by Bree Wolf
Grant gently squeezed her hand. “He loved her very much.”
“He still does.” Tears stood in her eyes, and then she suddenly leaned toward him, her head coming to rest upon his shoulder as she snuggled closer.
Grant put an arm around her and held her tightly, offering comfort and savoring this precious moment between them. He could only hope that he would live to see many more of those to come.
After a long moment, Nessa straightened, once again brushing at her eyes as she stepped out of his embrace. “What about your family?”
Grant sighed. “My parents married for the usual reasons. There was never any love between them.” He sought her eyes. “My father died last year.”
Compassion rested in her eyes as she reached out a hand and placed it upon his arm, equally an offer of comfort as his own had been. “Do you miss him?”
Grant shrugged, for the first time feeling regret. “I never truly knew him. He was…a distant man, committed to lineage and reputation. That is something he and my mother had in common.” A dark chuckle escaped his throat. “I’m not certain either one of them ever cared for me beyond my importance as the heir.” His gaze rose to meet hers. “I have no brothers or sisters, so…” He heaved a deep sigh, surprised to realize how lonely he felt in his own family.
“But surely there is someone you care for,” Nessa whispered gently. “Someone who cares for you. I have no siblings, either, but I have a most beloved cousin.”
Grant smiled, remembering the vivacious woman who had been eager to assist his suit. “I have a cousin as well,” he replied, feeling a surge of annoyance. “He is a good man, but I hardly know him.”
Nessa frowned. “Why not?”
Grant huffed out a deep breath. “Our mothers are at war with one another.”
Her gaze widened, incomprehension only too visible in those warm eyes of hers. “At war? What do you mean?”
Grant shook his head, then moved to reach for her, slipping his hands around her waist as though they were already married. As though he could simply do so because that was where she belonged. “They constantly try to outdo one another, caring for nothing but position and title and fortune. It is tiresome and…”
Not pulling away, Nessa looked up at him, her hands settling upon his arms as though she, too, had finally realized that this was where she belonged. “And it ripped your family in half,” she finished for him, “including you and your cousin.”
Grant nodded. “We rarely see each other. Only at balls or other societal events. We exchange a few words here and there, but that is all.” Looking down into her eyes, Grant smiled. “That is not what I want.” His hands were upon her tight, pulling her closer against him. He could see the look upon her face change, awareness coming to her eyes. “I want more. More than just obligation and duty. More than strangers inhabiting the same house.” He dipped his head and placed a gentle kiss upon her lips as though she were his wife and he her husband, as though this were how it ought to be. “I want you. I want this.” His gaze swept around the kitchen before settling upon hers once more. “I want days like this one. I want every day to be like this.”
A careful smile came to her face. “With flour in your hair and butter under your fingernails?” She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair, shaking loose countless specks of flour. They rained down around them like a cloud wrapping them in a world all their own.
Grant nodded. “Yes, it sounds utterly perfect, does it not?” He knew he was pushing his luck. He knew he ought to be patient. Still, perhaps if he said it again and again, one day she would wake up and find herself believing him. “Marry me, Nessa. Please, marry me. Let us have this wonderful life together.”
Fresh tears shot to her eyes, stating loud and clear that she wanted exactly what he did as well. Her lips parted as though she meant to say something, then clamped shut again, fear to take that leap etched into her eyes. “Grant, I—”
With a finger to her lips, Grant cut her off. “Don’t,” he whispered, unable to hear her refusal in this perfect moment. “Don’t say anything. Refuse me tomorrow.” Then his head swooped down once more and he kissed her, not gentle or tender this time, but as though his life depended upon it.
Which it did.
Everything depended upon it.
Upon her.
Today more than ever, Grant knew that this was exactly what he wanted, that she was exactly what he wanted and, deep down, Nessa was beginning to realize it as well.
Patience.
Chapter Nine – Words of Others
After Grant had left, Agnes headed upstairs to her chambers. Her hair was covered in flour. She could feel it sticking to her skin and with every step she took, she left behind little white clouds. She needed a bath. Desperately. Still, the moment the door closed behind her, she found herself walking toward her vanity. There, she sat down and gingerly picked up the small silver mirror. It had the name Agnes engraved upon the back, a gift her father had given her mother on their wedding day.
“If only I could speak to her,” Agnes mumbled, her fingers lovingly tracing the delicate engraving. She had never known the woman who had given her life and, yet, they shared the same name. Most days, Agnes was glad for it, but sometimes it only served as a reminder of the loss her father had suffered.
Of the loss she, too, had suffered.
Utterly dedicated and devoted to her, her father had always been wonderful, priceless, daring in his counsel and wise in his views of the world. Yet, every once in a while, Agnes had wondered what it would have been like to grow up with a mother.
“She would have told you the same thing,” came her father’s voice from the doorframe.
Agnes turned to look upon him, surprised that she had not heard him knock nor open the door. “I suppose I was lost in thought.” She set down the mirror and rose to her feet.
Her father smiled at her. “You seemed rather wistful,” he remarked as he stepped toward her. “I suppose Lord Wentford left.”
Agnes felt her face turn crimson as she dropped her gaze, remembering everything that had happened in the kitchen, everything she ought never have allowed to happen.
Her father chuckled. “Even a fool could see that you care for him,” he said gently, seeking her gaze. “Why do you insist on refusing him?”
Staring at her father, Agnes did not know what to say. She remembered dimly that she had reasons. But in that moment, she could not recall a single one. “I don’t know,” she mumbled, reaching for that little ball of fear that lingered deep down in her belly. “He looks at me and…and I forget the world around me. But it’s still there. It is a lie we tell ourselves when we think that the world does not matter. It does, and in that world,” she shook her head sadly, “we are not meant to be.”
Her father’s brows drew down in a way she had never seen before. A spark of anger lingered in his eyes, cautioning her to heed his words for Maynard Bottombrook was not an angry man. Agnes could not recall him ever raising his voice to anyone. “Nonsense!” It was no more than a single word. And yet, its impact shook Agnes as though the ground beneath her feet had shifted. “The world is what it is. We must not ignore it, but we also must not allow it to dictate our lives.” He stepped forward and reached for her hands, holding them protectively within his own. “Do not allow society to cloud your view. See yourself as you are, as I see you, as Lord Wentford sees you.”
“But, Father, he does not—”
“I know you fear that he is compelled to seek you out by something other than true affection,” her father interrupted her, “but do you truly believe that? Today, the time you spent together, when you looked at him, did you see a man with a hidden agenda?”
Feeling hope once again blossom in her heart, Agnes shook her head, fighting back tears. “I did not, but he…I…Father, we are so different. He is an earl, young and wealthy and charming and handsome, with the world laid at his feet.” She heaved a deep sigh. “And I? I’m an old spinster with flour
in her hair and dirt under her fingernails.”
Chuckling, her father squeezed her hands. “Has it ever occurred to you that that is exactly the kind of woman he wants?”
Gawking at her father, Agnes laughed. “Thank you, Father! How kind of you to say that!”
“What? Did you want me to contradict you?”
Agnes shook her head. “What am I to do? Am I simply to accept him? Here? Now? Am I to marry him without another thought?” Again shaking her head, Agnes stepped back, then began pacing around the room before she turned around once more and looked at her father. “I’ve known him no more than a day or two. How can I agree to marry him?”
“You make this more complicated than it is, my dear,” her father said as though she were torn about whether or not to bring an umbrella, uncertain if it would rain. “Of course, I’m not suggesting you rush into this. But give the man a chance. Let him fight for you.” One of those endearing and slightly mischievous twinkles came to his eyes. “He’s most willing, is he not?”
Agnes could not help but smile for she knew that it was true. Indeed, never in her life had she seen a man more willing to prove himself. Yes, she had to admit—at least to herself—that she felt tempted, very tempted. She had liked him long before today, but now that he was finally looking at her, going to such lengths to prove to her that he cared, Agnes felt her resolve to be strong and adamant and protective of herself slip away with each look, each word, each touch.
Especially with each kiss.
Yes, part of her wanted to accept him, to marry him and, with each day, that part was becoming more demanding, more determined to make itself heard.
Turning to walk away, her father stopped in the door and looked back at her. “Yes, you might feel like a fool should his words prove untrue and you believed them. But you will feel like an even greater fool if his words prove true and you did not believe them. Think about it.” He winked at her and then returned to his study.
Catching sight of her own reflection in the mirror, Agnes smiled. Perhaps her father was right. Perhaps she should allow Grant to fight for her. Had she not already done so by letting him stay? By returning his kiss?
Yes, she had. Now, she could only hope that he would prove true.
Chapter Ten – A Mother Intervenes Again
Grant saw nothing and no one as he rode home that day. His mind was still in that snug little kitchen with Nessa, his heart still beating as rapidly as though she were right here with him, in his arms. Only when his mother’s sharp voice called to him as he was crossing the foyer toward the staircase did he return to the here and now.
“Wentford! Where have you been? We’ve been waiting for you all morning.”
Swallowing his annoyance, Grant turned to greet his mother. “I’m deeply sorry, Mother. However, a prior engagement—”
“Heavens, what happened to you?” Her narrowed gaze swept over him, disapproval in her eyes.
Grant frowned, momentarily confused before his gaze drifted lower over his flour-stained clothing. He laughed, certain that at least half a pound still lingered somewhere in his hair. He reached up a hand and shook himself.
“Stop that this instant!” his mother chided, retreating a step, then another in order to protect her own flawless gown.
“Has he finally returned?” came Lady Hartridge’s voice from the drawing room. A moment later, the lady in question followed by her daughter, Lady Elizabeth, stepped out into the foyer and hastened over to his mother’s side. Her gaze swept over him in frank perusal before her nose crinkled slightly in displeasure. “Goodness, what happened?”
Grant grinned, surprised that not even the combined force of his mother and Lady Hartridge possessed the power to down his spirits. Life was good. Life was wonderful…because he was in love…and they could not take that from him. “I suppose you could say I had a bit of an accident.” Indeed, knowing the truth would probably shock those two ladies witless.
Behind her mother, Lady Elizabeth eyed him curiously, a soft smile upon her lips as she took note of his disheveled and rather unusual appearance.
“Shall we return outside into the gardens?” Lady Hartridge suggested, exchanging a meaningful look with his mother.
“Yes,” his mother instantly agreed, her eyes once more sweeping over him. “Wentford, go and change and then meet us outside. And hurry! We’ve been waiting all morning.”
Before he could utter a word, the two ladies hasted away, dragging Lady Elizabeth along. Grant heaved a long sigh, annoyed to have company forced upon him. Of course, he had not agreed to meet anyone here this morning. Still, he would comply as he always did. After all, he knew his duty, had been raised to know it. Yet, today, it seemed far less important than had a mere week ago.
After changing into flour-free clothing, Grant returned downstairs and then stepped outside, enjoying the warm sunshine upon his face. He once again greeted his mother and Lady Hartridge as well as Lady Elizabeth, who stood by the west end of the terrace, gazing down into the gardens.
“Perhaps the two of you should go for a little stroll,” his mother suggested, gesturing toward Lady Elizabeth. “After all, we have been waiting for you all morning.”
Meeting his mother’s eyes, Grant lifted his chin. “I apologize; however, I had no knowledge of any engagement. Of course, I would’ve been present if someone had informed me.” He looked at his mother pointedly, well aware that this was another step in his mother’s matchmaking scheme. Last night, she had urged him to dance with Lady Elizabeth and, this morning, she insisted he take a stroll with her. It was only too obvious!
Grant would indulge his mother. However, he would not consider marrying Lady Elizabeth. The thought was ludicrous. Yes, she was sweet and kind and beautiful, but she was not Nessa. Perhaps he ought to say something to her so she would not be led astray by their scheming mothers.
Offering Lady Elizabeth his arm, Grant escorted her down into the gardens where they strolled leisurely down the small path as it wound through the hedges. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”
Brushing a blonde curl behind her ear, she smiled at him. “I’m certain you had a good reason.” Intrigue sparkled in her eyes as they swept over him in a quick glance. “Your morning must’ve been quite eventful.” After another step or two, she chanced another glance at him, a hint of hesitation in her gaze. “Was that flour upon your clothing?”
Grant chuckled. “It was.” He stopped in his tracks, then reached out a hand to touch her elbow.
Lady Elizabeth turned back and looked at him curiously. “Is something wrong?”
Grant heaved a deep sigh, trying to find the right words. “You are aware that our mothers…”
She smiled. “Intend to see us form an attachment? Yes, it is most obvious, is it not?” A question lingered in her eyes as she looked at him.
Grant lowered his head and looked upon the tips of his shoes. He could not be certain how she felt, yet, he did not wish to cause her pain.
“There is another who holds your heart, is there not?” Lady Elizabeth inquired, a soft smile upon her face that suggested that her own heart remained perfectly intact upon whispering these words.
Grant smiled at her, relieved to find her unaffected, but also because the mere thought of Nessa brought him joy. “There is, yes. Is it so obvious?”
“I know we never knew each other well,” Lady Elizabeth began, her quick eyes darting over his face, no doubt taking note of all the many subtle signs he was not even aware were there, “But I suppose it is safe to say that the smile I see upon your face now, today, is different from the one I used to see before.” She shrugged, a little sigh leaving her lips as she turned to continue down the path. “Do you intend to ask for her hand?”
Grant turned to catch up with her. “In fact, I have already done so.”
She smiled at him. “Then I suppose congratulations are in order.”
Grant laughed. “Not yet. So far, the lady has refused my proposals.” Lady Elizabe
th’s eyes widened in surprise. “However, I shall not be deterred.”
“Proposals?”
Grinning, Grant nodded.
“I do not mean to be nosy,” Lady Elizabeth began, pausing until he nodded his head to her, giving her permission to ask what was on her mind. “Is it the lady you danced with last night?”
Grant nodded. “The very one.” A deep sigh left his lips as he thought of Nessa, a profound sense of relief swelling in his chest to be able to speak of her. “She does not believe I am sincere in my intentions.”
Lady Elizabeth nodded as though she knew exactly what thoughts had urged Nessa to refuse him. “Yes, a lady must be careful these days. No matter where one turns, there are always those with agendas of their own.” She looked over her shoulder back at the house where their mothers stood on the terrace, watching them most carefully. “Even our mothers. They guide our hands and, yet, what they want for us is not necessarily what is best for us. They have their own aspirations and desires.”
Grant nodded. “I’m well aware of that. It is why I have not yet spoken to my mother of Nessa. I know she would object to the match and, quite frankly, I…” A smile broke through yet again.
“You enjoy being in love,” Lady Elizabeth finished for him, “and you do not wish for that glorious feeling to be ruined, is that not so?”
Grant stopped and looked at her. “Have I spoken to you of this before?” he asked teasingly. “Or do you possess the ability to read one’s mind?”
A hint of crimson came to her cheeks, and she quickly averted her gaze. “Perhaps it helps to find oneself in a similar position.”
“I see.” Indeed, now that he looked at her more closely, Grant thought to see signs that spoke to a woman very much in love herself. “May I inquire as to the identity of the one who has captured your heart?”
A smile came to her face and she turned away. “All I can say at this point is…that you know him. You know him well.”
Strolling through the garden, Grant found that speaking to Lady Elizabeth felt good. She was a kind and wonderful person, and he wished her well with all his heart. As they walked, she spoke to him of a mysterious gentleman, apparently too shy to approach her, and then in turn listened eagerly to his retelling of the events that had occurred earlier that day in Nessa’s kitchen.
