The Temptation of Grace

by Kristin Vayden

  Returning to the place that should have been called home, but never felt like it.

  No. Prison would have been a better description.

  With shackles that he still wore, regardless of where he lived.

  Shackles with his father’s name engraved on every inch.

  Chapter Eleven

  “He’s a bloody fool.”

  Grace sipped her tea quietly as Viscount Kilpatrick sat back on the sofa with a disgruntled expression.

  “Perhaps it’s for the best?” Samantha asked delicately as she set her teacup down on the coffee table.

  “I’ve never met a man so bent on self-punishment. As if his father didn’t give him enough of it growing up.” Heathcliff wiped a hand down his face. “Of all the places in all the world, he returns to his prison.”

  Samantha’s brow pinched and she laid a soft hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Could it be that he needs to face his demons rather than run from them?”

  The viscount blinked, then bit his lip as if considering her words. “That may be, but not alone.”

  “With whom?” Samantha asked. “It’s been five years, that’s not an overmuch amount of time, but it is significant enough to gain perspective.”

  “True, but I doubt he’s gained said perspective.”

  “That may be the case, but he may gain it upon his return,” Samantha replied.

  Grace held her peace, listening with attentiveness to the conversation. Ever since Lord Sterling had sent the missive on his departure to the viscount, this had been a common conversation. She was pleased to have the viscount and Samantha feel the liberty to have such an open discussion in her company, and it continued to feed her curiosity concerning the quandary that was Lord Sterling.

  “Enough. If we don’t hear from him in a month’s time, I’ll send word.”

  “Word of?” Samantha asked, a small smile teasing her lips. “Will you demand he come back to London?”

  “Yes. I’d be so bold as to mention as such. But I find it highly unlikely he will remain gone that long. We shall see.” He sighed, as if using the deep breath to conclude the conversation, and then turned to Grace. “Well, do you think we shall have as many callers today as we have had the past few days? It seems as if you have a loyal following amongst the eligible men.” He gave her an approving smile.

  “It would seem as if my luck is holding fast . . . for the moment.” She dipped a shoulder.

  “When we attend the Rinehardt ball this evening, I dare say you won’t sit out even a single dance,” Samantha asserted, a knowing smile peeking over her teacup as she sipped.

  “Perhaps. But it is dreadfully hard to get to know the character of these men from a single dance or from one afternoon’s conversation.”

  “What do you wish to know? Tell me your favorites and I’ll dispatch John to find out the necessary information on the gentlemen in question.” Heathcliff leaned forward, a determined gleam in his eye.

  “I thank you, but so far I have no favorites. But when I do I’ll certainly take you up on your kind offer.”

  “Remember this, Miss Grace. It is always who you know,” the viscount said significantly.

  “I’ll try to remember that,” Grace replied.

  “It’s almost time for our at-home hours. Do you wish to change before you hold court?” Samantha asked, teasing Grace with her words.

  Grace grinned in reply. Samantha was enjoying the success of her former charge, and it was gratifying to Grace to know she had met and even perhaps exceeded her expectations. “What do you suggest?”

  Samantha tipped her chin thoughtfully as she stood. “Your green day dress should do nicely. It will complement your eyes.”

  “Done,” Grace replied, standing as well to take her leave and change.

  It was less than an hour later that Grace was in a different parlor, speaking with no less than three gentlemen who had come to call upon her.

  They were witty, kind, and even handsome.

  Yet, if pressed, she could hardly remember their names.

  Because amongst all things, they were forgettable. None of them sparked her curiosity, and in turn, didn’t spark her fancy.

  It was the same that evening at the Rinehardt ball. Just as Samantha predicted, her dance card was quite full and she entertained several gentlemen in conversation between dances. Lord Reinhardt’s son was amongst their ranks, and he seemed the most promising, but again she didn’t feel as though her tender feelings were engaged.

  Was it wrong to want something more than just a flicker of flattery from a gentleman’s attention? She knew it was nearly ungrateful to have the attention of suitors and not appreciate it, but she was . . . well, bored.

  There was no adventure.

  No mystery.

  There wasn’t even a true sense of emotion.

  Even the colors were muted, in shades of pastel and white, and she wondered if maybe that was to be her life.

  She should want it. She should be thankful and agreeable and settle down with a nice, titled gentleman who could provide for her and their children. There was nothing wrong with such a thing.

  But there wasn’t anything right about it either.

  So it was that after the Rinehardt ball that she made the choice to speak with Samantha.

  Because if anyone knew about taking a risk, it was she.

  And Grace was just reckless enough to try something, if not adventuresome, then most certainly stupid.

  And it would either make or break her.

  But how can someone ever find out if they can fly, if they can reach higher, unless they actually try?

  So it was with not a small amount of trepidation that Grace requested the company of Samantha in the green parlor after tea. It was an uncommonly beautiful day in London, and Grace started to second-guess her decision to stay indoors.

  Samantha walked into the room, her lips bending into a welcoming smile as she met Grace’s gaze. “Good afternoon, dear.”

  Grace stood and returned the greeting. But rather than sit, she started to walk about the room, collecting her thoughts as if they had run away from her.

  “Ah, this must be serious if you’re pacing,” Samantha said, taking a seat as if nothing in the world were amiss. And, actually, nothing was wrong, but Grace felt as if things were in disarray. She should be happy with such attentions, yet she felt even more ill at ease as she thought about them. Was it so wrong to want more? She had to start the conversation, but how? She bit her lip.

  “First you should take a deep breath,” Samantha replied. “Then start from the beginning. I do not imagine it is truly terrible.”

  Grace took the encouraged breath, and then turned to face her former governess. “I feel . . . ungrateful.”

  Samantha didn’t reply, but simply waited.

  Grace continued her pacing where she left off. “I should be thankful to have the attentions of even one, let alone as many suitors as have shown interest and yet I find the prospect of their interest less than welcome. I do not wish to be a burden to you or the viscount by being under your guardianship for long. I realize that it is a great service to me that you are taking such great pains to find me a suitable husband and not just marrying me off to the first available gentleman—”

  “We would never do such a thing!” Samantha interjected.

  “And that is to your profound credit, but I do not feel equal to such credit as you offer because I cannot find even one of the men in question the least bit fascinating. I’m bored with them all, which sounds horribly ungrateful and even imprudent. But I . . . I saw my parents’ marriage and they not only loved one another, but they liked each other too. They spent all their time together, traveling, exploring, having one adventure after another, and even when it wouldn’t turn out like they planned, it would be alright, because they were together. Then I see you and the viscount and the deep affection you have for each other, and I do not want to miss out on such a blessing.” Grace took a deep breath, conscious
that she was rambling.

  “Why don’t you wait a moment and sit down,” Samantha encouraged.

  Grace all but flopped into a chair in her exasperation with herself.

  Samantha arched a brow but didn’t offer any reproof to her behavior. “You are not being ungrateful; you are learning that this isn’t as simple as you imagined.”

  Grace tipped her head, considering her words. Never once had she thought it simple, but her attention was stressed on the formalities that she was to perfect—the dancing, the curtsey, and the like—not on the gentlemen involved. She rather assumed that if any were interested in her, she would be pleased. Simple as that.

  Or rather, not as simple as that.

  Samantha continued, “The viscount and I have spoken on this topic at length, and neither of us are inclined to have you enter marriage on so small a temptation as mere flattery of receiving an offer. To have your adventuresome spirit not attain its potential would be a tragedy. So, take it from me, you have more than adequate time to find a suitor whom you can both love and find equal to your challenge. We would have you do nothing less.” Samantha folded her hands on her lap and gave a small smile. “Now then, was there anything else?”

  Grace frowned slightly. “No, it was simply . . . that.”

  “Good, then. I suggest you take advantage of this beautiful day and take the opportunity to explore Hyde Park. Be sure to take Regina or another maid with you when you embark, however. Propriety and all,” Samantha reminded gently.

  “Of course,” Grace replied, still quite surprised at the neat way Samantha had tidied up all her mixed emotions.

  “Good day, then.” Samantha stood, reached over, squeezed her hand, and then quit the room, leaving Grace still somewhat surprised at the quickness of the conversation that she had been so loathe to begin.

  A bird’s song came from the direction of the window, effectively distracting Grace from her musings, and as she noted the sunshine, she spun on her heel to go and change into a walking dress.

  Samantha was correct in many things; however, at the moment she was most inclined to obey her suggestion to get some air at the park.

  A half hour later, Grace ambled through the streets of Mayfair with Sally at her heels accompanying her. Regina was otherwise engaged with other duties, and Sally was perfectly happy to chaperone the occasion. The sunlight filtered through the leaves of the birch trees, and even the hedgerows seemed a brighter green. A few sparrows darted across the sky, adding to the merriment of the walk, and for the first time in several weeks, Grace was at peace.

  She was still striving to comprehend the degree of understanding Samantha had given her earlier; it was a gift of the most precious variety. It had utterly set her free from the stress she’d put herself under, and now it seemed as if the future held more promise.

  Or at least, more promise than anxiety.

  She would take whatever she could get.

  It wasn’t a long walk to Hyde Park, and as she wound around the final bend she crossed Park Lane, and entered through a gate of some importance. The park was humming with activity, with ladies riding their horses at a sedate pace while gentlemen ambled about, conversation abounding between the two sexes. It was as much of a meeting place as the London Ballroom, Grace decided. And far more beautiful as well. She started down the path that indicated it led toward the Serpentine, and used the moments to be a student to human nature. A gentleman kissed a lady’s hand, smiling charmingly as he released her, and Grace felt a grin tip her lips as the lady seemed to simper—Grace was too far away to see much detail—and appreciate the attention. Just then a pair of doves flew overhead, in pursuit of each other.

  It most certainly was the season for love.

  Pity she was already bored with the London season.

  Grace continued in that manner for several minutes, taking in the behavior of the people in the park as well as the wildlife when she heard a shout. Curious, she turned to see a gentleman chasing a runaway horse. The beautiful animal was obviously riderless and cantering in her direction. She paused, indecision freezing her as she debated whether to zig or zag, when she was lifted from behind and carried several feet from where she had stood. The horse thundered by, and Grace spun around the moment the strong arms left her waist.

  “A thousand apologies, my lady.” The gentleman nodded and took a step back to give her room. “I wasn’t sure if you were going to move, and I didn’t want to risk your injury.” He lowered his eyes for a moment, then met her gaze with the full regard of his own. Deep blue eyes studied her, his expression properly apologetic. Grace couldn’t fault his decision so she simply smoothed her skirt and nodded.

  “No apology is necessary,” she replied, but, oh my, his eyes were fascinating. Just light enough to see the color, but dark enough to hide whatever thoughts spun through his mind. Immediately her fancy was caught, and rather than find a way to excuse herself, she sought for a way to keep him in company.

  Belatedly, she realized that an introduction would be the next step, but he had already anticipated such a step.

  “Forgive me. I haven’t even given my name. I’m Julian Lambton, sixth Earl of Westhouse. It is a pleasure to meet you . . .”

  “Grace. Miss Grace Morgan.” Grace spoke smoothly, for once not stuttering under pressure. She silently congratulated herself.

  “A pleasure, Miss Grace Morgan.” He bowed crisply.

  Grace curtsied in return, all the while thinking of something suitable to say to extend the conversation. “I do believe a thank you is in order. I was quite surprised by the charging animal and I was debating on whether to zig or zag, but my deliberation halted my progress. Thank you for your help.”

  “It was of no consequence.” He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, and then seemed to consider whatever he was thinking about saying. “Would . . . would you like to take a turn about the park with me?”

  Grace grinned, unable to restrain her enthusiasm. “Of course. As I have not had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, I’m sure there are plenty of conversational topics we can explore.”

  He gave a small chuckle. “Quite true. Why don’t you start with your family? I don’t believe I’ve heard of the Morgans,” Lord Westhouse said as he extended his arm to her.

  Grace took it, feeling a jolt of electricity hum through her at the contact. Her lips twitched in delight. “I’m originally from Matlock, but my family didn’t keep residence there. We traveled much of my childhood. This is my first time to London.”

  “Ah, and how do you find it? Is it to your liking?” he asked, all gentlemanly manners.

  Grace inwardly sighed. Though it was a natural question to ask, she would really rather people stop asking it. It put her in the most horrid position of lying, or at the very least, telling a half-truth. But as she turned to Lord Westhouse to answer, she decided that perhaps London wasn’t so bad after all.

  “It improves more each day,” she replied, conscious that her words could be taken as a flirtation.

  Samantha would be proud.

  “Ha! A very cautious answer. Are your parents in residence?” He moved on in the conversation.

  Grace was just evaluating his height. He was not as tall as the viscount, and not nearly the height of Lord Sterling, but he wasn’t short either. Somewhere in the middle.

  Somewhere just right.

  But his inquiry into her parents sent a pang of sorrow through her heart and her gaze fell to the path before them. “They passed almost two years ago.”

  “My condolences. I should not have asked,” he added kindly.

  Her gaze shot up to his. “How could you have known? Please, I’m much too even tempered a person to be so willing to blame others for what they cannot have foreseen.” She gave a small, brave smile.

  “I shall remember that.” His blue eyes sparkled when he smiled, and Grace was very pleased in saying something that provoked such a reaction.

  “And what of you? Do you live in London?�
�� she asked, returning to the conversation.

  “That I do, my lady. I’m quite fond of it here, especially on beautiful days such as these,” he added.

  “Oh yes, today is lovely. It’s why my guardian suggested I take in the air. We walked quite often when were in residence in Scotland, but I haven’t had the pleasure as much since we’ve arrived in London.”

  “Scotland, you say?” He glanced to her, awaiting confirmation. “Who is your guardian, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “Certainly not. It’s the Viscount Kilpatrick,” she answered. His brow furrowed for a moment then smoothed out as if it never happened.

  “I see. I’m assuming he’s in residence then?”

  Grace thought this was a strange question. If she were in London, then it would follow that her guardian would be as well. She filed the oddity away in her mind and answered.

  “Yes, he and his wife are in residence.”

  “Will you be attending the Morris ball tomorrow night?” he asked, his tone kind and warm.

  Flattered that he would inquire to her social schedule, she nodded. “Indeed.”

  “Would it be overly presumptuous to request a dance?” he asked, turning to meet her gaze.

  “Not at all. You did save me from a runaway horse,” she added, mentally rolling her eyes at how silly it sounded, regardless of its truth.

  “Ah, then I’d almost think that such a feat deserves maybe . . . two dances?” he stated boldly, his white smile distracting against the olive tone of his skin.

  Grace took a moment to appreciate his handsome features, from his chestnut hair to the full spread of his smile. For a moment she deliberated on how to answer.

  “We will have to find out, won’t we?” she answered vaguely, hoping it would come across as sophisticated and flirtatious rather than awkward and unsure.

  She must have done it right, because Lord Westhouse chuckled, kissed her hand, and then begged his leave of her, with a promise that he would be looking forward to the ball with great anticipation.

  Grace watched him depart, her smile wide and free.

  Perhaps the suitors she’d found tedious only meant that she hadn’t yet met the right one.