After securing her hair in a knot at the crown of her head, she walked down the staircase toward the library, hoping to find a book to distract her from her racing thoughts. She assumed Lord Ramsbury would be calling on her in the afternoon once again, so she would have time to prepare herself more fully before his arrival.
As she reached the base of the staircase, she found Harriett standing in the dark of the adjacent hallway, her ear pressed against the door of their father’s study.
“Harriett,” Grace whispered as she moved down the hall. If her sister was caught eavesdropping on their father’s private conversation, she would be in dire trouble.
Her sister jumped, moving away from the door. She put a finger to her lips, eyes wide, motioning with her other hand for Grace to retreat to the entry hall.
Grace frowned, walking closer to the door. “What are you do—” Harriett slapped her hand over Grace’s mouth, pulling her in the opposite direction with surprising force. Struggling to free herself, Grace scratched at Harriett’s arm, pulling her face away from her sister’s grip.
“What are you doing?” Grace’s voice echoed loud under the tall ceiling.
Harriett’s eyes grew wide. “Hush!” she whispered. “Lord Ramsbury is in the study with Papa.”
Grace’s stomach flipped. “Truly?”
“Yes.” Harriett crossed her arms, glancing to her left down the hallway. “I was able to overhear a small part of their discussion.”
“What did you hear?” Grace’s thoughts spun too quickly to comprehend each individual one.
“He is requesting your hand in marriage.”
Grace’s jaw came unhinged, falling open in astonishment. “You cannot be serious.”
“Do I appear to be jesting?” Her sister’s voice came out dull, dripping with irritation. She certainly did not appear to be jesting.
Grace gasped, covering her mouth with both hands. “I cannot believe that he would already propose. Perhaps I am more skilled than I thought.” She let out a quiet squeal. “You must admit that I am indeed an expert in romance, and that you will now begin courting Mr. Harrison.”
A look of intense worry overtook her sister’s features. Grace rarely saw her so uncollected. “I cannot believe it either,” she whispered. “You have managed to effectively romance Lord Ramsbury. I never thought it possible.” Her fingers fiddled with the ribbon at her waist, a rueful scowl touching her forehead. “Would you consider only taking my pin money and sparing me the misfortune of courting Wil—Mr. Harrison?”
Grace frowned. “That was not part of our wager.”
“Please, Grace.” She begged with her eyes, and Grace wondered if she would fall to her knees.
“Absolutely not. That is the only reason I have endured Lord Ramsbury’s company these last two days. The wager was your idea, after all.”
Harriett grumbled something intelligible under her breath, smoothing back her golden curls. “I cannot marry a man of little fortune. At least you have a perfectly eligible and wealthy man in the study that wishes to marry you.”
Grace shook her head in revulsion. “No. I could never marry a man I do not love. Or even tolerate. At least you will find love as a result of our wager. You will have Mr. Harrison soon.”
Harriett let out a long sigh of exasperation, dragging her nails down her cheeks. She seemed to decide against protesting, knowing the effort to be futile, for Lord Ramsbury was about to propose.
Lord Ramsbury was about to propose.
“How shall I respond?” Grace asked, panic rising in her voice. “A simple ‘no?’ Or shall I offer him a thorough explanation of my reasoning? That would be much more satisfying.”
Harriett held onto her expression of frustration for the shortest moment before her eyes brightened in mischief. “No, you mustn’t offer him any explanation. It will be far more tortuous if you make him wonder.”
“Papa will be disappointed when I reject him.” Grace glanced at the closed door of the study, feeling as if a brood of hens had begun running in circles within her stomach.
“He will understand. You need only explain that you do not find Lord Ramsbury amiable, and Papa will express his firm accord, and assist you in finding a better match. It is Mama you must be worried about. She will claim that your books have given you unrealistic hopes.”
Grace nodded, the nervous fluttering of her stomach never ceasing. Her mother would certainly be distressed with Grace’s rejection. She always did blame Grace’s lack of interest in the men of Brighton on her reading. It was not that Grace was too selective in her choice of a husband, in fact, she had narrowed her list of requirements to three items. She wanted a man that was kind and honorable, one that could make her laugh—laugh until her sides ached and tears pooled in her eyes—and a man that set her heart racing—that occupied her thoughts when they were apart, and brought a smile to her face at the mere thought of him.
The man that waited in the study did not cross any of these items off her list. Well, at least not entirely. Lord Ramsbury did set her heart racing, but only because she used to fancy him. Old feelings were not easily disposed of.
Harriett tugged on Grace’s arm, pulling her away from her contemplation. “Now, let us make a place in the drawing room with Mama and prepare her for the news. When Lord Ramsbury requests a private audience with you she will be quite shocked. But not as shocked as she will be to hear you reject him.”
With one more glance at the closed door of the study, Grace followed Harriett through the entry hall and toward the drawing room. She couldn’t comprehend that in a few short minutes Lord Ramsbury would be alone with her, expressing his desire to make her his wife. Two days? She had never heard of a man proposing after two days.
And she would have never predicted Lord Ramsbury to be the first.
“Grace, what is the matter?” her mother asked as they entered the room, her hands freezing around her knitting needles.
Grace’s mother had a keen sense for the emotions of her daughters, as if she were experiencing them for herself. It had always astonished Grace that her mother could detect her unrest from one quick glance. She did not always care, but she always noticed.
“Lord Ramsbury is here,” Grace said.
Her mother’s mouth opened in surprise. “He cannot possibly plan to—”
“Propose?” Harriet said. “Yes, I believe he does.”
“How extraordinary.” Her mother flung her knitting to the opposite side of the sofa, standing to meet her daughters in the center of the room. The skirts of her green taffeta gown rustled loudly with the swift motion, adding to her flustered aura. Her brown eyes glowed with pride as she touched Grace’s cheek. “Oh, my dear Grace. You will be a lovely bride. Are you certain you wish to marry him? Heavens, just weeks ago you were speaking of your distaste for the man.”
Harriett stifled a laugh, masking it with a polite cough.
Grace searched for a proper response, unsettled by the tears of delight in her mother’s eyes. “I am not certain, Mama. This does all seem rather sudden.” She chewed her nail, hoping to give her mother some indication of her pending refusal.
“Sudden, yes. But quite fortuitous.”
The door clicked open behind them. Grace jumped, her pulse racing as she turned toward the doorway. Her father stood under the frame, nearly filling the space with his broad shoulders. His dark hair, speckled in gray, nearly brushed the top of the doorway as he entered. Lord Ramsbury was a robust man, but compared to her father he fell short. Grace wondered if Lord Ramsbury had been intimidated to meet with him that morning.
All to receive a rejection.
Her father cleared his throat, his stoic expression never failing. Lord Ramsbury appeared behind him in the hall, meeting Grace’s eyes with clear admiration. She had to look away. There would be no need for her act to continue.
“Lord Ramsbury wishes for a private audience with Grace,” her father said, stepping away from the door, allowing Lord Ramsbury to enter and h
er mother and Harriett to exit.
Grace swallowed, her throat dry. Lord Ramsbury took three slow paces toward her, his deep-set eyes staring into hers. His dark blonde hair shone golden against the morning sunlight as it filtered past the drapes, his deep blue waistcoat bringing depth to the color of his eyes. She didn’t notice her father’s exit until the door clicked shut, leaving her alone with Lord Ramsbury.
Her heart thudded as he approached, stopping just one pace away. She focused her gaze on the dust motes that floated in the air near the window, counting to ten in her mind as she awaited his words. His voice, low and deliberate, cut through the silence. “Miss Grace, I—”
“No.” She looked away from the floating dust, holding his gaze with effort.
He stopped, a scowl marking his brow. He exhaled in a failed attempt at a laugh. “Pardon me? You did not allow me to finish. I—”
“You do not need to finish, my lord.” She offered him a smile. “I will not force you to waste your words of fondness on me any longer. If you mean to offer a proposal of marriage, you must understand that my answer is no. I will not waste your time.”
She waited for the look of disappointment in his expression, but all she saw was intense surprise. “No?”
“An emphatic no, my lord.”
He blinked, his brow tightening. He pinched the bridge of his nose, squinting his eyes shut. Grace watched him, willing her expression to remain unaffected by her satisfaction. He stood there for a long moment in silence before his eyes opened, a flash of blue. “You are serious?”
She nodded, pressing her lips together. To emphasize her disinterest, she wandered to the sofa, taking up her mother’s knitting needles. He would be shocked by her rudeness, to be sure. Let him be shocked. Let him think me rude. Grace wrapped the wine colored yarn around the needles, soaking in the silence she had stricken Lord Ramsbury with. It was quite enjoyable.
He gave a hard laugh of disbelief. “Why, pray tell, do you refuse?”
Her mind raced in search of a response. She could think of many reasons, but decided to make him wonder as Harriett had suggested. Shrugging one shoulder, she continued with her knitting, adding a row of loops to the shawl her mother had been constructing.
Lord Ramsbury’s boots clicked quickly against the floor, and she looked up just in time to see his hand reach down and steal the yarn and needles right from her grasp.
She glared up at him, no longer attempting to appear polite. She jumped to her feet and turned toward the nearby window. It was covered almost completely in dark greenery from outside, only a hint of the nearby gardens peeking through. “If you think stealing my knitting will make me inclined to provide you with an explanation, you are mistaken, my lord.”
She grinned before realizing that Lord Ramsbury would see her triumphant smile reflected clearly on the darkened glass of the window.
He stepped closer—she heard the rustle of his movement.
Mending her expression, she turned to face him, shocked to find him so close. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowed. She leaned against the windowsill, hoping to put more distance between them, but it only seemed to encourage him to move closer.
“My lord—”
“Why do you refuse?” he repeated.
Vexation surged within her. She reminded herself that she was no longer required to act her part. “Why do you find my refusal so shocking? You cannot expect every woman you meet to fall madly in love with you.”
As her words echoed in the room, harsh and loud, he stared down at her as if she were a foreign creature. “I didn’t expect that you loved me. I thought you might agree to marry me because you sought the honor of my title.”
“There would be no honor in marrying you.”
The confusion intensified in his brow, and he muttered illegible words under his breath. “I’m afraid I do not understand.”
“I think my answer was very forthright,” she said, giving him her sweetest smile.
“If you are so put off by my offer, then why did you behave so…”
“So much like you?”
Annoyance flared in his eyes and his jaw tightened. Grace studied his face. He did not show any sign of sadness or dejection as she imagined a broken-hearted man would appear. It seemed she had been correct in assuming she had only been his next flirtation—he did not have any true feelings for her. Then why did he come to propose at all? It didn’t make sense.
“To which behavior of mine are you referring?” he grumbled.
“Your complete disregard for the feelings of the women you pursue. Your senseless flirtation and impudence.” Grace clamped her mouth shut before she could say more.
Lord Ramsbury sucked in his cheeks, shaking his head to himself before tipping his face down closer to hers. Her breath hitched, sending her heart into an allegro. Why did she let him affect her composure? She was not sixteen any longer.
Determined to escape, she took a step to the side, toward the nearby sofa. He stopped her, planting both his hands against the window on either side of her arms. She scowled up at him, a stark contrast to her previous smiles.
“Was your receipt of my attention only an effort to spite me?” he asked, astonishment in his eyes.
Grace sighed, crossing her own arms. She couldn’t admit it, no matter how badly she wanted to. “Please, do not flatter yourself. I was simply enjoying a meaningless flirtation, just as you enjoy spending your days. As a man, your reputation would never suffer from it, but as a woman, mine very well may. I thought to flirt with you would be harmless. I never thought you would offer a proposal at all.”
“I never did offer a proposal. You didn’t allow me to speak.” He frowned. “Why did you assume I would never propose to you?”
“Let me away from the window and perhaps I’ll answer.” Grace gave a deliberate glance at his arms, trapping her more near to him than she ever would have liked. Or at least that she told herself not to like.
He dropped his hands, letting them fall at his sides. He raised his eyebrows for her to continue.
She stepped away from him, moving to a place near the pianoforte several feet away. “To propose to a woman would imply that you intended to marry her. To marry a woman would imply that you intend to love that woman, and that woman alone, for the remainder of your life.”
He leaned against the wall, a weary look in his eyes. “I’m aware of what it means to marry.”
“Are you aware of what it means to toy with the feelings of another? I hope I have shown you the suffering it can bring.”
He laughed. “Do you think you have toyed with my feelings?”
Grace had not expected him to laugh. She fiddled with the fabric of her skirts, willing herself to appear confident. “Did I not?”
“No.”
Grace’s stomach fell. “No?”
He smirked. “An emphatic no, Miss Grace.”
Anger boiled in her chest, heating her cheeks. This was not the victorious moment she had anticipated. Lord Ramsbury’s confusion had quickly transformed to amusement, and she had not intended to amuse him. But she still didn’t understand why he had taken his acquaintance with her so far if she was simply a game to him.
“Then why did you propose?” she asked.
“First explain why you led me to believe you welcomed my proposal.”
Grace blew out a puff of air. “You will think little of me, my lord.”
“I already do.”
She glared at him, his words stinging deep within her. “I will not explain it all to you. To put it simply, I was involved in a wager with my sister that required that I gain a proposal of marriage from you.”
He raised his brows. “Was it required that you decline?”
She scoffed. “That was entirely my decision.”
Lord Ramsbury’s pride flared, visible in the annoyance that covered his face. “Do you realize the living you are declining?”
“Yes. I also realize the sort of man I am declining.”<
br />
His expression shifted, real hurt flashing in his eyes. Grace’s heart pinched with guilt at the sight of it. She hadn’t meant to speak so freely.
“You do not know me,” he said finally. “What convinced you to believe that I am so unworthy?”
Grace had imagined herself telling him so many times—the satisfaction she would find in bringing all the faults of his character to his attention. But as she stood before him now, she couldn’t find the words.
“We have met before,” she said, her voice hardening. “You knowingly toyed with my emotions and then abandoned me.”
He squinted at her face, recognition flashing in his eyes. “You did look familiar. I was certain we had met but could not place the moment.”
“The Livingston’s summer ball, three years ago. A young girl does not forget such careless treatment.”
“Well, that is certainly obvious.”
Grace gasped, planting her hands on her hips. “Have you no apology to make?”
He shrugged, the devil-may-care grin on his lips infuriating. “I cannot blame myself for pursuing you those years ago, not if you were by any measure as beautiful as you are now.”
She ignored his comment, unwilling to believe any word of flattery he spoke. “For one evening, you led me to believe I was the most important woman in the ballroom. You led me to believe I had an opportunity to court the future Earl of Coventry, to step into society in such brilliant light.” Grace stopped her words there. She was not going to admit that he had haunted her thoughts and dreams for months, his devastating smile and blue eyes never leaving her mind. Or that she had told almost every one of her acquaintances that Lord Ramsbury had claimed three of her dances, only to receive their ridicule when he never acknowledged her again.
“For two days you led me to believe you wished to marry me,” he said. “Is that not a greater offense?”
“But your heart was not affected.”
Romancing Lord Ramsbury: A Regency Romance (Brides of Brighton Book 3) Page 6
