before Uncle Laurence had interrupted her. Surely it would have been wicked. Grace desperately wanted to be wicked, just for a moment. But if she could not be, perhaps she could just listen in while her aunt was.

  “Excellent. Your aunt and I do not agree that hiding you from society is in your best interest. We feel it would be propitious for you to interact with other people of high caliber. Still, we won’t force you to come if you don’t find the idea pleasing. Is that agreeable to you? Would you like to join us?”

  Again, Grace nodded. How could she refuse, when they were allowing her a place to stay? And on top of it all, the Kensingtons had required no explanation as to why she’d come, at least as of yet. Of course, the likelihood Father would find out was rather slim, but she still sat in awe of her decision.

  Even more than awe, she felt something more—was it courage? She marveled at her own boldness. For the first time, Grace had taken just the tiniest bit of control over her own life.

  She felt wonderful.

  Chapter Five

  Alex felt quite the grouch the following day. He wracked his brain to determine the cause of his foul mood, and found only one possible cause—a significant scarcity of sleep, due to incessant dreams.

  They were not unpleasant dreams, exactly. They were filled with a pair of soft blue eyes.

  The situations in the dreams had changed, but the eyes remained the same. They stared at him, piercing him through, eating at his psyche. He couldn’t ignore them, even if he tried—but he couldn’t quite bring himself to try, either. He was far too fascinated, even enamored, by them.

  In some of the dreams, they implored him for help. What help did she need? He didn’t know, but her eyes were almost begging him. Even still, these eyes told him more than she ever would—of that, he was oddly certain.

  If only he knew what help she needed. Had she been left destitute? Did her husband die? Maybe she was running from someone—or possibly to someone.

  Then again, it had only been a dream. Even if he knew what help she needed, how on earth would he ever find her? He didn’t know her name or her destination. He knew nothing about her.

  Nothing, that is, except the eyes that haunted his dreams in a silent plea for something unknown.

  ~ * ~

  “It’s quite a nice day out, ladies. Shall we take the chaise to Roundstone Park? I think it would be pleasant to enjoy some air on the trip.” Uncle Laurence was bursting at the seams in his eagerness to be on the way.

  Grace, however, felt uneasy. She chided herself for her nerves. Obviously the Kensingtons were good friends with the earl, and therefore they trusted him and expected she would, as well. But the nerves remained.

  Of course, she was still so early in her pregnancy it was impossible for anyone to tell. She ought not to fret about the possibility of discovery. If only she had already informed her aunt and uncle of her situation—but they had not given her an opportunity. Or perhaps it was that she had not taken the opportunity when it had been presented. Either way, she wished they knew. Maybe then, they would allow her to stay behind.

  But the pregnancy was certainly the least of her worries, the most of which being word somehow traveling to Town about her location. If Father knew where to find her…

  Aunt Dorothea brightened. “Oh yes, Laurence, let us enjoy the sunshine. We always have so much rain, we might as well take advantage of the sun while we can. Grace, do be sure to wear your poke bonnet so you can protect your complexion. It would just not do for you to be covered in freckles. You have such a lovely complexion.” She fluttered about the drawing room to put away her embroidery and collect her own bonnet.

  In the brief day that Grace had been with her aunt and uncle, she was continually amazed at her aunt—the woman was always in motion, always talking. She never seemed to take a breath. Yet the incessant action wasn’t bothersome—far fr
om it. While she could have easily become flustered from all of the commotion, it calmed her instead.

  Traveling by chaise, Grace saw the surrounding area for the first time. It was a much different view than she had while stuck behind the dusty windows of the coach. Wildflowers littered the fields: violets, hyacinths, foxgloves, and daffodils dotted the road and created a landscape of blues, pinks, purples, and yellows that Grace’s fingers itched to paint.

  The trip to Roundstone Park was brief. “The earl,” Uncle Laurence informed Grace, “is our closest neighbor at the cottage. We have become quite good friends in recent years. I daresay we visit him or he visits us at least every week, if not rather more frequently.”

  Barnes drove the chaise over a bridge that brooked a creek and took them to the front drive. The manor house stood proudly at the end of a lane of trees, which created an archway of branches overhead. Sunshine twinkled through the leaves which danced like dervishes as they moved.

  A grand rose garden behind the house caught Grace’s eye and enchanted her with the variety of colors—even more colors than lined the roadway. She pulled her gaze back to Roundstone and was awed by its size. While London boasted any number of great residences, she had not expected to find one to compare with them so far from Town.

  Grace feared her ignorance due to isolation would soon rear its head and reveal itself to the entire world. What great blunder would she make first? Then her gaucherie would pronounce itself to all and sundry, and she would have to hang her head in shame.

  The home she lived in with her father since Mother passed away was anything but grand. Father had also sold all of his other estates which were not entailed to his heir, in order to further fund his habits. Grace was very much used to modest living and had rarely ventured outside her home (due, as usual, to Father’s edict, in addition to her own fears of being discovered for the uncultured, ungainly, uncivilized chit she so obviously was).