How to Live Happily Ever After (Happy Ever Regency Book 7)

by Bree Wolf

  “She sounds delightful,” Lady Elizabeth exclaimed, her own face more relaxed as well. “I beg you not to give up on her.”

  “Nothing could persuade me to do so,” Grant declared as he offered her his arm once more and they made their way back to the house. “I will fight for her until the end of time if need be.”

  Lady Elizabeth sighed. “Is that not what every woman dreams of?”

  As they set foot onto the terrace, Grant noticed the calculated gleams in their mothers’ eyes. No doubt, they were already planning the wedding. Indeed, it would come as a nasty shock to his mother once he spoke to her of Nessa. In fact, she had already taken note of his partiality toward her and warned him away, informing him in no uncertain terms that Nessa was beneath him and he ought to place his interest upon someone more worthy. Apparently, in her opinion, that was Lady Elizabeth.

  Grant could not care less. He would marry the woman he loved or none at all.

  “Do come back to see us soon,” his mother said to Lady Hartridge as they said farewell to one another at the door. “This was a most enjoyable day.”

  “Indeed, it was,” Lady Hartridge exclaimed, her sharp gaze darting back and forth between her daughter and Grant. “You must come to us for tea sometime soon.”

  As mother and daughter descended the stairs to the pavement where their carriage stood waiting, Grant was surprised to see his cousin, Pierce Barrett, head their way. He could not recall the last time Pierce had visited them. Ever since their childhood, the relationship between the two families had been strained. What was he doing here now?

  However, even as that question still circled in Grant’s mind, he took note of the lingering gaze Pierce cast at Lady Elizabeth, one she returned with equal measure. In fact, for a precious moment, it seemed both were utterly oblivious to the world around them.

  Grant smiled. Perhaps it was time to bury the hatchet and rise above. After all, their mothers’ war need not be their own. He had always respected Pierce and wished they could have been closer.

  Perhaps this, here, now, was their chance.

  Chapter Eleven – Crippling Doubt

  “Oh, our dear children looked positively in love by the time you and your daughter took your leave, did they not?” the Dowager Countess of Wentford remarked, leaning in conspiratorially toward Lady Hartridge, who looked equally delighted.

  Agnes, in turn, felt positively sick.

  Standing only a few steps away from the two matrons at the Weatherby ball, Agnes willed her heart to slow as it suddenly began to hammer in her chest. Her head spun, and her stomach seemed to be doing somersaults. But worst of all, her heart ached in a way it never had before.

  “Yes, indeed, they are a perfect match,” Lady Hartridge agreed, casting a quick glance across the dance floor to where her daughter stood with other debutantes near the dance floor. “Elizabeth spoke of him in a most ardent way. In fact, I believe she’s quite taken with him.”

  The dowager countess chuckled contentedly. “I am not at all surprised. Quite frankly, I believe Wentford will propose with haste. He’s a most passionate man, which I’ve always found to be a bit…unfitting. However, in this regard, I believe it should serve us well.”

  Agnes closed her eyes, willing her insides to still and her heart to stop aching. Yet, it was her own fault for believing him! She had known better, but she had dared to believe that sometimes, sometimes miracles did happen.

  It had been a mistake.

  A grave one.

  Caution would have been the wiser choice. It would have prevented her from taking a leap of faith. Especially with a man like…Grant.

  Lord Wentford!

  Trying her best to swallow past the lump in her throat, Agnes lifted her chin and opened her eyes, plagued by the thought that others might see her fall apart. Her eyes swept over Connie and her husband, standing up on the dance floor, then traveled to her father, who stood in a corner with like-minded men, discussing physics and mathematics, before it came to fall upon Lord Wentford.

  He stood with another man of similar coloring near the refreshment table, their gazes time and time again straying to Lady Elizabeth across the room.

  Indeed, it was true. A part of Agnes had held on to the thought that perhaps she might be misunderstanding or that perhaps his mother knew his heart less than she thought she did. Apparently though, it was Agnes who had misunderstood.

  Hardening her own heart, she glared at Lord Wentford, praying she would never make that mistake again.

  ***

  “Why not?” Grant asked his cousin, beginning to feel slightly exasperated with the man’s reluctance. Never before had he thought of Pierce as someone indecisive and uncertain of himself. However, where Lady Elizabeth was concerned, he seemed to be plagued by severe self-doubt.

  Running a hand through his light brown hair, Pierce once more glanced across the room at Lady Elizabeth, the look in his eyes full of longing. “She would not want to dance with me,” he replied with absolute certainty in his voice. “She’s a duke’s daughter and certainly has her aspirations set on someone…more advantageous.” He swallowed hard, and his gaze moved from Lady Elizabeth back to Grant. “Like you.” His gaze briefly slid sideways. “It is most likely what your mother and Lady Hartridge are discussing at present, is it not?” His lips thinned.

  Grant understood that his cousin’s cold demeanor was fueled by nothing other than jealousy, painful and all-consuming jealousy. Imagining Nessa being the subject of another’s attentions was indeed something that made Grant’s blood boil like nothing else ever before. “I have no intention of proposing to Lady Elizabeth, neither would she want me to. I assure you that.”

  Pierce fixed him with a pointed look. “Then why did you promenade with her yesterday morning?” He threw up his arms, his gaze sweeping over the assembled guests. “It seems the whole town is abuzz with the prospect of your impending nuptials.”

  Grant heaved a deep sigh. “What impending nuptials? I did not ask for her hand nor am I going to. This is our mothers’ doing, not ours.” He grasped his cousin by his shoulders. “Yes, Lady Elizabeth is a wonderful young woman, and yes, my mother considers her a perfect match.” Pierce cringed at his words. “But…she is not my perfect match. However, I think she might be yours.”

  Pierce all but hung his head, seemingly uncertain whether or not he ought to smile or even wanted to. “What am I to do, Grant? I cannot stop thinking about her.” Again, his gaze wandered across the ballroom. “But why would she want me? Why would she when she can have you?”

  “She cannot have me, and neither would she want to.”

  Pierce frowned. “Why not? And how would you know that?”

  In as few words as possible, Grant told his cousin about his conversation with Lady Elizabeth in the gardens the previous day. “My heart belongs to another.” Who, come to think of it, seemed to suffer from the same self-doubt as his cousin. “And Lady Elizabeth’s heart seems to be leaning toward you.”

  This time, Pierce did smile. “Did she say that?”

  “She did not have to. It was most obvious in the way she looked at you.” Grant remembered only too well. He also remembered the hesitant way his cousin had inquired after Grant’s marital intentions, not once referencing Lady Elizabeth. Yet, it had been clear that his cousin had wanted answers. That he had feared the whispers he had heard could be true.

  “Now, I will introduce you and then you will ask her to dance, agreed?”

  Inhaling deeply, Pierce nodded, a slight tremble in his voice. “Agreed.”

  Grant hoped that all would go well, that his cousin would not suddenly disappear from his side as they found their way across the ballroom. Fortunately, love was a strong motivator, and thus, only moments later, Grant watched as his cousin led Lady Elizabeth onto the dance floor. Both seemed all but oblivious to everyone else around them, unlike Grant. He took note of the icy glare his mother cast in his direction as she noticed what he had done, clearly displeased, furio
us even that he would dare upend her plans.

  Yet, it was not his mother who concerned him most in that moment for his gaze quickly moved from her and found Nessa only a few paces away, her face as white as a sheet and—if he was not at all mistaken—tears misting her eyes.

  Grant’s jaw tensed.

  Chapter Twelve – The Dangers of Hope

  Agnes was beginning to feel faint. She needed to find her father and ask him to take her home. At first, she had hoped to be able to regain her composure. However, her heart seemed incapable of recovering so swiftly.

  Never had Agnes thought that a part of her could ache in such a way.

  “What happened?” Grant demanded as he suddenly appeared right in front of her. “Are you all right? Are you crying?” He stepped closer, too close, his hands reaching for her face.

  Agnes shrank back before the tips of his fingers could touch her skin. She was afraid she would crumble to the floor in a heap of nerves. Never had she felt as weak as she did in that moment. Why could he not simply leave her alone?

  “Talk to me,” Grant urged, approaching once more, but more slowly this time, the look upon his face cautious as though he were a hunter and she the deer he did not wish to spook.

  Dabbing a handkerchief at her eyes as inconspicuously as she could, Nessa lifted her chin and met his gaze. “Let me pass. I wish to return home.”

  As she made to step around him though, he moved, blocking her path, his hands once more reaching for. “I will not,” he said, determination in his voice as those moss-green eyes of his continued to look into hers, seeking, asking. “Nessa, please, tell me what happened.”

  There was anguish upon his face, and seeing it nearly broke Agnes’ heart. She could not help it; she felt for him. Oh, what a fool she was! “There is nothing to say. I simply wish to return home.” Her gaze swept over those standing nearby, aware that some were beginning to take notice of their strange exchange.

  Grant held up his hands in surrender. “Very well.” Yet, tension remained visible upon his face as well as the reluctance to comply. “I will call on you tomorrow. Then we can talk.”

  Agnes shook her head. “I’d rather you would not. I do not believe there’s anything further to say. Good day, Lord Wentford.” And without a look back, she brushed past him, her feet carrying her straight toward her father, who instantly saw her need to get away. Without asking a single question, he guided her out of the ballroom and took her home.

  When the door finally closed behind her and she found herself in the place she felt most at ease, Agnes inhaled a deep breath, barely aware that her hands were still trembling, that her breath was still coming fast, that her eyes were still blurred by tears. Everything would be well now. Now that she was home. This was the place where she could be herself, where she was safe and at peace. Yes, all would be well now.

  Yet, even as she thought it, Agnes knew that it was far from the truth. Indeed, she did all but feel her heart breaking in two at the thought of what now would never be. It had never been a possibility but, for one precious moment, Agnes had allowed herself to belief that it was.

  “Do I dare ask?” her father inquired carefully, gently guiding her into the drawing room and then handing her a drink.

  Sinking onto the settee, Agnes shook her head. “It is nothing.” She sipped her water carefully, trying her best to ease the rapid pounding of her heart.

  Her father chuckled. “Even if I were blind, I would know that to be a lie, my dear. Tell me what happened.”

  Gritting her teeth, Agnes set down her glass and then rose to her feet. “It is nothing, Father. I am well.” She did her best to smile.

  “Lord Wentford?”

  The sound of his name sent a jolt of pain through heart. “We shall not see each other again. As I told you before, we are ill-matched in every way. I believe, he has finally come to see that.” She turned and moved toward the door, eager to escape her father’s watchful eyes and find solace in her bedchamber. “Good night, Father.”

  “I’m afraid I must disagree with you.”

  Agnes paused and turned to look over her shoulder. “Why would you say that?”

  Standing by the window, her father peeked out into the night, a slow smile coming to his face. “Because of the evidence before my very eyes,” he said, then turned around and smiled at her. “Unless my eyesight has deteriorated remarkably, I believe Lord Wentford is, at this very moment, climbing the steps to our door.”

  As though on cue, Agnes heard a knock echoing through the silent house.

  Her father smiled. “That should be him.”

  Agnes groaned, knowing that she was in no condition for a head-to-head with Lord Wentford. One look into his eyes and she would crumble, her resolve all but nonexistent.

  No, she could not allow that. She needed to be steadfast and hold the course. She needed to do this for herself. She needed to be strong.

  If only it did not seem like a futile attempt!

  Chapter Thirteen – A Matter of Happiness

  Stepping into the small entrance hall, Grant found Mr. Bottombrook walking toward him. A sympathetic look rested upon his face, his graying hair disheveled, and the glasses upon his nose slightly crooked. “Lord Wentford, how kind of you to visit us. Is there anyone in particular you came to see?” A smirk came to his face.

  Grant smiled. “Indeed, there is. I told her I would see her tomorrow, but I cannot wait.” The look upon Nessa’s face still lingered before his eyes, and he knew he would not get any sleep if he did not address her now. “I know it is late and rather unorthodox, but may I see her?”

  Mr. Bottombrook nodded. “You’ll find her in the drawing room.” He turned to step away, but then paused. “It is no small thing to upend one’s life, and Agnes has never been one to break with long-standing routines.” The corners of his mouth curled upward in a suggestive smile. “She might need a little push.”

  Grant liked Mr. Bottombrook dearly. Indeed, the man was warm and affectionate and kind and so very devoted to his daughter. It was something Grant had never experienced himself, but seeing it now, here, right in front of his eyes, he wished he had. “Thank you, sir. You have my word that I shall never do anything to cause her pain or distress.”

  Mr. Bottombrook patted his arm. “I know. I know.” Then he turned and headed up the stairs.

  Inhaling a deep breath to fortify himself for what lay ahead, Grant stepped toward the door and then across the threshold into the drawing room. He found Nessa standing by the window, her back to him, her shoulders slightly hunched. “What happened?” he asked, certain that something drastic had to have occurred for her to look at him so differently today.

  For a long moment, Nessa remained silent, her gaze fixed at something outside the window. Then she slowly turned around, her face slightly flushed and her hands clasped together. “Your mother said you are to marry Lady Elizabeth,” she said without preamble, her hazel eyes fixed upon him accusingly. “I know I should not be surprised. Still, I think it is very poor manners for you to court me in this way when you’re already promised to another.” She lifted her chin a fraction.

  Grant cursed under his breath. Perhaps he truly ought to have spoken to his mother, told her in no uncertain terms what his intentions were and that he would not under any circumstances marry Lady Elizabeth. “Yes, I have come to realize that my mother has certain intentions.” He moved toward her, hating the distance that lingered between them. He wanted that feeling of familiarity back, that feeling that had existed so easily between them the day before in the kitchen. “My mother has always been thus. As I told you before, when she looks at me, she sees an heir, someone to carry on the family name, someone to fulfil a role. Nothing more.”

  The tension in Nessa’s shoulders seemed to wane as she breathed out deeply. Grant could see that she was listening. He could see that she wanted to believe him. And yet, she did not. There was still suspicion in her eyes, suspicion and doubt.

  “Although I have
not known your father long,” Grant said, continuing toward her, “I can see that he adores you. He would never force your hand nor urge you or batter you to choose something you do not want, would he?”

  Nessa shook her head. “He would not.” Her eyes continued to rest upon his, something lurking in their depths, something that made Grant think that she wanted him to continue.

  “My mother is not like that. She has plans of her own, and she has a tendency to see them through. She does not care what I want, which is probably why she never once asked me.” He took the final step left between them, his hand slowly reaching out to wrap around hers, feeling the slight chill of her skin. “When I left here yesterday, I found Lady Hartridge and her daughter with my mother. She urged me to take a stroll in the gardens with Lady Elizabeth. I did not wish to be rude, and so I did.” He felt her hands tense as well as the urge to withdraw them. Grant, however, held on tightly, his gaze persistent upon hers. “I spoke honestly with Lady Elizabeth. I told her that my heart belonged to another. I told her about you, about the day we had shared together.” He smiled at her, seeing the desire to return that smile upon her face. “And in turn, she told me that she, too, has deep affections for someone. She would not tell me who he is. However, I soon came to suspect that it is my cousin, Pierce. Therefore, today, I urged him to ask her for a dance. It took some convincing because he is afflicted by severe self-doubt. He wonders why she would ever accept him as he is so far below her in station.”

  Nessa drew in a shuddering breath, her lashes blinking rapidly.

  Grant dipped his head, looking deeply into her eyes. “Does that sound familiar? Is that the way you feel? That I could not possibly love you because of something so very superficial as our stations in life, something determined by nothing but circumstance? Something that does not speak to our hearts?”