by Abby Gaines
Drat. Serena took her time cutting a morsel of ham. “Ah, no. My parents didn’t give their approval.” She popped the ham into her mouth.
Dominic frowned. “But you said you were betrothed.”
Serena realized with a shock that she was about to confess her concealment to another person for the first time. And rather than finding a kind, gentle confessor, she’d chosen Dominic Granville. She swallowed. “My parents felt I was too young to accept a marriage proposal. Alastair and I agreed to keep our betrothal secret until such time as they would welcome the news.”
Dominic was staring at her, open-mouthed.
Guilt needled her yet again. It was indeed quite shocking for her to have agreed to marry a man without her parents’ approval. In the face of their disapproval.
But it wasn’t for Dominic to condemn her.
“I loved him,” she said crossly.
“You were sixteen years old,” he observed. “I suggest you weren’t qualified to make that assessment. A view your parents obviously shared.”
“They were wrong,” Serena said. “Did Emily love you when she was sixteen?”
He waved the question away. “Our parents approved the match. Wished for it, even. I would never have considered a secret betrothal.” He wiped his mouth with his napkin, and crumpled the linen square onto the table. “Serena, if your betrothal had become known, the world would have assumed you had serious reason to cut your father out of the decision to wed. Either that he was a cruel parent, or you were a girl of no morals. Ruined, even.”
Tears smarted in her eyes. She’d worried for months that somehow the truth would come out and her family’s reputation be destroyed. The worst of it was, a tiny amount of relief that they would never be discovered had seeped into her grief over Alastair’s death.
“It makes no difference now,” she said defiantly.
“Are you insane?” Dominic demanded. “You’ve said your father has a rocky relationship with his bishop. For his daughter to be branded a wanton could only make that worse.”
Wonderful. Another awful consequence, one she hadn’t thought of, so hadn’t yet felt guilty about.
“I understand you might defend your own behavior on grounds of immaturity,” Dominic said, “but surely you can’t defend this Alastair Givens. That he would ask you to marry him when he himself wasn’t of age suggests he planned to force your father’s hand through compromising you.”
Serena gasped at his bluntness. “I was never compromised!” But Alastair had, on one occasion, used their betrothal in an attempt to persuade her to more intimacy. She had resisted, but...
“And when your father did find out,” Dominic went on inexorably, “he would have had far less power in negotiating your pin money and widow’s benefits. Not to mention dowries for your daughters...”
“Stop!” Serena cried. “I was wrong, I know it! Are you satisfied?” Those tears spilled over onto her cheeks, and she scrubbed at them with her napkin.
In a trice, Dominic had left his seat and made his way around to her. “Serena, I’m sorry.” Crouching beside her, he took the napkin she was balling, and offered her his handkerchief. He sounded almost distraught as he said, “I didn’t mean to upset you. Forgive me, my dear, please.”
Serena caught her breath. My dear. “You’re not the one who needs forgiveness,” she said shakily. “I’ve never told my parents the truth because I see no point in hurting them so long after the fact. But this has been on my conscience.”
“You’ve confessed to God, though,” he said.
“Yes, of course.” She gave a watery chuckle and met Dominic’s expectant gaze. “So I’m already forgiven,” she acknowledged.
“Exactly. ‘As far as the east is from the west, so far hath He removed our transgressions from us,’” he quoted from the Psalms.
Something inside her shifted, lightened.
He stood. “You’re free of guilt, Serena.”
“Ye-es.” The weight settled again.
Dominic narrowed his gaze, just as Marianne entered the breakfast room.
“Good morning, my dear,” he said to her, as he returned to his seat.
My dear. It meant nothing...nothing that Serena might wish it to mean, at least. She stuffed his handkerchief into her pocket.
“I overslept,” Marianne said. “My queen was in a particularly thorny position last night, and I couldn’t go to bed until I had her safe.” Her eyes sharpened as she sensed the charged atmosphere. “What’s the matter?”
“The Earl of Spenford has invited us to a ball in London,” Dominic said heartily. “He wants to surprise his wife with Serena’s attendance, and has done the courtesy of inviting you and me to accompany her.”
Marianne took a slice of bread and added an apple from the bowl in the middle of the table. “That was kind of him.” She began peeling the apple with her knife.
“Serena, the earl has offered to hire a chaise for you,” Dominic said. “Though if I attend, you could travel in our own chaise while I ride alongside.”
Technically, it wasn’t improper for a gentleman to travel unchaperoned in a closed carriage with a governess or lady’s companion, both positions being glorified servants. But Serena hadn’t acted like a servant, or even much like an employee, in the past few weeks, and Dominic hadn’t treated her like one.
“If I come with you, we could all travel in the chaise,” Marianne mused.
“Really?” Serena said. “You would come to London?”
“You wouldn’t have to attend the ball,” Dominic assured his sister. “But you’ve always said you’d like to view the Summer Exhibition at the Royal Academy, and to visit the British Museum.”
“I’d love to see both of those,” Marianne agreed. “And lots of other places. But, Dominic, I may also attend the Spenfords’ ball.”
His cup clattered back into its saucer. Serena was equally shocked. A hot ballroom, crowded with strangers...it was a recipe for a complexion disaster.
“Are you sure?” Dominic asked.
“I’m turning into a hermit, Dom!” Marianne stirred sugar into her coffee with excessive force. “I’ll end up a lunatic old lady gathering herbs by the light of the full moon and talking to my chess pieces.” She stopped. “I already talk to my chess pieces!” she said, dismayed.
Dominic chuckled, despite his obvious worry.
“I need to do this,” Marianne said. “Who knows, Dom, maybe I’ll decide being part of society isn’t so miserable. In which case, I can chaperone the girls for you in years to come, and you won’t need to marry, after all.”
“Now that,” Dominic said, “is the best news I’ve heard in weeks.”
His glance clashed with Serena’s. Then he said, “But just in case you continue to prefer to avoid the bustle of the ton, I’ll take the opportunity to call on Miss Lacey when we’re in town, if she’s recovered from the influenza.”
Miss Lacey. His wife’s best friend. The most eligible woman on his list.
His calm announcement was like a slap to Serena’s face. The kind of slap you administer to someone hysterical, who’s lost touch with reality.
Just the kind of slap she needed.
Serena took a forkful of egg. Dominic wasn’t the only one who would have opportunities in London. Attending a ball full of gentlemen of the ton would be a useful reminder that the sun didn’t rise and set on Dominic Granville.
Doubtless, in their midst, he would look entirely ordinary.
She couldn’t wait.
* * *
Lord Spenford’s plan to surprise his wife had come at short notice; Serena and the Granvilles left for London just two days later. Marianne had already written ahead to one of London’s top modistes, Madame Louvier, to say they would each require a dress for the Spenford ball. The woman would be busy, so they needed to secure her services in advance.
“Talented though our own Mrs. Fletcher is,” Marianne had told Serena, “we can’t be sure she’s up with the London fashions
. It would be a disaster to look provincial.”
Serena suspected she herself had never looked anything else, but it was impossible not to get caught up in Marianne’s excitement. Besides, a new dress was a new dress. And it was wonderful to see Marianne looking forward to a ball...though Serena still couldn’t quite believe she would go through with it.
Mr. Beaumont hadn’t visited Woodbridge since the supper dance, and they hadn’t met him in the woods. Which Serena assumed meant he’d heeded Dominic’s appeal to his better nature.
They’d seen him in church, though. He’d attended with Sir Charles, taking the arm of his uncle, who walked with the aid of a cane. Beaumont had greeted them after the service, very properly, and they’d responded with equal civility. Serena wasn’t sure if the urge to be nicer to people in church than one might be elsewhere was a sign of hypocrisy, or of the improving effect of being among one’s fellow Christians.
Marianne seemed cheerful enough, before and after that encounter. Hopefully, the prospect of a trip to London would distract her from thoughts of Beaumont.
They reached London on the Monday evening ten days before the ball, having stayed overnight on the way. Dominic hadn’t considered it worthwhile opening Granville House for just a short visit, so they stayed with his very elderly aunt in Brook Street. On the Friday, Serena’s parents arrived in town.
After a joyous reunion with her parents and her young sisters, Serena continued to stay in Brook Street. Marianne needed her—she couldn’t go out alone while Dominic was in his meetings, and preferred not to have the company of a maid—and the arrangement had the advantage of keeping Serena’s presence at the ball a surprise for Constance.
Serena went out with Marianne each morning, while it was cooler, then in the afternoons she went with her family to one of London’s many attractions.
On Monday, her father sent a note informing her that he and her mother would arrive at Brook Street at two o’clock.
Just before two, Serena heard the knocker and hurried downstairs. The butler opened the door to her parents.
“Hello, my dear.” Her father kissed her cheek. “Have you just come in?” The sweep of his hand indicated her bonnet and pelisse.
“I’m just going out,” Serena said, confused. “With you.”
“Adrian, it sounds as if you wrote one of your too-hasty notes,” Serena’s mother scolded. “Did your father not explain that we’re to take tea with Mr. Granville?”
Serena’s jaw dropped. “No!”
“Naturally, your mother and I wish to meet your employer while we’re all in London,” he said.
“Papa, it’s not necessary.” Instinct told her it was a bad idea for a man as observant as her father to meet Dominic, though why, she couldn’t explain.
“I wrote him a letter, and he kindly invited your mother and me to visit,” the reverend stated. “We will most certainly meet him, Serena.”
She didn’t remember him ever raising his voice, but there were times when he employed a certain inflexion and no one argued. This was one of those times.
The butler, obviously as capable of reading that tone as she was, cleared his throat. “Mr. Granville is in the salon. May I take your hat, Miss Somerton?”
Dominic rose as her parents entered the salon. He shook their hands, his greeting courteous. More than courteous, Serena realized. Friendly.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you both,” he said. “Reverend Somerton, I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“You mean, you’ve heard a lot of my advice,” her father suggested, his blue eyes as keen as Serena had feared they would be.
“That, too,” Dominic agreed, with a smile. “I’m sorry my sister can’t meet you. She’s not feeling well this afternoon. Since my aunt no longer comes downstairs, it’s just us.”
In Marianne’s absence, Serena poured the tea. Which, with Dominic next to her and her parents opposite, felt alarmingly as if she were Dominic’s wife. Oh, gracious, now her cheeks were warming. She glanced up to find her father watching her, his feet crossed at the ankles as he thumbed the distinctive cleft in his chin.
She handed the cups around with a thankfully steady hand. And why not? There was no reason to feel the way she had the day Alastair had called on her father to ask permission to court her.
After a few minutes spent comparing their views on London’s attractions, the two men fell into a discussion of the recent repeal of the income tax imposed during the war years. Both men believed the repeal would disadvantage the poor, who would be subject to more indirect taxation.
“I’m pleased to find my daughter living in the household of a man of such good sense,” the reverend said as the discussion drew to a close.
“No more pleased than I am to find you so reasonable, sir,” Dominic replied with a laugh.
Her father raised an eyebrow.
“I often fall into disagreement with Serena,” Dominic said, “and she usually supports her position by quoting you.”
Her parents exchanged glances as they registered Dominic’s use of her Christian name.
Quickly, Serena said, “Marianne enjoys a spirited discussion, too.” An exaggeration as far as her friend was concerned, but it conveyed to her parents that the use of Christian names applied to both Granvilles, and wasn’t a sign of anything beyond friendship.
“A good debate aids the digestion,” her father said.
“Even when the words are hard to swallow?” Dominic countered.
“Especially then.” He sipped his tea, his big hand awkward around the fine china. “I’ve enjoyed hearing of your children from Serena, Mr. Granville.”
“They sound adorable,” Margaret Somerton said. “Especially little Charlotte.”
Serena eyed her parents in consternation. She’d told them a lot about the children in her letters, and had been honest as she sought her mother’s advice. If they repeated her words back to Dominic...
Dominic blinked at the mention of “Charlotte” and “adorable” in the same sentence. “I love all my children,” he said, “and in some ways Charlotte most of all.”
Serena stared. He did?
“She’s so easily hurt,” he explained, with a half smile at Serena. “How can I not cherish her? But I wouldn’t describe her as adorable, unless you’d also say a bramble bush is adorable.”
Margaret Somerton laughed. “All families have one of those, Mr. Granville. My daughter Amanda—” she sent a look to Serena that told her these words were not to be repeated “—is always an inch away from making a mistake that could ruin her, yet though she drives me to distraction, I just want to hold her close.”
“Amanda’s a very pretty girl,” Reverend Somerton said. “Which, unfortunately, has a lot of men making cakes of themselves.”
“We can only hope they’ll grow out of it,” Margaret said. “Since it doesn’t seem likely she will.”
“Mama,” Serena asked, “how can one tell if a man has moved past his cake-making days? There’s a gentleman, a neighbor to Woodbridge Hall, whose past is checkered. He vows his dark days are behind him, but if they are, it’s only recently.”
“This man hasn’t made advances to you, has he?” Her mother sounded suddenly most unforgiving, devoid of Christian grace.
“Not at all,” Serena said. “But he has to another young lady.”
“I hope, Mr. Granville, I can rely on your protection for Serena,” Reverend Somerton said. “She’s still very young, and lacks experience of the opposite sex.”
Serena winced. Dominic knew far more than her father about her experience. He looked awkward in the extreme.
“I— Certainly I will protect your daughter as far as I can, sir,” he said. He would be conscious that in kissing her, he could be said to have taken advantage of a young woman living in his house.
It wasn’t like that. Dominic and I talk as equals.
Her father’s piercing gaze seemed to bore into her thoughts. He began thumbing his chin again. “This young man
you mentioned...”
To her relief, she realized he’d returned to Mr. Beaumont.
“...I suppose eventually his behavior will reveal his character. Unfortunately, not always as soon as we’d like.” He removed his spectacles and polished them with his handkerchief.
“On a related subject,” Dominic said, “what do you think about marriages of convenience?”
Serena supposed there was a connection, given that was Beaumont’s aim...but was Dominic asking on his sister’s behalf, or his own?
“I have nothing against them, as long as both parties have their eyes open,” her father said. “The Bible is full of arranged marriages, many of which prospered. But there’s one thing all marriages, convenient or not, require. And that’s courage.”
“Courage, sir?” Dominic asked.
“Marriage is never unadulterated ease,” the reverend said, “so my advice is to marry to the level of one’s courage. If you’re brave enough to risk your heart, then your choice will be different from that of a man, or woman, who prefers a safer, more measured existence. So, this neighbor of yours and the woman he’s pursuing—”
Serena had forgotten about Beaumont. She was too busy thinking about whether Dominic would ever be brave enough to marry for love. Whether she would ever be brave enough to marry without it.
I don’t think I’m so brave that I could marry in the hope love would come one day. I’m not as brave as Constance.
“—it will come down to whether the lady has the courage to marry him without knowing for certain whether he has reformed,” Reverend Somerton said. “And the courage to live with the consequences.”
Chapter Thirteen
After Reverend and Mrs. Somerton left, Dominic decided to walk to the home of Mrs. Lacey and her daughter, Hester. He needed to think, to clear his head of Serena, the woman who occupied his thoughts beyond all that was reasonable.
Her father’s wise words had leveled Dominic. Had shone a light on his decision to marry for convenience, and revealed it for what it was. A lack of courage.
Serena had once accused him of being too cowardly to risk losing a woman he loved again. She was right.
