“I thought as much too,” he said. “And I was not pleased with that reality. I do not wish for our acquaintance to end.”
She threw him a disparaging glance. “You cannot fool me, my lord. You confessed your immediate need for a wife, don’t you remember? You intend to marry for convenience. You will never trick me into believing you genuinely wish to know me better.” She fixed her eyes on his blue ones. “My answer will never change.”
A muscle tensed in his jaw as they entered the dining room, frustration hanging over his features.
In his wisdom, Uncle Cornelius placed her as far away from Lord Ramsbury as possible, seating her on the left side of the table end, and him at the right side of the opposite end.
Grace released a relieved breath, settling into her chair. Harriett threw her a concerned glance, to which she responded with a prim smile.
If Grace’s interlude with Lord Ramsbury were the product of one of her favorite novels, then he would be genuine in his attachment to her. He would become gallant and brave and honest. But the heroes of her novels were precisely as her mother had told her: unrealistic.
Why did she want Lord Ramsbury to be those things? She had so enjoyed hating him for the last three years. Indeed, her imagination had even contrived him as the villain in many of the stories she read. But whether she liked to admit it or not, her heart was still fascinated with him and his much-too-handsome face. The most exciting heroes were never perfect, at any rate, and heaven knew she did not deserve a perfect man.
But Lord Ramsbury, with his devilish smile, cunning motivations, and secretive blue eyes seemed to be nothing short of a villain.
“Our first course is a favorite of my dear niece, Miss Grace,” Uncle Cornelius said as the party took their seats. “We will be served with cucumber soup.”
Grace observed Juliet as she turned to Lord Ramsbury, a wide grin on her lips. Mr. Beaumont eyed his siblings, a look of amusement engulfing his usually pleasant expression. Did the family share her love of cucumber soup? They clearly found something of the dish to be humorous. The soup was placed around the table, ending with Grace’s bowl.
Lord Ramsbury’s smile, directed at his young sister, appeared to be the most genuine smile she had ever seen on his face. From her place across the table, she watched as he whispered in Juliet’s ear, sending her into a bout of giggles. Their mother threw them a scolding glance, causing Lord Ramsbury to straighten his posture, just a ghost of his previous smile still dancing on his lips.
He caught Grace watching him, throwing her a subtle wink before stealing her uncle in conversation. Grace felt her cheeks warm as she took an angry spoonful of her cool soup.
Throughout the course of the meal, Grace caught the gaze of Lord Ramsbury more often than she liked, most instances entirely accidental. Each time he sneaked a smile at her, or an infuriating wink, she dug her toes deeper into her slippers, her fists curling under the table. She challenged herself to keep her eyes away from him for the entire dessert course, but when the servants placed a dish of compote of pears in front of her, her gaze found Lord Ramsbury, and for the first time that evening, she couldn’t help but smile back.
He looked down at his plate, grinning as he pierced a slice of pear with his fork. He lifted it to his mouth, raising his eyebrows as he chewed. Grace looked away and covered her mouth with her napkin, hiding the laugh that bubbled out unexpectedly from her chest.
How humiliating it was to think of her behavior when she had been trying to romance Lord Ramsbury into a proposal. She thought of the day they had spent near the royal pavilion with their elaborate meal.
She corrected her smile, putting on a stoic expression. She couldn’t let Lord Ramsbury think she welcomed his secretive glances. If he still thought he could woo her into helping him reclaim his inheritance, he was mistaken. He would need to select a different woman to preserve his precious title.
After the meal, the women removed to the drawing room, leaving the men to their port. Grace and Harriett sat on the sofa, with Lady Coventry and Juliet seated on a fashionable settee across the room. Aunt Christine found her own secluded corner, settling into a broad armchair. Dim evening light touched the room through the windows, and candles had been lit around the space, casting the ceiling in flickering shadows.
Grace eyed the short bookcase beside her and considered selecting a novel to read, if only to clear her mind of Lord Ramsbury. The better option would be to escape to her uncle’s grand library, and never be forced to keep Lord Ramsbury’s company again. She felt as if she were at the Livingston’s ball again, falling for the expiring flattery of an unattainable man.
And all he had done tonight was share a few glances with her.
Drat.
She was in a terrible plight.
“Miss Grace,” Lady Coventry said, leaning forward slightly. Her voice, tentative and calm, reminded Grace of her own mother’s voice, with the exception of the times she scolded her for excessive reading. “I was quite eager to meet you when my son spoke of his growing attachment. Finding you here was a pleasant and unexpected surprise.”
Grace shifted in her seat. “Oh. Your son… spoke of me?”
“In the highest regard. I have seen a change in him since he met you, which placed you in my highest regard even before we had the privilege of meeting.” Lady Coventry lowered her voice, as if she worried the men would hear from the distant dining room. “My Edward did not smile for months, you see. He took to an unkept style of life, and cared for little in the world.”
“He had a beard,” Juliet added, her loud voice overpowering her mother’s whisper.
Lady Coventry patted her daughter’s hand. “Yes. And we have agreed that he is much more handsome without one.”
Grace frowned. She wanted to know more of Lord Ramsbury’s decline, but worried that to ask would be outside her bounds. She chose her words carefully. “What led him to such a state?”
“He did not shave for a very long time,” Juliet said.
The pure disapproval on the young girl’s face was enough to make the entire room laugh. Harriett shook the sofa with giggles. Lady Coventry’s smile grew to an impossible size, reminding Grace of how Lord Ramsbury had appeared at the dining room table.
“The state of his facial hair was the least of my worries in his regard.” Her face grew more serious. Grace could hardly believe Lord Ramsbury’s own mother would choose to gossip of him in the drawing room. “He did not share with me every detail,” she said, “but I do know that his heart was broken. He has broken a great deal of hearts in his own right, but to have his own so trampled upon… well, it made a blind man see. He changed for the better in his care for innocent hearts, but he shut himself away from the world. He declared to me that he would never marry or fall in love. He became lazy and uninterested in anything. It broke my heart to see him so disheartened. It seemed he would never be himself again. Until you, Miss Grace.” Her eyes shone with gratitude.
Lady Coventry’s words dug through Grace’s skin like needles, stitching threads of sympathy and curiosity. How could Lord Ramsbury’s heart have been broken? For a time Grace had doubted he even had one. What part had Grace played in bringing about this change in him? She already knew his attention toward her held alternative motivations. His heart was not involved and neither was hers.
“You mustn’t afford me any credit for this change in your son, my lady.” Grace said, watching her fingers in her lap as they clasped together. “He hardly knows me at all.”
“You have given him a mystery to uncover.” Lady Coventry smiled. “I hope you will give him the opportunity to come to know you.”
Grace looked up at the doorway just as Uncle Cornelius entered, followed by Mr. Beaumont and Lord Ramsbury. Her heart leapt as Lord Ramsbury’s eyes found her. The corners of his mouth lifted, as if her presence and his smile were somehow connected.
To her dismay, the cushion beside her was completely empty. Lord Ramsbury crossed the room to claim it, sett
ling into the sofa, much too close to her. She remembered the moment he had touched her hand in the carriage on the way to the pavilion. She knew he wouldn’t dare attempt anything similar here, but she did not intend to give him the chance. Shifting an inch closer to Harriett, she tucked her hands together on her lap, resting them far away from the man beside her.
Setting her jaw and fixing her gaze on her uncle across the room, she ignored Lord Ramsbury’s eyes, though she felt them burning on the side of her face. Her uncle had engaged Lady Coventry and Mr. Beaumont in a light conversation, and Harriett sat silently beside her.
“Are you afraid of me, Miss Grace?” Lord Ramsbury’s whispered voice brushed her ear, amusement hovering behind it.
She didn’t dare glance at his face, knowing how close it would be to her own. “Surely not as afraid as you are of me.”
“I am not afraid of you.”
“You did not see the expression of terror on your face when I encountered you this afternoon by the ocean. If you had, I daresay you would reconsider that statement.”
He chuckled. “I was not afraid to see you. I was only afraid that what you saw would lower your opinion of me. I promise that I am not a wicked brother. My sister adores me, in fact.”
“My opinion of you could not have sunk any lower.” Grace cringed yet again at her merciless stab. He had apologized to her, and she had only continued to spite him. Was she becoming the villain? No. She reminded herself that she was likely still a piece in Lord Ramsbury’s plan to reclaim his inheritance. He couldn’t fathom the idea of losing, and nor could she.
“Has your opinion changed at all?” His whispered voice set her heart pounding. The warmth of his closeness was enough to evoke a lightness in her head. She tossed him a glance from the corner of her eye. His eyes narrowed down at her, a devastating smile on his face as he awaited her reply. She couldn’t bring herself to give him the answer he wanted.
“Not particularly,” she said.
He laughed, crossing one leg over his knee. She listened to his laughter, unfamiliar with the depth of it. A wayward smile pulled at one side of her mouth.
“Do you not believe me?” she scoffed.
“No,” he said, his voice resolute.
“And why not?”
He leaned closer, and she found herself shifting closer to Harriett. “You pretend to hate me, but I know that is not true.”
“If I do, why is that of any consequence to you?” Grace whispered. Her uncle didn’t seem to notice her prolonged private conversation with Lord Ramsbury. “I do not believe you are fond of me either, no matter what you pretend.”
“I find you intriguing, Miss Grace. Even more so since your rejection.”
Grace turned fully toward him. “You cannot pretend that my rejection struck you deeper than your pride. If you mean to secure my heart for your own gain, you ought to surrender now.”
He crossed his arms, a wry grin on his lips. “I will never surrender.”
“Nor will I.”
“Edward,” Lady Coventry said from across the room, a hint of censure in her voice. If she thought he had been pestering Grace, she was correct. “Would you care to read for us? Lord Hove just finished telling me of the extensive collection of books in his library.”
Grace decided she quite liked Lady Coventry. She had saved Grace from a continued conversation with her son, and she seemed to have an appreciation for books.
Lord Ramsbury nodded. “I would be glad to.”
Uncle Cornelius clapped, a gesture Grace was beginning to realize he used in an effort to diffuse awkwardness. “Would you show his lordship to the library, Grace? You know the books there much better than I do what with your hours spent there. You may help him select a volume of poetry, perhaps?”
Grace sucked in her cheeks before giving her uncle a stiff smile. The library was on the opposite end of the large house, and the selection of books was indeed expansive. She sensed that Lord Ramsbury was far too pleased with the arrangement.
“Christine will accompany you, of course,” her uncle added in a quick voice. Aunt Christine sighed, just loud enough for Grace to hear it from her spot in the room. She stood from her place beside her husband, grunting as if the effort exhausted her.
Grace was relieved that Aunt Christine was accompanying them, but an unwilling and lazy chaperone was almost as ineffective as having no chaperone at all.
Every gaze in the room became fixed on Grace. She withheld her protest of the trip to the library, knowing that to object would only stir up more awkwardness. “Very well. We will be quick.”
Lord Ramsbury jumped to his feet, all too enthusiastic about their excursion. Aunt Christine led the way out of the room, mumbling her own objections under her breath. Grace stayed as close to her aunt’s heels as possible as they entered the dim hallway.
Lord Ramsbury followed, a definite saunter in his step.
CHAPTER 8
Edward smiled in the dark, watching the flustered Miss Grace as she practically trampled over her aunt in an effort to keep herself far away from him. He couldn’t believe his fortune in finding her at Lord Hove’s residence. The fates were on Edward’s side, it seemed. If he had any hope of Miss Grace agreeing to be his wife, he would need to start by convincing her not to hate him, which was proving to be more difficult than he had originally hoped.
Her aunt stopped abruptly, leading Grace to collide with her back. Her aunt turned with a scowl. “You must lead the way, Grace, it is far too dark,” she said in a frustrated voice. “I do not know these halls well, and my vision is not what it once was.”
Grace tossed her gaze at Edward, an unexplained scowl on her own brow, as if she meant to warn him against coming near her. He took it as pure invitation, of course.
As she slid past her aunt, he followed, catching up to her frantic steps. She threw him a sideways glance, her posture and expression more stoic than his childhood housekeeper Mrs. Knox. But Mrs. Knox hadn’t been hiding any secret affection for Edward. Mrs. Knox despised Edward for his wayward behavior as a boy, and she did little to hide her distaste for him. But Edward suspected Grace’s behavior to be a defense against him—a defense he intended to break down. She was a different woman than the one he had met in the woods near the assembly rooms. She was bold and headstrong and determined not to like him. Why that made her far more interesting was difficult to say.
“I thought you preferred not to waste your time reading fictional stories,” he said, remembering their past conversation. “If that is so, then why did your uncle say you often spend hours in his library?”
She remained silent, watching the floor as they walked. Had she lied about all of her accomplishments? As he considered the possibility, he found it to be highly probable. If she was trying to secure a proposal from him, she would have been wise to lie about such things.
“And when we return to the parlor, are you going to perform a number on the pianoforte?” he asked. “You did say you were a skilled musician. You might select a book from the library written in French, since you speak it so flawlessly.”
She tore her gaze from the floor, her brown eyes flashing. “As you already know, I was not honest with you. I pretended to be accomplished in those things, just as I pretended to enjoy your company.”
He leaned down closer to her as they walked, and she moved faster, putting a greater distance between them and their chaperone. “Ah. And just as you are pretending not to enjoy my company at this moment.”
“In this instance I do not have to pretend.”
“Then stop your charade. We are alone. This is not a parlor game.”
“What charade?”
“You are charading as a bitter and cold woman,” he said. He stated it as a fact, which only raised her defensiveness.
“And what of yourself?” she asked in an angry whisper. “You are charading as a man in love, but I do not believe it for a moment. You need a wife, one that you know you will never care for, one that will not interfe
re with the blow that your heart took at that hands of a woman last year. Your mother told me of your plans to avoid love forever.”
He sped up, cutting off her progress down the hall as he stopped in front of her. She came to a delayed halt, almost crashing into him just as she had her aunt. She released a huffed breath, crossing her arms as she looked up at him. Far behind them down the hall, her aunt had stopped by a portrait, as if she meant to simply wait for their return.
Edward looked down at Miss Grace, his eyebrows contracting. The moonlight from the windows lining the hall melted into her skin, making it glow white against the contrast of her dark eyes, lips, and hair. For a moment he had a fleeting thought of kissing her, stealing the breath she so willfully used in harsh words against him. For a woman that irked him so much, she was frustratingly enchanting.
“When did my mother tell you these things?” he asked.
“After we left the dining room.”
He rubbed a hand over his hair. Why had his mother betrayed him? Had she meant to give Miss Grace a reason to pity him? Did his mother think it would make him more endearing?
Curiosity burned in Miss Grace’s eyes. “You know my feelings toward you. Why do you continue to pursue me? Why do you not choose to pursue a woman that will at least love you?”
Edward took a deep breath. He didn’t know the answer. His father could pass from this life at any day, so he had limited time to find a wife. There were still dozens of women that would have him and his fortune gladly. But the smallest part of him was not fond of the thought of Miss Grace marrying another man, just as Miss Buxton had.
And not only for the sake of his pride.
The realization struck him in the chest, and his heart picked up speed as he looked down at her, awaiting his answer with her maddening scowl.
Romancing Lord Ramsbury: A Regency Romance (Brides of Brighton Book 3) Page 9
