Inspired by Grace

by Jeanna Ellsworth

  The duchess stood and took Grace’s teacup from her and asked, “Tell me, Grace, how are you doing? You were never one to voice your needs or thoughts, but I can sense a deep sadness in you. I know how close you were to your father.” The older lady sat down next to Grace and reached for her hand.

  “I was close to my mother too. She meant the world to me. I have never found her equal. In every challenge we faced since my father’s death, she rose to meet the situation as if the Prince Regent himself had asked it of her. No problem was too big to solve nor too small to be ignored. She was so determined. And she wanted nothing more than to see her daughters successfully and happily matched. I am afraid that I am the only one that failed her in that regard. My other sisters found matches in their first seasons. But I ended my season early because of her death.”

  “Oh dear, had you any potential matches? Were there any suitors paying you special attention? I may know if they are still available.”

  Grace tried to maintain eye contact but failed miserably. If she didn’t look away now, the duchess would be sure to see her pain. “I thought so at the time. Things were looking very promising with one man. In fact, there was a lot of promising going around. Before I left, he promised to visit me and send me word through his sister. But the only news I received was the announcement of his engagement to an heiress two weeks later. It appears he had been courting her for several months.”

  “That was very wrong of him. Was there an actual understanding?”

  “He said his only hope was that I would come to love him as much as he loved me. He said he wished to marry me.”

  The duchess took her hand and turned Grace’s chin toward her. “My darling, he used you most abominably. But why did you not return the next year? Did you not say that was three years ago?”

  She pulled her chin away then and looked toward the window. Unfortunately she saw Gavin standing in the doorway with a pained expression on his face.

  He took a few steps forward and asked, “Who was he?”

  Pride stiffened her spine as if someone had dropped ice down her gown. How much had he heard? She took the only road that she knew. She let out a laugh that probably sounded a bit forced and said, “You need not protect me. If you remember correctly, it is I who protected you far too often. I tore many gowns wrestling your older brother off you. And I believe I still can claim to be Queen of the Boulder on Chester Pond. No one ever defeated me.”

  His words were quiet, but distinct: “Grace Ingrid Genevieve Iverson, no one ever will. I swear it.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The evening had gone smoothly enough after Gavin and his mother stopped probing Grace about her first season. Her sister Sarah had sent over a trunk of Grace’s things and a note approving of the duchess’s arrangements.

  Gavin had made good on his promise to dine with her. The three of them ate a simple meal together in the parlor, so that Grace could rest comfortably on the sofa, and conversation was light and came easily. Grace had nearly forgotten that ten years had passed. When it was time to retire, Gavin kindly asked if he could assist her to her chamber. Her ankle was already feeling much better, so she declined any help. But after watching her take a few staggering steps, Gavin rolled his eyes and, once again without asking, lifted her easily into his arms and hiked the spiral staircase to the second floor. It affected her no less than the first time, and she enjoyed the closeness of his person. She had wrapped her arm around his neck and clung to his shoulder only to find a firmness and fullness that she hadn’t anticipated. He was no longer a lanky sixteen-year-old.

  Now as the dawn broke, she was alerted to the fact that a maid had nearly finished lighting the fire. As the young woman tried to sneak out the door, Grace whispered, “Thank you.”

  The maid startled a bit. “Sorry, miss, I tried not to wake you. I will be quieter tomorrow.”

  “No, you did not wake me. I did not sleep well.”

  “Sorry to hear that, miss. Can I fetch you anything?”

  She considered her ankle. It throbbed only a little, and Grace had no intention of staying in bed all day.

  “Would you mind assisting me to freshen up?” she asked. “I am not entirely confident that I can do it on my own quite yet. I would appreciate your help.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  Grace pushed off the covers. The maid had already found her slippers and was bending to place them on her feet. There was just the slightest swelling on the outside of her ankle but no bruising. That was a good sign. She wondered if Gavin would carry her downstairs again. Being that close to him had such a powerful affect on her mind and body. She wanted to both pull away and embrace him tightly at the same time.

  With her slippers on, Grace eased off the bed and the maid helped her up. She was pleased to find the pain was tolerable. With a cautious step, she made her way across the room toward the washbasin.

  “You are doing well, Miss Iverson.”

  “Yes, I think I can manage on my own now. Thank you.”

  “Very well. Should I send up your lady’s maid?”

  “My lady’s maid?”

  “Yes, miss. The duchess has appointed Charlotte to attend to you while you are here. She is ever so happy to be a lady’s maid again. Ever since Miss Eliza married Sir Jonathan, she has not been able to magnify her talents. Shall I send her in?”

  “Yes, please do.” Grace had never had her own lady’s maid. She’d been too young to have one before her father died. And funds were far too tight to employ one afterwards. Even when she had lived with Tamara, Grace simply went without, except for a few special occasions when her sister’s maid attended her. It was pleasant to consider that she would have someone to prepare her hair and clothing for the duchess’s growing list of dinner parties and balls.

  Grace gingerly moved about the room and tried to do her morning toilette but sat down again after a few minutes when her ankle began to ache. Soon she heard the knock on her door.

  “Enter.”

  A maid about her own age came in and curtsied. “You must be Charlotte,” Grace said.

  “Yes, Miss Iverson. I hope that I can meet your expectations.” Charlotte then began detailing her vast experience in coordinating jewelry and accessories, creating intricate braids, and crafting floral embellishments. When she moved on to mending and altering gowns, Grace interrupted.

  “Charlotte, I have no doubt in your abilities. I am very grateful for your service and look forward to seeing all these talents, but please, you need not apply for the position. If the duchess feels you are capable, then I do too. I am afraid it will not be hard to impress me.”

  A smile came to Charlotte’s face, and she curtsied. “I shall not disappoint, I assure you, miss. Would you like a bath before you break your fast?”

  “I most certainly would, thank you.”

  Grace soaked even longer than usual and pondered all that had occurred the day before. She spent far too much time thinking about a certain man and how he had awakened every sense in her body that seemed to have withered and wilted in the last ten years. Could this really be happening to her? Was she really going to have her best friend back?

  From his lighthearted laughter, to his protective declaration that no one would ever defeat her, to the playful tap on her nose as he said “There she is. I wondered what you had done with my best friend”; it all was so endearing. She could feel her heart pound in her chest as if it had stopped all those years ago and his kindness had restarted it. In truth, she had never trusted anyone since being ripped from his presence. Sometimes even the pain of losing her father did not compare to the heartbreak of not knowing whether she would ever see him again.

  Every year she had hoped to receive word that the Kingstons were coming to visit, but no word ever came. Her mother never spoke of them again. Grace wondered why but never dared to ask. It was clear that Grace no longer moved in the same circles as the children of the Duke and Duchess of Huntsman.

  Soon she stopped hoping and va
liantly fought the memories every time they rose unbidden. In quiet moments, she would allow herself to remember the times when they had raced across the hayfields until they reached the far corner that connected their lands. It was tradition to meet there every morning after breakfast and select a challenge for the day.

  Sometimes the challenge was to see who could skip a rock in Chester Pond the most times. Other times it was who could walk the fence the farthest without falling off. And sometimes it was a challenge to the death.

  Grace laughed at their fearsome name for this particular challenge. It was really only a game of trust. One person would ask questions while the other would be forced to climb the treehouse rope ladder. Every truthful answer would earn the climber permission to ascend one rung. If the climber reached the top, he or she won and was allowed to climb down safely. But if the questioner suspected any dishonesty, the climber was forced to close his or her eyes, let go of the rope, and “fall to certain death”.

  But Grace never worried about falling, because she had no doubt that her best friend would be there to catch her. She often ruminated on this game during her lonely ten years without him; somewhere, in the deepest part of her heart, she hoped that he would still catch her.

  And as the trials started coming, some right after another, she would tell herself that this was just another game of challenge to the death. It took courage to move up a rung, knowing that the higher she went, the more danger lurked if she were to let go. So, she buckled down and trusted in no one but herself. In truth, she leaned far too much on her own strength during the last few years.

  And now she was living under Gavin’s roof. She had dreamed all night of those dance lessons, the last one in particular. Did he still remember it? Did he remember the promises they made? She forced the forbidden thought far from her mind but not before she was fully engulfed in goose bumps.

  Charlotte startled her out of her mental ruminations. “I am sorry, Miss Iverson, the water must be getting cold. Are you chilled?”

  “I suppose I must be.” She climbed out of the tub and thought, I am not sure I want him to remember that last lesson. Surely it would only bring him embarrassment. He was no longer the second son. He was the Duke of Huntsman. She let out a sigh and reminded herself that a duke marries one of his own. He may have been her best friend once, but a friend was all she could hope for now. That was enough for her.

  *****

  Gavin had seen Grace’s lady’s maid heading upstairs. He instructed Charlotte to alert him when Grace was ready to leave her room. He didn’t want to miss an opportunity to be near her again. It was strange—he could not explain it—but he felt pulled to her. Maybe it was her cinnamon scent. Had she always smelled so intoxicating? Surely he would have remembered that.

  But that wasn’t the only change. She had her same eyes, blue as bluebells in rain or shine, but something lurking behind them suggested the years had been difficult. Her smile, the one that used to be such a permanent fixture on her face—except when she was determined to win—had dampened. All of these changes made him even more curious about her.

  He pondered on Grace Ingrid Genevieve Iverson, or Gigi, as he always called her, while he sat in the foyer, keeping a watchful eye on the spiral staircase for her appearance. It seemed to take forever; the newspaper he had brought to occupy his time was quickly read from cover to cover.

  When over an hour had passed, he was considering knocking on her door. And then he heard the quietest of whimpers from the top of the stairs.

  There she was, with her strawberry-blonde hair pulled up in such a tempting way, and when she caught him looking up at her, she gave him a smile. He took the stairs two at a time and was nearly to the top when his boot caught and he had to catch himself from falling.

  She giggled and said, “Falling at my feet again? I see nothing has changed. You are still just as clumsy as ever.”

  He stood up straight and took the last few steps gracefully and then bowed to her. “You bring it out in me, Gigi. I had nearly taken society by storm with my evolution from boy to gentleman, but I see you still see only the boy.”

  She colored slightly at his teasing and then cocked her head to the side. “Ah, but the boy is always the making of a man,” she replied. “You cannot start with the ingredients of rice pudding and expect to get raspberry tarts.”

  “Indeed, but you are mistaken on one count,” he countered with a smile. “I have never been made of rice nor pudding. I am all white sauce and pheasant—far more refined.”

  “I see you still have more confidence than height. And just look at you—over six feet tall! Dare I ask how horridly exaggerated your self-worth is now, Your Grace?”

  He flinched slightly at the reference to his title and decided that it was time to have a little discussion about that with her. But first, and with a move that he deemed entirely graceful, he swept her off her feet and into his arms. It was selfish, he knew, but she couldn’t say no. And once her ankle was healed, there was no telling when he would be this close to her again. The cinnamon was strong enough to detect but not so overpowering as to offend. All the better. Too many women drench themselves in perfume.

  She squealed in delight. “If you drop me, Gavin,” she shrieked, “I swear I will throttle you. You know how I hate to lose.”

  “Feel free to try. I have a good hundred pounds on you now. I am no longer some lanky, skinny thing with feet too big for walking.”

  He carried her down the stairs, enjoying every moment of it until she said, “Speaking of big feet, it seems you have some big shoes to fill.”

  He cleared his throat and silently headed into the dining room. After he set her on her feet, she said, “Thank you, Your Grace. Did I say something wrong?”

  He looked away from her as he said, “You can start by calling me what you have always called me. I am not particularly fond of my new title.” There! I said it.

  He chanced a look at her and caught sight of her reaching for him. Her soft hand rested on his face, which sent his heart flying completely out of control. “Of course,” she murmured. “I would be happy to call you ‘muttonhead’ or ‘bacon-brained’.” And then she giggled.

  He burst out laughing and kissed her beautiful hand. “You always have to win.”

  She smiled at him and replied, “No. It just usually happens that way.”

  “I forgot; you have to have the last word too.”

  “I see we will get along splendidly. I will always be right, and you will always be Gavin.”

  Breakfast was casual and comfortable now that “Your Grace” was out of the way. As soon as his mother came into the room, she asked Grace if her ankle was feeling better; once again Gavin chided himself for not thinking of it first.

  “Yes, it is much better,” she replied to the duchess. “Another day and it shall be as good as new.”

  The conversation veered toward dinner plans for Thursday. It sounded like the entire ton would be invited.

  “Gavin,” his mother asked, “which of your bachelor friends would you like to introduce Grace to first?”

  He was stopped short by this reminder that Gigi was here under his roof to find a husband. He was suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin and didn’t know why. Of course he should help by introducing her to his friends. He saw her hopeful eyes on him, and he interpreted it as if she truly desired his help.

  Trying to appear confident, he declared, “That depends on what Grace wants. There is Harrison, who struggles with stuttering but is loyal and devoted if his obsessive relationship with his horses is any indication. Then there is Jeffers; do not let his port belly get in your way of getting close, Grace. And Patrick Underton may be right; he has no spine, so Grace could dictate which breeches he is to wear every day.”

  His mother waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind,” the duchess declared, “I know who your friends are, and I shall make the introductions myself. Shame on you for teasing her so mercilessly! Now, Grace, do not let my boy sca
re you off. He knows many eligible bachelors who would love to get to know you.”

  Gavin frowned at the thought and found he’d suddenly lost his appetite. As he bowed and took his leave, he heard Grace say, “I would be happy to meet any of his friends. I shall challenge every one of them to a foot race. Is that not how gentlemen are sized up? Whoever is the biggest and bravest wins the lady’s heart?”

  He turned his head back around and caught her looking at him in earnest. He turned silently and went to his study.

  He tugged his arms out of his confining coat as quickly as possible and tried to focus on the morning post. But his thoughts kept drifting back to what she had said. He wondered what she was referring to. It was true that whenever his cousins or friends had visited, Gavin had always introduced them to her. There had probably been a race or two, but what did she mean that “the biggest and bravest” would win the lady’s heart? Could she possibly be referring to that late August afternoon ten years ago?

  He pushed the post aside and leaned back in his chair. He interlocked his fingers behind his head and let himself drift off to that summer afternoon.

  “I shall be leaving for Eton again in two days. I wish I could squeeze your annoying little body into my trunk and pack you along with me. You would make it so much more fun.”

  “As your father has said so many times, you pay too much attention to me,” Grace told him. “I would only distract you.”

  “No, Gigi, you know that is not true. Why else has he allowed us to share tutors? He knows you bring out the best in me.”

  She laughed and said, “Well, around me you do trip slightly less often. It must be admitted as an improvement.”

  “You sound like my father,” Gavin sighed. “And I trip much less nowadays. I have never tripped during our dance lessons.”