by Wendy Vella
Table of Contents
TITLE PAGE
DEDICATION
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
THANK YOU!
SNEAK PEEK
OTHER BOOKS BY WENDY VELLA
LORD GALLANT
(Novella)
By Wendy Vella
The Earl of Attwood needed a wife like he needed an inflammation of the chest. However, due to an unfortunate set of circumstances, Miss Grace Esseltte, a dowdy spinster with a tart mouth, had become his countess. Nick was determined she would change nothing in his life, and the sooner he could bundle her off to one of his estates the sooner he could continue with his investigative duties with the Lords of Night Street. However, it seemed his wishes were not to be granted, as his wife found herself in trouble that only he and his friends could extricate her from. Nick had soon realized there was a great deal more to Grace than he had originally believed. In fact, it was not long before he understood that in his Countess, he had found the one emotion he had always believed he was incapable of feeling.
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Lord Gallant is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Lord Gallant is published by Wendy Vella
Copyright © 2015 Wendy Vella
ISBN KINDLE: 978-0-9941157-3-7
DEDICATION
To my long suffering husband. Thanks for being a sounding board when what you really want to do is watch T.V.
I can no other answer make but thanks, and thanks and ever thanks
William Shakespeare (Twelfth Night, Act 3, Scene 3)
CHAPTER ONE
Grace wanted to scratch her wrists. The stiff lace the seamstress had put around the cuffs was chafing. In fact the whole dress was uncomfortable, and it was not made better by her corset, which was laced so tightly she felt light-headed. Grace didn’t like corsets, and usually instructed her maid to tie it so that she could at least draw a deep breath, however today that was not the case, as today was her wedding day.
“Nicholas William Theodore Charles Carlisle, fifth Earl of Attwood, will thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony?”
Lord, he even had more names than she, Grace realized as the vicar recited them. She shot the big man at her side a nervous look. His dark brown hair curled just as it should over his ears and rested on his perfectly starched snow-white collar. Everything about the man who was to be her husband was perfect, right down to his straight teeth. He was honorable as well, otherwise neither of them would be there in the church, because Grace had begged and pleaded with him not to marry her. She didn’t care about her reputation, after all, but he had simply looked at her with anger banked deep in his dark brown eyes, and said in a cold, clear voice that he did, and that was that.
Her clumsiness had finally been her downfall. Seeking solitude at the Holland ball, Grace had found a dimly lit parlor. Upon entering, her foot had caught the leg of a low table she had not seen, off balance she had also not seeing the earl, who had risen from a chair and reached to catch her. Grace had landed on top of his large body, her skirts raised, his hands on her, and with perfect timing society's biggest gossip, Lady Coburn, and her lover Lord Haven had arrived. Thus, she was now about to marry the bloody fifth earl of somewhere!
He thought she'd set out to trap him. Grace knew this, even though he was too much a gentleman to mention it. She also knew he would hold it against her for many years to come, if not all of them.
She’d seen him before, one evening when Grace and her cousin Harry had attended a play at Covent Garden. He had been talking with other elegant people whilst she and her cousin had found their seats. An aristocrat to his toes, he had stood there with the chandelier above casting a glow around him, tall and distinguished, whilst several women had tried to attract his attention.
According to her best friend Ruth, well her only friend actually, he was a very correct and proper and highly respected man, who sat in the House of Lords, and rarely displayed unseemly emotion. In fact, he was the exact opposite of Grace.
Her cousin Harry had been in a lather once he was informed as to what she had done, and whom she was to marry. He, like she, had believed she would never wed, and also knew that she had no wish to. Harry had done all he could to change the earl’s mind, but he had not yielded. The earl had been perplexed as to why they would not want such a fortuitous union, considering Grace’s circumstances and lack of suitors.
“It is your cousin's reputation at stake, sir,’ he had said in a cool voice that Harry had said made him quake in his boots. “One would think that marrying an earl would be in her favor, Lord Harrington, considering what the outcome would be if she did not.”
Grace did not want to be a countess; in fact, she’d thought herself a devout spinster. Even if she had one day married, she’d been sure her future spouse would be a bland, innocuous sort who did not demand over much of her so she was left to herself. But no, Grace was about to marry an earl, and not just any earl, the earl of the moment, according to Ruth, who rarely thought before she spoke, and viewed the world through a silly pink haze of romance. 'I had heard a rumor that he was to marry a Duke's daughter,' Ruth had told Grace, to which she had replied, 'excellent, I will not only acquire an unwanted husband, but also one who bears his new wife a grudge.’
Stealing another look at the man beside her, Grace wondered if it were true that he’d already decided to wed another, and was now nursing a broken heart as well as smoldering rage at what Grace had done. Not that he would ever let that show; a man of his standing did not display emotion, he was always in control. Grace was rarely controlled, even though she would dearly love to be. How was she to live up to this man? Her only redeeming feature was her ability to read and speak fluently in five languages. Outspoken and no great beauty; Grace could never hope to be the wife he should have, she thought, feeling queasy. Between the nerves and lack of food, she was not her usual robust self. She couldn’t live up to him, that much was obvious. The only thing passably elegant about her was her name, which her mother had felt would give her a good start in life, and was far too romantic for a woman who looked below average on a good day.
Grace was clumsy, bookish, and tended to laugh at things that others found no amusement in. She didn’t speak in hushed tones, nor hold her tongue when she should. In fact, according to her cousin she should have been born a man.
The earl was frowning now, and of course still looked handsome doing so. As if sensing her thoughts he turned his head, and Grace wanted to take a step backwards at the anger in his eyes. He turned away again and she was able to draw a breath.
He hated her, which to Grace would be understandable if she had indeed set out to trap him, but she hadn't. And her worry now was that no amount of convincing on her part would change his mind on that fact, ever.
“With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Grace didn’t want to think about the earl’s large body, because then she’d think about the wedding night and when and if he would come to her room to consummate the marriage. It wasn’t that she was a pr
ude, far from it. When she and Harry retired to the country each year, Grace was often seen striding about in breeches. She’d attended the births of animals, and even been there in the village when a woman had given birth. However, she’d never actually thought she’d ever have a child or experience a man doing what he did to give her a one.
“I pronounce that they be man and wife.”
The vicar smiled at them when the service was at a close, and Grace knew neither she nor the earl returned the gesture. Thankfully, there was to be no kissing to seal the union.
“Lady Attwood.”
“Pardon?” Grace looked at the earl as he spoke to her.
“Take my arm, my Lady,” he said in a smooth deep voice that was as perfect as the rest of him.
“Thank you,” Grace said, as she placed the tips of her fingers on his arm. Dear lord, she was a countess. The thought was not a pleasing one.
They walked slowly down the aisle, and she managed a tight smile for the people present, more a grimace really, and he simply nodded his dark head like royalty. Disaster struck as they reached the door and she did not lift her foot high enough to clear the step. Her toe struck it and she felt herself falling. Grace closed her eyes and braced for the inevitable impact, but it never came. Instead, two large hands righted her.
“Are you all right?”
Grace felt the hot flush of color fill her face as titters came from behind them.
“Thank you,” she said again. “I’m s-sorry for the embarrassment.” She added the last with a quick look at him before pulling away. His lips were in a tight line, and he was frowning, no doubt wishing himself wed to an elegant woman who would have floated down the aisle looking ravishing, not an ungainly spinster dressed in muddy colors.
“I’m not embarrassed,” he said, much to Grace’s surprise. “You tripped; it is hardly something I could be embarrassed over.”
“Give it time,” Grace whispered quietly. “I’m sure you’ll revise that opinion.”
She looked at him as she heard a soft snort, but his face was emotionless. She must have been mistaken. He gave her an elegant nod. Really, was there nothing this man did badly? Did he perhaps suck his food through his teeth, laugh in deep booming gusts, or snore? Not that Grace would share his bed long enough to find out the last one, but she hoped he did just the same. Something, anything, that would make him less than bloody perfect.
“Yes, well, we all have our crosses to bear, my Lady,” he then said, taking her arm again as he navigated them down the steps.
“Grace.”
“Pardon?” He lowered his head to hers, which was some distance below.
“My name is Grace, and I would like you to use it.”
She’d surprised him, because the fingers on her arm tightened briefly, and then relaxed.
“Grace,” he said, making it sound exotic, which instantly made her wish she’d not offered it, because Grace could not be any further from exotic if she tried. “Shall we greet our guests?”
She wanted to say no but instead nodded. Grace's stomach hurt. It had been twisted with anxiety since she'd woken and the reality that today her life would change had dawned on her. Thoughts swirled around inside her already sore head about what her future held, and she wondered how she was to get through the next few hours.
The guests soon surrounded them and as they had married in St George’s, there were plenty of people on hand to witness the event. The season was also in full swing, so that ensured everyone knew that the earl’s wedding to Grace was today, as was witnessed by the carriages lining both sides of the streets. She tried to stand slightly back, as no one was addressing her in the hushed solicitous tones, accompanied by sympathetic pats on the arm, as they were her husband, but he did not allow that. Placing a hand in the middle of her spine, he propelled her forward, until she stood at his side. Grace found a fake smile, and kept it on her face as the guests came and went. It was like a funeral; there was no laughter or happiness, no rose petals, and were she of a romantic nature, she would be justifiably put out. However, she wasn’t a romantic, and this was a wedding to save her reputation, nothing more. It was loveless and cold, and that was a depressing thought, made more so by the fact that Grace was fairly certain her future loomed long and lonely, with little humor and laughter with a husband who hated her.
“Indeed, Lord Quinn, thank you for the kind words.”
Grace watched the Earl of Attwood bow at her side to the elderly gentleman. He was acting as if today was just like any other, thanking people and nodding his handsome head, as if they were just having a passing conversation, nothing important, not like marrying a woman who in the normal course of events would not even feature on his “to marry” list—in fact, any list.
“If you will excuse me, Grace, I have to speak with someone."
"Of course," Grace quickly took her fingers off his arm. She then watched her husband walk toward a group of three men, all of whom looked somber as he approached. Large like he, they stood very correctly, each upright, hands clasped before them almost as if they were standing to attention. One gripped the earl's shoulder as he reached them and another shook his head. It was obvious they were commiserating with their friend, and because she knew this entire wedding was her fault, the guilt settled even more heavily in the pit of her stomach. Unable to watch, Grace quickly turned away.
“Are you all right, Grace?” Harry arrived breathlessly at her side, looking ruffled, his dear face lined with worry.
“Hello, Harry,” Grace said as he took her hand. "Will you not give me a smile on my wedding day?"
"I would if I believed you were happy." He shot the earl a glare before looking at Grace once more.
"This is of my making, Harry, not the earl’s, and furthermore you should be pleased that I am off your hands."
"I am not," he snapped. "He is not the right man for you, and I will not allow him to get in the way of what we must still do."
Lord Edwin Harrington had been twenty-seven when Grace's parents had died, and he, as her only living relative, had climbed into his carriage and driven to her house, where he had found her lost and alone. Grace remembered him kneeling before her saying that it was all right now, as he was to be her family. He had demanded her things be packed, then bundled her and a maid into his carriage and taken her to live with him.
“I miss you and you haven’t been gone a day yet,” Harry added, removing his hat to run a hand through his auburn curls.
He was tall and thin, with soft blue eyes and gentle features, and Grace had never loved anyone more.
Sniffing loudly, which drew a few frowns from the elegant guests, Grace wanted to fall into his arms and let him hold her again, and tell her it would be all right. But it wouldn't, not this time, in fact not ever again.
"I-I will be all right, Harry, and I'm sure the earl will care nothing about my movements, therefore I can spend my days with you," Grace said.
"If he does not, then I will arrive at your door each morning," Harry said, patting her shoulder.
“That is a hideous dress, Grace; I cannot believe you actually paid money for it."
"Hello, Ruth," Grace said as her friend arrived. "And thank you for your kind words," she added.
"I speak only the truth, as you know," Miss Ruth Munn said.
Short with a soft round figure and blonde curls, under which was a round rosy-cheeked face and a pair of bright eyes, Ruth Munn had been Grace's friend since Harry had relocated them to London nearly three years ago.
"Perhaps today you could adjust your forthright manner, Ruth, as Grace and I are upset, which is understandable considering the circumstances."
Both Grace and Ruth looked at Harry as he spoke. His eyes were sad and his shoulders stooped, and Grace felt the burden of what she had done increase. This man needed her and she was about to desert him.
"Oh, pooh to that, Harry. Both you and Grace will adjust to this change in time, and being maudlin will only hinder that process," Ruth s
aid, offering Harry a gentle smile that he ignored.
"And what of Nipper, how will I tell him that given time he will adjust?" Harry snapped, glaring at Ruth, which surprised Grace as Harry rarely snapped, scowled or used excesses of emotion, and most especially not at Ruth. "Nipper was deeply upset by Grace's leaving."
“I am not dying, Harry,” Grace felt she should at least try to lighten the somber mood. “I will be able to visit him and I have not yet asked the earl, but perhaps he will consent to Nipper living with me.”
"I doubt that," he said, looking glum. "That man has a reputation for ruthlessness. He is also a man who rules his household with a strong hand, and he would never allow a dog to scamper about his home."
Grace swallowed back her fear at Harry's words. Was she to live out her days in a sterile house with no love or laughter, no animals or people to make her smile?
"Your husband signals you now, Grace," Ruth said gently, taking her hand from Harry's and giving it a pat before releasing it. "Go now, and Harry and I shall follow."
Grace gave her cousin a hug, which he returned, refusing to let her go until she told him to, and then after kissing Ruth's cheek she went to where her husband now stood beside a carriage.
"How is your cousin?"
Grace looked up at the earl to see if she'd heard him correctly. He was looking at her with a polite mask of expectancy on his face.
"Unhappy," she said. "Because contrary to what you believe, my Lord, my cousin and I had no wish for this union, therefore I can honestly say he is deeply upset." Grace always thought honesty to be the best policy, even when it possibly would have been better if she'd lied.
His brows drew together as he studied her. She thought that perhaps he would use the same look when inspecting a rodent or some other pesky creature he had no wish to converse with.
"I find that hard to believe, but if you insist on continuing with this story, I shall say nothing further."
Minutes later, she was sitting across from him in silence as the carriage rolled slowly toward her new home. Grace could only remember one other time in her life when she had been so unhappy, and that had been the day when her father's butler had told her she was now alone in the world, as her parents had just died.
