Her smile grew. “I find it fascinating how well you understand me when we have only recently met.”
“I wish I understood much more. Tell me about your family.” Edward leaned over, preparing a plate of an assortment of food for her as he listened.
“Harriett is the eldest child, and I am the second. Our parents had no sons. Just Harriett and me, and our kitten, Lilac.” She gestured at their chaperone. “My aunt and her husband live nearby, as well as another uncle of mine, one whose wife is no longer living. He is practically like a father to me. He quite enjoys treating his nieces like queens.”
Edward glanced up at her as he withdrew her plate from the basket. The way she spoke of her uncle reminded him of his own uncle, one who had passed away in recent years.
He studied her, noting that her smile seemed different, a more genuine nature to it as she spoke. The moment her gaze met his, her smile stiffened, turning decidedly more coy. She bit her lip as she looked at the plate. “How do you expect me to eat all of that, my lord?”
“You did say you loved pears.”
She laughed, a choppy, shrill sound. He wondered if he could bear listening to such a laugh for his entire life. It sounded false and manipulated.
“I do love them,” she said. “But I do not need twenty.”
“There are not twenty.” He counted the slices of pear on her plate. “Only thirteen.”
She laughed, a gentler sound than before. “I have never been very skilled at mathematics.”
“I enjoy mathematics,” Edward said.
Her brow raised in doubt. “You enjoy mathematics?”
Why had he admitted that he enjoyed such an intellectual thing? Society would not expect that he cared for anything but sociality and games. Apparently that was Miss Grace’s presumption of him. He wanted to ask her why it was so surprising, but thought better of it.
“I do.” He searched for a change of subject. He needed to set to work romancing her before she could regain her wits. “Do you enjoy dancing?”
“Dancing?” she looked at him with confusion, likely at the abrupt change of topic. “Yes, of course.”
He set down his plate, moving to stand in front of her. “I know this is not a ballroom…” he flashed a smile, “but would you honor me with a dance?”
Her surprise called out in every line of her face. She glanced at her aunt, who had turned herself away, her eyes fixed on the distant ocean. “There is no music.”
“You are wrong. There is music if you listen to the sea.” He extended his hand to her, fixing his gaze on hers. She placed her hand in his and he pulled her up. Giving her one final tug, he wrapped his other arm around her waist, bringing her close.
Her breath caught as her eyes flew to his. Her expression faltered in dismay before she replaced her smile, her eyelashes fluttering in obvious flirtation. Why did women always feel the need to blink so rapidly? He found it strangely irritating.
Raising their entwined hands to the side, he waited as she reluctantly rested her hand on his shoulder.
“A waltz?” Her throat bobbed with a nervous swallow.
He smiled, tipping his head down closer to hers as he took the first step in the square. Her feet followed, hesitant and slow. They turned to the sound of the distant waves as they splashed against the shore.
She gave a soft laugh, glancing down at their feet before returning her gaze to his. “I have never danced outside of a ballroom.”
“Nor have I,” he said, willing his eyes to convey sincerity. He needed Miss Grace to believe she was special, the sole recipient of his affections. As she stared up at him in obvious adoration, he wondered how much longer he would even need to continue with his act. She would likely accept his proposal if he offered it that very moment. He smiled inwardly. He was even more skilled than he thought.
“You are a talented dancer,” she said. “Even without music.”
“There is music,” he said. “The sea. Don’t you hear it?”
She turned her attention toward the nearby ocean, closing her eyes. He noted the dark sweep of her lashes and brows and smoothness of her complexion—the natural pinkness to her cheeks. He had chosen one of the most beautiful women of Brighton, he was certain. Even if her laugh was vexing and her motives for marrying him frustrating, at least he would not tire of looking upon her.
Miss Grace’s eyes popped opened. Her irises were such a dark brown that they were nearly indistinguishable from her pupils. But he was close enough to see the difference, and to see them shrink with the sudden increase of light. “I heard it,” she whispered, smiling.
He pressed his hand into the small of her back, bringing her even closer. “If music be the food of love, play on.”
Her face contorted in shock. “Shakespeare?”
“Twelfth Night, Orsino.”
She corrected her features, but he caught the sheen of surprise that crossed her face. “I thought you did not enjoy fictional stories,” she muttered.
“I did have a relentless tutor that forced me to read in my youth.” He chuckled, expecting her to laugh at his comment. But she remained silent, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. What had he done? “Is there something amiss?”
She tipped her face up to his, a fresh smile on her lips. “Nothing at all.”
Miss Grace puzzled him. Her countenance seemed to change more than the average woman. One moment she was outrightly flirtatious and the next she was rather serious. Even as he studied her face, her smile appeared somewhat forced. Even so, the dimple that it caused to appear on the left side of her chin was lovely to say the least.
“You ought not to smile at me so often,” he said. “You might tempt me to do something dishonorable.” If he had the audacity to kiss her now then she would marry him for certain. He considered the idea, but thought it nearly impossible to steal a kiss quickly enough to evade the eyes of her chaperone. When he did kiss her, he couldn’t afford for it to be quick. He needed to convince her to marry him, and a quick kiss would not showcase his talent at all.
She giggled as he released her waist, guiding her into a spin before bringing her back into his arms. He was pleased she had chosen a lenient chaperone. Her aunt scarcely even watched them, busy knitting away from a distance. If they were seen dancing so closely, his hand at her waist, her reputation would be compromised. But he had chosen an empty area of the gardens to entertain her, where no sneaking gossip could catch sight of them.
“Dishonorable? You do not strike me as a dishonorable man,” she said as their waltz brought them closer to a nearby rose bush.
“Perhaps you do not know me well enough.”
“I daresay you have never misused a woman and her emotions without the intention to marry her. I suspect you have never made promises of your affection and forgotten them. You seem to be a gentleman of an honorable sort.” She stared into his eyes, her own wide with innocence.
Edward’s jaw tightened. He wished she were right, but he knew his character to be quite the opposite. Before Miss Buxton had broken his heart, he had not realized how fragile a heart truly was. He had been careless with a number of young women, claiming their affection and more than his share of hearts, always viewing his pursuits as a game. Until he knew how it felt, he had been oblivious to the pain he had caused.
“Your estimation of my character is not entirely accurate,” he said before he could stop the words.
She blinked. “How so?”
“Well, I—” He stumbled for a response. “I am a gentleman of the most honorable sort.”
Her high-pitched laugh in close proximity to his ear came off even more unpleasant than before. “You are a terrible tease, my lord.”
He stopped their dance, giving her his most pleasant smile, forced as it was. “Does that make me less honorable?”
“No. It simply makes you more charming.” She drew out her words, her own voice low and alluring. Her eyes, sparking with intelligence, did not match the simpering behavior she was pe
rforming. He brushed aside his concerns. Miss Grace seemed to be smitten with him, determined to marry him and to claim his fortune. There was no point in prolonging their courtship.
They spent the next hour finishing their meal, talking of insignificant things, and Edward carried on with his act, eager for the day when their engagement was secure and he would no longer have to pretend her laugh did not vex him.
When they married, she wouldn’t genuinely love him, and he wouldn’t particularly care for her. They would marry for the purpose of his retained inheritance and her attained fortune. The sooner he could relieve himself of the pressure of his father’s requirement the better. As he considered her complete infatuation with him, he decided that a proposal the next day would without a doubt be happily received and accepted by Miss Grace.
As he returned her to her house, he stopped near the front door of her family’s modest home. After expressing his intention to see her the next day, he placed a passionate kiss on the back of her hand in farewell. Her cheeks flushed and she smiled as he took his leave. He waved from his seat atop his barouche as he steered his horses down the road.
The moment Edward was out of her line of sight, he slumped against the back of his seat, slackening his grip on the reins. Miss Grace was beautiful, and while he was proud of himself for securing her affection so quickly, it was bothersome how little effort it had required. It was as if she had no mind and will of her own, her smiles and laughter so easily given. In truth, he had expected more of a challenge.
But was this not what he wanted? To secure a simple-minded, pretty wife that would appease his parents and society’s demand? Yes. His brow furrowed as he tried to rid his mind of her harsh laugh. The moment they were engaged he would make it his goal to never make her laugh. He couldn’t possibly live with such a blasted sound in his ear every day.
Releasing a slow breath, he closed his eyes, a strong ache throbbing once again on his skull.
CHAPTER 5
T he moment Grace stepped through the door, she turned away from her aunt, barely controlling her urge to scoff in a manner that would challenge even Harriett’s display. Lord Ramsbury was infuriating! She wiped the back of her hand where he had kissed her against her skirts, willing the rate of her heart to slow. He was infuriating in many ways, but the most prevalent reason being that he still managed to affect her, even with his obtuse efforts to woo her.
He was more skilled than she remembered.
“Thank you for chaperoning me, Aunt Christine,” Grace said, forcing a smile of gratitude to her cheeks.
Aunt Christine, the prim woman that she was, withdrew her fan, batting it at her neck as she spoke. “He does seem quite attached to you. A proposal is in order if he continues with his attention. You must tread carefully. If he were to stop his pursuit of you now your reputation will suffer. And I don’t suspect a man like Lord Ramsbury would bat an eye at tarnishing your reputation.”
Grace had left out the detail that she did not intend to ever marry him. She had withheld that detail from everyone who knew of her excursion with Lord Ramsbury that day, including her parents. Her mother and father had been shocked to hear of her new courtship, already knowing of her distaste for Lord Ramsbury. She had managed to convince them that he seemed to be an improved man, though she didn’t believe it. They had then expressed their exuberant approval of the match.
She would hate to disappoint them.
“Do you think he will propose?” Grace asked Aunt Christine as they walked toward the drawing room.
“It appears that way.” Her aunt snapped her fan shut in surprise at the sight of her brother, Grace’s widowed uncle, standing near the pianoforte.
“Uncle Cornelius!” Grace smiled. “I did not expect to see you here.”
He stepped forward with a grin. “I heard a rumor about a certain courtship, and I could not bear the thought of remaining at home without discovering all the details.”
Uncle Cornelius was the respectable Baron of Hove, the eldest brother of Grace’s mother and Aunt Christine. Since his wife had passed away five years previous, he spent most of his days devoted to his family to fill the void of loneliness in his life. His marriage had brought no children, so he treated Grace and Harriett as his own daughters. He was the most eccentric member of their family, and Grace would not have it any other way.
His yellow waistcoat stretched across his rounded belly. As he smoothed the wrinkles from it, he slipped his hand into his jacked with a gasp. “Oh! What could this be?” His blue eyes sparkled with mirth, his eyebrows raising nearly high enough to surpass his receding hairline. Withdrawing his hand, he pulled out a small box, complete with a pink ribbon.
Grace laughed. “What is it?”
“A gift for you, my dear.” He smiled, extending the box to her. “A lady’s first courtship is to be celebrated, especially when it involves a future earl.” He winked.
“You are too generous!” Grace took the box, guilt twisting in her stomach. How dejected her family would be when she refused Lord Ramsbury’s proposal. If one came, of course. Grace still suspected he was toying with her.
She threw her uncle a look of gratitude as she untied the ribbon, lifting the lid from the box. Resting inside on a pillow of silk was a delicate necklace. The slim chain donned a small green pendant, sparkling in the well-lit room.
“It is lovely, thank you, Uncle. I will treasure it always.”
His smile stretched wide. “Do not tell Harriett. I suspect she will be envious. When she begins her first courtship I will have the town jeweler design one to match.”
Grace closed the box, looking up with a grin. “Not to worry, I have no doubt she will begin courting very soon.” Excitement surged in her chest at the thought of Harriett and Mr. Harrison together. The romantic within her sighed with contentment. If Grace won the wager it would all be worth it to see Harriett courting William.
Uncle Cornelius’s eyes grew wide, the blue almost as piercing as Lord Ramsbury’s. As Grace thought of Lord Ramsbury’s eyes, her heart gave a wayward leap. Why must he be so handsome? Everything would be much easier if he resembled a toad.
“Who is the man that has captured Harriett’s attention?” Uncle Cornelius prodded. “Please tell me so I may determine if he wins my approval or not.”
“Do you approve of Lord Ramsbury?” Grace asked, puzzled. Uncle Cornelius was fully aware of Lord Ramsbury’s somewhat unscrupulous ways.
Her uncle tapped his chin, deep wrinkles creasing the sides of his eyes as he smiled. “I have only met him briefly, so most of what I know of him comes from the gossip of society. Often that is very different from the truth. Surely you know him better than I. And you are a very intelligent young lady; I trust you would not let an attachment develop with a man that is not worthy of you. Perhaps I will invite him to dinner at my home,” he mused. “Then I may decipher his character more fully.”
Grace had just spent hours with Lord Ramsbury away from the public, and he had still been superficial and pompous. Was he even capable of deep and meaningful thought? He seemed to be putting forth an elaborate act, as if his every word and motion were the product of a performance, meant for an audience, even when she had been the only spectator. But was that not what she was doing? Putting forth an act before him? The difference was that she had a reason. Lord Ramsbury simply was not capable of being genuine.
Annoyance flared inside her. She couldn’t imagine ever marrying a man like him. She pitied the woman that he would one day marry, grateful it wouldn’t be her.
Looking down at the box in her hand, she gave a soft smile. “From what I have seen of Lord Ramsbury I know him to be a very good man, indeed.”
“Then I approve with all of my heart,” Uncle Cornelius said with a chuckle. “But you did not answer my question. Who is the man that has caught Harriett’s eye?”
Grace looked up, unable to stop her smile. “Mr. William Harrison. Do you know of him?”
Her uncle gasped in his dramatic
way, his chest swelling with the inhalation, spreading his waistcoat buttons even wider. “You cannot be serious, my dear! I have been wishing for Harriett to court Mr. Harrison since they were children. He has become such an agreeable man.”
Aunt Christine cleared her throat, a smile threatening her prim expression. “As have I. I daresay they are a perfect match.”
Grace couldn’t stop her squeal. She clapped her hands together, bouncing on her toes. “I knew I could not be the only one who felt this way. But I must be candid. Harriett is not interested in courting Mr. Harrison.”
Uncle Cornelius frowned. “Why ever not?”
“You must consult Harriett for an answer on the subject. I do not understand it.” Grace smiled at the thought of Harriett’s dismay when Uncle Cornelius and Aunt Christine would begin expressing their endorsements of Mr. Harrison too.
Her smile quickly fled when she remembered that Lord Ramsbury would be paying her another visit the next day. Blast it. What did he have planned this time? She hoped it would be short. She didn’t know how many more coy smiles she could bring to her face without breaking her act. For a man that she once decided to never see again, she was seeing him quite often.
But all she needed was his proposal. The day he proposed she could bid him farewell forever. It would be a glorious day, indeed.
If it ever came, of course.
With the dread of seeing Lord Ramsbury, Grace had been unable to sleep. She awoke the next morning, her hair disheveled, her eyes swollen, but with her focus increased. When she saw Lord Ramsbury that day she would need to ensure his affection and secure a proposal for herself. She could not carry on with her exhausting act any longer.
Leaping from her bed, she readied herself quickly without waiting for assistance, choosing an ivory morning dress. She and Harriett had come to share their mother’s maid, for her parents had dismissed much of the household when their finances had been under pressure a few weeks previous. Her parents would not speak of the distress in clearer terms, leaving Grace and Harriett in the dark. Their pin money had been decreasing as well. She wondered if losing their pin money altogether was a possibility. If that happened then Harriett’s incentive in their bargain would be nonexistent.
Romancing Lord Ramsbury: A Regency Romance (Brides of Brighton Book 3) Page 5
