Marcello & Grace (Royals of Valleria #2)

by Knightly, Marianne

  “How are you doing?” he asked when he drew near enough.

  “Well. I’m doing well,” she said, and wondered if he knew what a miraculous feeling it was for her. “Dinner’s ready. I’m just going to round people up.”

  “Let us do that,” Marcello said. “These people will get a kick out of it.”

  “That’s not what you’re here for. You’re a guest.”

  “I suppose I am.” Then, in a lower voice that only she heard, he said, “But I’d like to be more.”

  After a moment, she cleared her throat, and said, “Yes, well, perhaps you and Cat could lead them to the dining room, then?”

  He gave her a dazzling smile and nodded his head before walking towards Cat. While he did, the butler came in and announced dinner.

  “If everyone would please follow Their Royal Highnesses,” Grace said, and everyone fell in line behind the royal siblings. Grace noted Lord Picford lingering back, but decided to forego social protocol by waiting for him, the last person to leave the room; her instincts told her not to be alone with him and she was going to listen.

  Dinner was comfortable enough, she thought. She sat at the head of the table, where Daniel had once sat. While Lord Picford did not seem too pleased with the fact, no one else gave it a second thought, so she didn’t either.

  She had arranged the rest of the seating rather well, she thought. She had ensured that the Picfords were banished to the other end of the table, away from most of the crowd, and that Marcello and Cat sat next to her on either side. Grace had seated an unmarried Lord next to Cat and Grace could tell the man stood no chance with her; Cat was clearly only indulging politely in their conversation. Still, to Grace, it made an amusing sight and an entertaining dinner.

  Seating the royals next to her had another, unexpected advantage. Marcello's knee would brush hers from time to time, and he sent soft smiles in her direction; Grace enjoyed watching him much more than watching Cat's inept suitor.

  Marcello easily seduced the crowd with intriguing stories about Vallerian history, while Cat chimed in with her own tales and bright conversation. By the time dinner was over, the whole crowd was in love with the royals, and she couldn’t really blame them.

  After dinner, Grace broke with tradition and asked everyone to head back to the parlor for coffee and cake, rather than splitting away by gender for private conversations. She told herself it was to keep the evening moving along, but really it was because she was greedy; Grace wanted Marcello to continue smiling at her when he thought no one else was watching.

  It wasn’t until everyone began to leave later that evening that she began to feel uncomfortable again. The Picfords stayed behind, stopping in the front door while the other guests were outside waiting for their cars to arrive.

  “Are you sure you cannot come tomorrow night, Your Highnesses?” Lady Picford asked for what must have been the tenth time.

  “Quite sure,” Cat said as she took the woman’s hand in a gentle hold. “I’m afraid our schedule just does not allow for such a happy occasion as your ball. However, we wish you good luck for a pleasant evening.”

  Lady Picford tittered, “Oh, thank you, Your Highness.” She curtsied as best she could, which was very poor indeed, but the effort was not lost on any of them.

  “Well, if you’ve no time for a ball this time around,” Lord Picford said to Marcello. “You are welcome to come visit us anytime you please. We would be more than happy to accommodate you.”

  Marcello’s face remained impassive, though Grace noticed his arms stiffen slightly. “Thank you for your invitation. As you know, I accompanied my sister on her visit here, and would likely return for another such occasion. The Princess had a great desire to see Lady Grace and Nithercott Hall since it may soon be sold.”

  Lord Picford gasped. “Sold?” He turned to Grace. “You would sell your husband’s home?” He started shaking his head. “I can see Daniel was always right about you.”

  With just a few words, the entire air in the room changed. What had been forced pleasantry now hung heavy with anger and her unwanted shame.

  “Lord Picford,” Marcello said, his voice firm and just a little too loud. “Tell me. Do you like your home?”

  “Why, er, why, yes, of course, I do. It has been in our family for over two hundred years.”

  “Well, that is an interesting assertion you make,” Marcello replied, his eyes swarming with anger. “Since you have so little respect for it.”

  “What? How dare you, sir?” Lord Picford replied, his square face growing red in embarrassment. “I do not care who you are, you cannot speak to me that way.”

  “I have heard a great deal about this area, and about those who reside in this community. Rumours swirl that you’re behind on your taxes, and have been for quite some time. Yet, you still hold lavish balls every year that you cannot afford.”

  “Is this true?” Lady Picford asked of her husband then flinched when his wild eyes trained on her.

  “How dare you question me, your husband, in front of the others?”

  Grace felt her chest tighten as Lord Picford’s words echoed Daniel’s from years ago. He’s dead, she reminded herself. He’s dead and gone.

  “Lady Picford,” Cat asked. “Are you all right? Would you like to sit down?”

  “She’s not staying another minute in this house,” Lord Picford said as he viciously grabbed his wife's arm and pulled her through the doorway. At Lady Picford’s cry of distress, the guests outside turned to watch the scene with rapt eyes and shocked expressions.

  Grace felt as though her own arm was being grabbed. She could even feel the bruises forming on her own arm that very second. He’s dead, she repeated to herself again as her hand cradled her arm. He’s dead.

  “Wait just a minute,” Marcello said. The Picfords stopped and turned. They were both out of breath, and Lady Picford was cringing with fear and likely pain.

  “You are not to return to this house, do you understand me?”

  “It is not your house,” Lord Picford spluttered. “You cannot make such declarations.”

  “I can when my sister’s life is at risk, as well as her friend’s,” Marcello said.

  “You think I am a threat?” Lord Picford asked flabbergasted. “That’s preposterous!”

  “Well, then. Consider this. You are no longer welcome in Valleria. For your ungentlemanly, inappropriate, and violent behavior, you are banned from entering Valleria.” A shocked gasp tore through the unmoving crowd.

  “You cannot do that,” Lord Picford screamed.

  “You doubt my ability as a Prince of Valleria to ensure you are banned from entering? I assure you, after I have a word with the authorities about your behavior, your finances, and the lack of both thereof, a ban from Valleria will be the least of your worries.”

  “How dare you?” Lord Picford bellowed. “You’ve not heard the last of me. I promise you.” He pushed his wife into their now waiting car and her cry of distress crackled through the still night air.

  “Are you all right, Lady Picford?” Marcello asked. “You are more than welcome to stay behind, if you prefer to. We will see to your care and safety.” Before she could answer the car door was shut and the driver sped away.

  It was several heady moments before the guests began talking all at once. A few minutes later, they finally sat down in their cars and drove away.

  “Grace,” Cat said, and to Grace the voice sounded far away. “Are you all right?”

  Grace looked up as she pushed the memories back, and saw her friend’s face coated with worry. Grace was still cradling her arm.

  “Why don’t we sit down, Grace?” Marcello asked as he gestured for them to go towards the parlor. “I’ll get you some tea.”

  “No,” Grace said, her voice cracking a little, as though it was unused. She cleared her throat as she somehow made her way down the hall. “No, thank you. Brandy, please.” Grace really couldn’t stand brandy, but she knew it would work better than te
a right now.

  “I’m so sorry all this happened,” Cat said, her brows furrowed as they entered the parlor. “If I hadn’t come, you wouldn’t have even needed to have this dinner in the first place.”

  Grace sat down and waved away her comment. “It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s not yours, either,” Marcello said as he walked over with a snifter of amber liquid. As her hands wrapped around it, Marcello sat down next to her and said, “I want to apologize.”

  “For what?” She took a sip of the overly sweet liquid. As it left a trail of heat down her throat, she could only think that the taste reminded her of Lady Picford and her sickeningly sweet voice, so she set it aside. A few more sips and she would have become drunk anyhow.

  “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset,” he said. “I know how to keep a cool head, but I didn’t with him. I probably made things worse for you.”

  “You didn’t,” she said; she had made things worse for herself. She hadn’t defended herself against Lord Picford’s abuse. She’d just let abuse happen, again. Would she never learn? Would she never be strong enough? “Someone should call the authorities,” she said. “Lady Picford’s not safe.”

  “It’s already done,” Cat said. “I asked the butler to make the call, and he did.”

  Grace took a deep breath. She knew it wasn’t possible, not logical, but her arm still throbbed. “Are you both all right?”

  “We’re perfectly fine,” Cat said as she took Grace’s hand.

  Grace sent Cat a reassuring smile and gave her hand a quick squeeze. “Good. Well, I’ve got some things to see to before I turn in. If you don’t need anything else, I’ll just go see to them.”

  As Grace moved to stand, Marcello put a light hand on her arm. She was proud of herself for not flinching back, then felt shame at being proud of something so simple.

  “What do you need, Grace?” he asked in a small voice.

  Grace had thought a lot about what she needed over the years, but no one had ever asked her the question. She was tongue-tied as she considered. “I, I don’t need anything,” she said, then became disgusted with herself. Apparently, she still couldn’t ask for help, either.

  “I’m fine, excuse me,” she said as she stood and quickly left the room. She heard Marcello’s voice behind her, but she continued through the hallways. Instead of escaping upstairs to her bedroom, she diverted into the ballroom.

  As she shut the door behind her, she flipped on one set of lights which cast a dim glow around the room. White sheets caked with dust and debris covered the sparse furniture that remained in the spacious room. Tarps lined the floor along the walls where restoration and renovation was taking place. Two walls were the new, pale gold with cream molding, while the other two were still the dull, tainted white with cracked molding.

  Grace hugged herself as she walked across the grimy floors, her heels cracking lightly over dust and bits of walls and ceiling. The chandelier had been lowered and sat covered in the center of the room; it would be cleaned and raised last, after the ceiling had been restored.

  Grace reached the other edge of the room, where sets of double doors opened onto a terrace. She clicked the rusty locks and let the cool evening air wash over her as she stepped out. More tarps lay here, as the outer restoration was taking place simultaneously, but she ignored them to step to the terrace ledge. She placed her hands on the cool, gray stone, gripping more tightly than needed.

  She wanted to bury her head in her hands and weep, to just let go but, at the sound of his footsteps behind her, she held on to her control. It could wait a few more minutes, she assured herself, even while the tears threatened to fall.

  “Grace?” he said softly; his voice was barely a low whisper in the night air. “Are you all right?”

  She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded.

  He came to stand beside her and put a hand over hers on the ledge. She tried to pull away but he held on tighter. “Talk to me,” he said. “Tell me how you’re feeling.” She shook her head.

  “Fair Grace,” he said as his thumb brushed away a tear she hadn’t known had fallen. “Let me help you.”

  She turned her head away, and his hand fell to her shoulder. While she wiped away her tears herself, he drew slow circles on her shoulders, then down her back. Before she knew it, she had shifted closer against him. Marcello used the opportunity to slip his arms around her.

  Grace laid her head back against his shoulder. She had to admit, she liked the way he felt both solid and gentle against her. They stood like that for several minutes, her nestled against him underneath the night sky, a cool breeze swirling softly around them, shuffling their hair. She caught his scent, musky and male, and she found it didn’t bother her. Daniel’s scent, his cologne, had always given her a headache.

  Remembering Daniel again had her pulling away from Marcello. She left the warmth of his arms and walked to the other end of the terrace. The tears were threatening her again.

  She took a deep breath and said, a little bit wobbly, “Please leave me.”

  “I won’t, Grace.”

  “Please.”

  “I can’t, Grace.” He walked up behind her, his capable hands shifting to massage her shoulders.

  “Stop.”

  “Let me help you, Grace.”

  “No,” she said, though she wanted his help, desperately.

  “Yes,” he said as he continued to knead her shoulders. “Lean on me, Grace,” he whispered against her ear, his warm breath a contrast to the cool night air. She gasped and tried in vain to hold back her tears, her grief, her sorrow, and her pain.

  A frustrated sob broke free and she buried her head in her hands. Marcello quickly pulled her into his arms, lifting and carrying her to a nearby chair. He sat down and held her in his lap, his hands giving comfort along her back.

  Grace gripped the lapels of his jacket, not caring that she was ruining it with tears and fallen eyeshadow. He handed her his handkerchief and she pressed it against her face, hiding herself behind it. She felt angry, hurt, terrified, embarrassed, and ashamed.

  Most of all, she was just exhausted. She was tired of having to hide herself, tired of feeling useless, tired of feeling like a victim. She was stronger than this, she told herself. She had survived ten years with Daniel, but those years were over. He was dead, and he was never coming back. Those years were over, unless she let them continue.

  When the tears ebbed and she was still hidden behind the handkerchief, Marcello gently lowered it. She knew how she must look: red eyes, blotchy skin, streams of makeup along her face. Marcello gave her a long look before he pressed his lips lightly against hers.

  He took the handkerchief from her and blotted her face. “Do you feel better?”

  She nodded; she felt ashamed of how she’d acted in front of him and Cat. “I’m sorry,” she said in a raspy voice.

  His eyes narrowed. “What are you apologizing for?”

  She gestured uselessly with her hands. “For making a scene. Getting so upset.”

  Marcello cursed and she tensed. “Just because a man curses and gets angry doesn’t mean he’s going to hit you.”

  “I know that.”

  “Do you?” he muttered. “In any case, you have no reason to apologize. My God, Grace, how long were you holding all that inside? It’s not healthy.”

  She shifted off his lap, and he didn’t try to stop her. “It’s different for me.”

  “What is?”

  “My life. It’s different from yours. You can’t understand.”

  “Then explain it to me,” he said simply.

  “I didn’t grow up with eight brothers and sisters. I only had myself. I didn’t have a set of parents who loved me unconditionally; I only had my father and he wasn’t the most affectionate, though I knew he loved me.”

  She sniffed and he stood and gave her the handkerchief again. “By the time Daniel died, I didn’t have any friends; he’d separated me from them, you see. I didn’t
have anyone.”

  “What about the servants? I know they care for you. They’re protective of you, even if you don’t realize it.”

  “If you were hurt and alone at the Vallerian Royal Palace, would you ever consider asking one of the servants for a shoulder to cry upon?” When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “When you’re separated by class, it’s harder to ask. They depend upon me for their livelihood, and I wouldn’t want to make life awkward for them.”

  “Oh my Grace,” he said as he tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear, a gesture she was surprised to find comforting. “Whatever happened in the past, you’re not alone anymore.”