by Leenie Brown
“My sister is fond of courting.” That seemed a polite and kind way to say it. “And it is her belief that the elder should marry before the younger sister.” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth to keep from smiling too broadly. While that might have been Felicity’s belief, it had not been what had happened.
“I will assume that such things have caused a gentleman or two to have been snatched up by your sister when you might have been interested in them,” Mrs. King said. “I am not without siblings with strong opinions either.” She winked at Grace.
“Yes, she has snatched a few,” Grace answered simply. There was not much else to say. Felicity had stolen a couple of gentlemen from Grace but not the one who mattered, the one who held her heart and had covered her hand, which lay on his knee, with his own.
“Well, it seems it has all worked out for the best,” Mrs. King added.
“Indeed, it has,” Walter said. “My parents and brother were happy to meet Grace and her family. We stopped there on our way to Kent.”
He continued to ramble on about the estate and the improvements being made to the garden while Grace half-listened. She had enjoyed meeting his family. She could see where Walter had gotten his drive to do well. His father was similar to him in that way, as well as in appearance. His older brother was, Grace had discovered, only older by a few minutes, and while he was nearly an exact image of Walter, his personality was quite different. He was the quieter of the two.
Felicity had found Walter’s brother to be a great source of entertainment. It appeared that to Felicity the surest way to get over a broken heart was to flirt with an unattached gentleman. However, Grace knew from the tears Felicity shed each night before sleep that what appeared to be true was not the truth. Her sister’s heart was well and truly broken. No gentleman was going to fix it. Time would have to do that.
She sighed as she took a sip of her wine. She would likely get a letter in a few weeks informing her if Felicity was to have a season or a child. The thought was enough to pull a grey cloud over the festivities around her. She knew that what Felicity suffered was of her own doing, but it was still not easy to contemplate that her sister might be less than happy for the rest of her life.
“Has –” she stopped. She could not ask that.
“What is that, my love?”
She shook her head. “I was just contemplating someone I had seen several times at several soirees and had thought to inquire after him. It is nothing.”
Graeme caught her eye and shook his head. So, Mr. Ramsey had not returned? That was sad indeed. How did a gentleman declare his love and promise marriage one day and run away from it all the next?
“Mrs. Love is an excellent hostess,” Walter said, thankfully, drawing the conversation back to a safer subject. “The wedding breakfast will be the talk of Kent for some time, I should think.”
It would be unless Felicity was with child. Then, that would be the focus of gossip. Their father had declared that he would not cover it up. There might be a time away during the summer at the seaside for the family, but his daughter, who had gotten herself into such a predicament by being secretive, would be required to deal with the whispers and looks if it came to that. The announcement had been met with tears from nearly everyone, including her father. It was only Walter who had not found it necessary to cry over the ordeal. That is not to say he was not sensible to the tragedy. He was. He was just not the sort to shed tears over such a thing, or so he said, though his eyes had glistened when holding Grace’s hand and attempting to comfort her after that meeting. He truly was the best of men!
“Oh, yes! The cake was delicious. I have requested the receipt from my mother so that I can add it to my collection,” Grace inserted when Walter began discussing the food which was served.
“And the bride was – is – beautiful, so all was as it should be,” Walter concluded.
Their discussion fell to the news of the area after that and continued with plans for the future as they all looked forward to the summer.
“Well, Mrs. Blakesley, shall we take a walk in the square now that we have eaten?” Walter swallowed the last of his wine.
“Only if our guests wish to join us.”
“Oh, we are not staying beyond the meal,” Bea said softly, a faint pink staining her cheeks.
“No, indeed!” Mrs. King agreed. “Newlyweds do not need a house full of guests on their first evening in their home.” Again, she winked at Grace, who blushed but was happy to hear she would be alone with Walter.
“I do not see why you could not take a walk with us before departing,” Walter inserted.
“Would you even know we were there?” Roger quipped.
“I might remember it when you took your leave,” Walter replied.
“Bea is tired,” Graeme inserted. “We took a stroll through the gardens earlier, so I think it is best to take her home for a quiet evening. I also happen to know that there is a book, which she is eager to read, waiting for her at Erondale.”
Walter rose. “Do not let it be said that I shooed you out of my house without offering to be hospitable.”
“Who would believe such a thing?” Mrs. King asked with a chuckle. “You will both come call on me soon, will you not? My cook has a fresh supply of apple cake.” Her eyebrows waggled. “I do hope it is still enough to tempt you to join me on occasion for tea.”
“We would come even without the offer of cake,” Walter assured her. “However, the cake is greatly appreciated.”
One by one, their guests joined them in the corridor and said their farewells. Walter promised each that he and his wife would call on them soon. He was eager to be seen in society with Grace on his arm.
“You are well?” Grace whispered to Bea as her cousin gave her a hug before departing.
“Quite. I find I am still tired but far less likely to cast up my accounts. However, I am hungry. Constantly hungry. I doubt my dresses will conceal my expanding belly much longer.”
“My brother might come for a visit,” Graeme said when departing. “He is not enjoying his time in London so very much, so I invited him and Max to join us for a few weeks.”
“That would be wonderful!” Grace cried.
“Yes, it should give my husband something to do.” Victoria’s eyes shone with merriment. “You know he is claiming he helped you make a match.”
Of course, he was.
“He was a help,” Grace said. “If he had not kept my secret, who knows how things would have turned out.”
“I suspect,” Victoria said with a glance toward Walter, “that the results would not be so very different from how they are now.” She embraced Grace before her husband said his farewells, and then the house was quiet. Very quiet.
“Shall we take that walk in the square?”
Grace shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Then what do you suggest we do, my love?”
“There is a lovely view of the square from the sitting room if a remember correctly.”
“There is.”
“I think I should like to view it just as I did the first time.” She moved toward the stairs but only took two steps up them before turning around to face Walter. “Only this time,” she said in a whisper, “I should like you to kiss me while we are there just as I hoped you would last time.”
“Would you now?” Walter’s eyes were filled with amusement and desire.
Grace placed a hand on his heart and then slid it slowly up to his shoulder. “Very much.” She moved her hand around to his neck and leaned toward him. “But that does not mean you cannot kiss me now as well.”
“But everyone will know that you like me,” he teased.
She shook her head. “I do not like you, Mr. Blakesley. I love you with every inch of my being from my head down to my soul, and I do not care who knows.”
“That is just how I feel about you, my angel.”
“Then kiss me.”
And he did kiss her – on that step and e
ach of the others up to the floor where their chambers were located.
“But the square,” Grace protested weakly.
“It will still be there tomorrow.” Walter opened the door to the bedroom and pulled her inside, where, once he made certain the door was locked, he spent the rest of the evening ensuring that all thoughts of squares or balls or sisters or anything other than her wonderful good fortune in being loved by him were impossible.
As the moon grew brighter while the shadows of the night deepened, Grace sighed and rested her head on her husband’s chest above his heart and allowed her eyes to flutter closed, drifting off into blissful sleep, here in the safe embrace of the gentleman who had once happily agreed to be her secret beau.
Before You Go
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Turn the page to read an excerpt of another one of Leenie’s books
Other Pens, Mansfield Park Excerpt
[Have you ever wondered what happened to Henry Crawford after Mansfield Park ended? How about his sister or Tom Bertram? What about his friends who were never at Mansfield Park? If you have wondered about such things, you’ll want to read my Other Pens, Mansfield Park series, which mixes Jane Austen’s classic characters with a cast of original ones in situations never found in one of Miss Austen’s novels. Below is an excerpt from the second book in the series, Charles: To Discover His Purpose, a story about how Henry Crawford’s rakish friend Charles Edwards finds his happily ever after while attempting to steal a kiss.]
Chapter 1
Charles Edwards squinted into the late afternoon sun – it was an action that he could almost do without any discomfort. The swelling around his eye had subsided, and soon, the bruising would fade to a nasty yellow and then disappear. Until that happened, he would continue to take his rides by wandering from one street to the next rather than face the taunting and questioning looks he was guaranteed to receive in the parks.
While it was an excellent way to avoid censure from his peers, it was dashed boring trotting up and down streets without so much as a single friend with whom to converse. Had he earned his scars more gallantly, perhaps he would not feel the need to hide them. To have been injured in a boxing match or defense of some lady’s honor would make his bruises more of a badge than a blemish. However, since everyone in town had likely read that blasted article in the paper, the raised eyebrows from overprotective matrons and giggles from their charges would be unbearable. And then, there would be the gentlemen. He shook his head. Had he received a blackened eye from Trefor Linton for actually doing something inappropriate with Linton’s sister, Constance, his friends would just laugh and clap him on the shoulder before filling his glass with some libation at his club.
But, he had not been caught doing anything improper. In fact, it was much worse than just not being found dallying with a debutante. He had been attempting to be gallant. He would do his best not to be put in such a situation again! Honourable actions and favours to ladies who were offering none in return must be avoided, for they only led to broken noses, disgrace, and lonely rambles up less well-to-do streets.
“Mr. Edwards?”
Charles drew his horse to a stop just in front of a carriage that was standing at the ready to receive a lovely young woman. He had not bothered to take note of her since this was not the part of town where the finest flowers of the season resided.
“Miss Linton,” he said doffing his hat. “Is Crawford with you?” He nodded to the carriage.
“No,” Constance Linton replied with a smile, “though he very much wanted to be. It is just Evelyn and I.”
His brows furrowed. Evelyn? The name sounded familiar.
“Miss Barrett,” Constance clarified.
“Ah, Miss Barrett. Of course. How negligent of me to not remember.” How had he managed to forget her name? He certainly had not forgotten her perfectly pink lips or lithe figure…the same figure that was exiting the house to his left. She was perhaps the most enticing creature he had ever met and never sampled.
“Oh!”
Miss Barrett’s lips formed such a wonderfully kissable o.
“Mr. Edwards,” she greeted with a small curtsey. “Are you here to visit Mrs. Verity and the children?”
His brows furrowed again. “Mrs. Who?”
“Verity,” Evelyn repeated. “She runs this home for children.” She motioned toward the house.
“I did not know this was a home for children.” His left brow rose in question. “Why are you here? None of these children are yours, I would assume.”
Her eyes grew wide, and she gasped. “We are not all as reprobate as you, Mr. Edwards.”
He leaned forward, nonchalantly admiring her look of utter indignation. “Then, what, pray tell, are proper young ladies such as yourself and Miss Linton doing here?”
“Charitable work. You do know what that is, do you not?”
He chuckled. Miss Barret was not the sort to shy away quietly to her corner and leave him be. He liked that. “I have heard the term.”
“But have you ever experienced it?” asked Constance.
He shifted his gaze to his friend, Henry Crawford’s, betrothed. “No, not beyond what is expected on my father’s estate.”
“It’s rather fulfilling,” Constance replied. “Today, we taught some children their letters. It was remarkable, was it not, Evelyn?” She wore a look of sheer delight.
“And Linton approves of this?” Charles asked.
“Both he and Henry do.”
Delight did not begin to describe the look in Miss Linton’s eyes as she said the name Henry. One day, when he was ready to take up his mantle of responsibility, Charles hoped to find a lady who would look even half as happy saying his name as Miss Linton did at this moment.
“Trefor,” Constance continued, “thought this would be a safe way to keep me occupied. My last scheme, you see, did not leave him favourably disposed to allowing me to find ways in which to make my life more interesting.”
There was a mischievous gleam in both her eyes and those of her friend Evelyn. Curious, that. He had not expected anything akin to impishness from Trefor Linton’s sister or any of her friends. Constance Linton was the most proper chit he had ever met, and he suspected, to be her friend, Miss Barrett must be the same.
“Is your eye feeling better?” Miss Barrett asked.
“It is, but I’ll not be doing either of you any favours in the future,” he replied with a smirk. “At least not unless I receive something better than a broken nose and a black eye in return.”
“I can neither apologize or thank you enough,” Constance replied.
She had apologized over and over and over again as she stood holding a compress to his eye in the Linton sitting room those many days ago. “I think you have said the words enough,” he replied softly. “I merely jest.” He would not have her feeling guilty for his injuries when it was not her doing which caused them.
Miss Barrett tipped her head as she looked up at him, a puzzled look on her face. Then, she shook herself and smiled. “We are expected at your house soon, Connie. Mother will be waiting.”
“As will Trefor,” she smiled, “and Henry.”
Much to Charles’s surprise, Miss Evelyn Barrett rolled her eyes at the tone her friend used to say Henry’s name.
“Do not let me detain you. I would not wish to run afoul of any of them.” He winked at Miss Barret. “At least, not until I am healed.”
She gasped. “My mother has warned me about you, Mr. Edwards.”
“As well she should,” he replied
easily. “I am dreadfully charming.”
Constance had entered the carriage, but Evelyn, who remained on the street, laughed. “That is not how my mother said it.” Her eyes sparkled with impertinence. Then, with a small curtsey of parting, she boarded her carriage.
Charles looked after her and tipped his hat as the door closed on those shining eyes and teasing smile. Oh, he could find great pleasure in evoking such a look from her on a regular basis. Not that he wished to spend great amounts of time with her. No, he was not the sort of gentleman to trot around behind a lady hoping for her to smile at him or laugh at his jokes. He danced; he flirted; and he stole kisses. He did not become attached. Attachments were dangerous. They led to marriage and, he fought the urge to shudder, responsibility. He was far too young for such things as that just yet.
Still, he wondered where she would be this evening and if there would be any dark corners into which she might be persuaded.
He blew out a breath. Hiding himself away from society was perhaps not the best idea in the world. It apparently was wreaking havoc on his well-ordered, carefree existence. A rogue such as himself did not stalk his prey. He simply looked for the opportunity and took it. Planning anything was far too much like being responsible. Rules, guidelines, ledgers, accounts, and all the rest that went with being a gentleman of standing belonged to his father, not Charles.
In front of him, the carriage stopped, a man jumped down, the door opened, and a pretty face peered out, looking back to where he was.
He nudged his horse forward as Miss Barrett waved him towards her.
“Do you require help?” he asked as he drew near.
“No, no, we are well. Connie and I were just talking, and I thought as we were discussing how dreadful it is that you were injured on Connie’s account that it would be charitable of us to offer you a place in the Linton’s box at the theatre tonight.”
Charles began to shake his head.
“Hear me out. Do not refuse until I have made my full request. And come forward more, I feel as if I am going to fall out of this door and onto the street.”
