A Gentle Grace (Wedded Women Quartet) (7 page)

As the unofficial leader of their little group, Catherine put the first plan into motion. It was unanimously decided that before Stephen wanted to marry Grace, he needed to desire her. And to desire her, she needed a transformation from duckling to swan. Grace had tried to fight every extravagance tossed her way tooth and nail, but it was an uphill battle when faced with Josephine’s candor, Margaret’s fashion sense, and Catherine’s wealth. 

“This is completely unnecessary. Stephen does – did – desire me,” Grace said with exasperation for what felt like the one hundredth time as she stood in the middle of the dressmaker’s shop with her arms up around her ears while a seamstress measured her waist and hips.

Popping her head out from between a row of dresses, Josephine smirked. “Did he ever try to sleep with you?”

Grace’s cheeks colored. The answer was a resounding yes (one two separate occasions) but it was something she had never told her friends, and had no intention of revealing now. Both times had been so sweet and tender and only just a bit awkward. She knew she shouldn’t have allowed it to happen since she and Stephen were not married, but at the time she had thought it was only a formality they had yet to go through. A stroll down the aisle, a droning priest, and they would be wed on paper as they were already wed in their hearts.

“Well, no,” she lied hesitantly. “But that is because he is a—”

“If you say ‘gentleman’,” Margaret piped up from across the dressing room, “I will strangle you with this ribbon. What do you think, Catherine? Blue or teal?”

“Oh, most definitely the teal. It will bring out her eyes.”

Grace squinted at the two pieces of ribbon Margaret was holding up. “What is the difference?” she said grumpily. “They both look the same to me.”

“And that is why we are in charge and you are not,” Catherine said. Smoothing a long piece of blond hair into place, the svelte beauty sauntered across the room and pursed her lips as she leaned over the seamstress’s shoulder to eye the measurements she had written down. “I am sorry to say this, dear, but no more pastries until after Almack’s.”

“No more… no more pastries?” Grace whispered, aghast.

“Until after Almack’s,” Catherine repeated firmly.

“That is not so bad,” Margaret said, coming up behind her and giving her a consoling pat on the shoulder. “You need only wait until Thursday morning.”

Almack’s Assembly Rooms hosted a ball every Wednesday evening for the who’s who of London Society. The vouchers required to gain entry were quite difficult to come by and cost ten guineas to boot, a small fortune that Grace’s family could ill afford, but Catherine had used her husband’s considerable influence to procure one for free as a small favor from Lady Cowper, sister to Lord Melbourne – the Prime Minister with no relation to Stephen – and one of the Almack’s seven esteemed patronesses.

“Oh, let her have a pastry or two,” Josephine said. “What is it going to hurt? Our Gracie is not meant to be slim as a rail. She has a woman’s curves, lucky duck that she is. Besides, that dastardly old goat that you have chosen to marry—”

“Josephine…”

“I am sorry. It just slipped out. I meant, that hairy troll you found under a bridge—”

“
Josephine
!”

“Fine.” Rolling her violet eyes, Josephine sighed and said, “
Stephen
asked you to marry him when you looked just as you do now.”

For once, Grace could not find fault with Josephine’s logic and nodded her head in agreement. Margaret and Catherine, however, were not so easy to convince.

“We need the mere sight of her to sweep him off his feet,” Catherine said.

“She needs to be so dazzling he will never think of leaving her again,” Margaret said. Belatedly realizing the double meaning that could be taken from her words, she flushed and hastily added, “Not that there was anything wrong with your appearance before, sweetling.”

Grace raised her eyebrows – the only part of her body she could move without fear of getting jabbed by a pin – and said, “I still need to find out why he left the first time. I cannot… That is, I will not…” Here she paused as she struggled to form her thoughts into words. Thankfully her friends knew her better than she did herself at times, and Catherine was quick to intercede.

“You cannot risk being with him again knowing that at any moment he may leave,” the Duchess said.

“Yes.” Grace nodded. “That is it precisely.” She dared not imagine what would happen to her if Stephen left a second time… The very idea made her shudder, and the resulting sharp poke in her thigh made her wince.

“You must hold still!” the seamstress demanded in a lilting French accent that came out quite gargled given the number of pins she was currently holding between her lips.  

Turning her head ever so carefully to the side, Grace looked pleadingly at Catherine. She had never possessed the patience it required to stand still for hours on end while fabrics were measured and gowns plucked on and off at a dizzying rate. Heavens knew how much time had elapsed since they first came into the dress shop. Her growling stomach told her it had been quite a while, and she sighed in relief when Catherine clapped her hands together and motioned for the seamstress to finish up her measuring and pinning so they could discuss the creation and delivery of Grace’s new wardrobe.

Stepping down off the fitting pedestal, Grace held her aching arms up a moment longer and leaned forward so that Margaret and Josephine could slip on the dress she had arrived in. It was one of her newer ones: a plain blue muslin with an empire waist and sleeves that gathered just above the crook of her elbow.

“Do you think we might have time for a nip of tea at Twinings?” she asked hopefully once they had made their way outside. The sun beamed down, and all four women automatically adjusted the brims of their hats to ensure their faces were shaded and their porcelain complexions protected.

In just a few days London had shed the last remnants of winter and burst into full bloom. Tulips were emerging from the dark, dusky soil at a rapid rate and bright green buds clung to the tip of every tree. A sense of hope and renewal lingered in the air, giving it a sweet, earthy scent which Grace readily inhaled. She did so love this time of year. Were it not for the endless balls and soirees and luncheons, it would have been her favorite.  

“I do not have anywhere to be,” Josephine said.

“Nor do I.” With a beaming smile Margaret linked her arms around her belly. “And since I am now eating for two…”

“Twinings it is,” Catherine decided. 

Arm in arm, the four women set off for London’s premiere tea shop. Only Grace, a faint line of worry between her brows and a knot of anxiety in her stomach, turned to look behind them. In the shadows cast beneath the awning of the dress shop she thought she saw a hauntingly familiar pair of green eyes… But when she blinked they were gone, leaving her as suddenly as they had all those months ago. Drawing a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she pasted a smile on her face and tried in vain to think of anything but Stephen.

As usual, she failed miserably.

Stephen watched Grace walk away from him in silence. He studied her as a starving man might a table heavy with food; his piercing eyes letting no detail go unseen, from the gentle sway of her hips to the way her ivory skin seemed to glow under the sunlight. He knew she always assumed she faded into the background when amidst her friends, and there was no denying the other women’s striking beauty. And yet… And yet from the very beginning it had been Grace and Grace alone that drew his eye; her quiet, unassuming nature sparkling bright as a sea shell on a beach of stones.

 It would be quite simple, the Earl mused, for one to easily overlook the shell in favor of a stone. After all, the shell was different. It did not blend in with the rest. To most, it stuck out like the proverbial sore thumb. But not to him.

Never to him.

His arms ached to hold her. To wrap her against his chest and kiss away her tears and never let her go again. Only the painful knowledge that he no longer deserved her love, her light, or her laughter stopped him and when she hesitated and glanced back as if innately drawn to the spot where he was standing, Stephen stepped into the shadows of his own accord.

“A fool,” he growled, his hands clenching to fists and burrowing deep in the pockets of his trousers. “I am a bloody fool.”

Stephen watched Grace until she disappeared around a corner, his heart heavy in his chest, his senses dulled to the world around him. There was no price he would not pay, no deed he would not do, to go back in time and erase the hurt he had caused. To right the wrongs he had created. For one brief, shining moment he had thought that when Grace saw him again all would be forgiven, but that hope had been crushed the moment he saw the loathing in her eyes. The loathing, and the fear.

It had been the latter that had done him in. Hate and disgust? Two things that could be overcome with time and patience. But fear?

Fear was like a vicious weed. Once it took root some part of it always lingered, even when it was pulled out again and again. It corrupted even the gentlest of hearts, turning them cold as stone and twice as hard.

He would do well to leave now. Disappear as he had before, fading away as completely as the sun did come the night. There was nothing for him here. And yet… And yet what if there was a way he could explain everything?

What if there was a way around the vow he had sworn never to break? The vow he had made to protect another woman. The vow that had in one breath saved one life while destroying another. Did he dare risk it all?

Stephen’s jaw clenched. His eyes, always as green as the leaves come full summer, darkened and stormed. His entire body vibrated with tension, and people walking past suddenly gave him a wide berth and hurried their step.

Did he dare risk it all
?

Yes. Yes he did.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Grace stared at her reflection in the full length mirror and shook her head from side to side. “No,” she announced. “I must change at once. This is not at all suitable.”
And much too revealing
, she added silently.

The ball gown was simple in design. It boasted an empire waist, a low oval neckline, and puffed cap sleeves that ended several scandalous inches above her elbow. It was with the sheerness of the material that the problem arose. Comprised of one thin layer of satin – the cost of which Grace did not even want to fathom – it was then covered with silk netting that had been threaded with gold. The gown was undeniably beautiful, of course… In addition to being all but see through!

She twisted her arms around and began to pluck desperately at the long row of stays, but Josephine took her hands and pushed them firmly away.

“Stop that.” Stepping to the side so she could study the mirror unhindered, Josephine arched one eyebrow in approval. “You look enchanting.”

“I look naked!” Grace protested.

Josephine nodded. “A bit.”

“Oh, you do not look naked.” From across the room Catherine held up a gold necklace that sparkled like liquid fire in her hands. “Here,” she said, walking to Grace and fastening the jewelry carefully around her exposed throat. “This perfects it.”

Grace, who already felt as though she were floundering beneath the gown which was quite light in weight, but exorbitantly heavy in price, set her mouth into a frown and shook her head again. “No, I cannot. Catherine, you already paid for the gown and that necklace belonged to your mother.”

“If it makes you feel better I am not giving it to you, merely lending it for the night.”

“It does not make me feel better,” Grace muttered. “And Margaret would agree with me. This is all too much.”

“It is
not
too much,” Catherine said.  

“Besides,” Josephine chirped from across the room where she was now digging unashamedly through Catherine’s jewelry case, “Margaret is not even here.”

It was true. The day before Margaret had returned to the country citing an aggrieved case of morning sickness, which Grace knew for a fact to be completely false. Expecting or not the redheaded Duchess was healthy as a horse; she just had little patience for the crowded streets of London and craved the simplicity and solitude of her beloved Heathridge Estate.

Even Grace’s own parents had abandoned her, although their excuse was much more valid. For days Rosalind had been threatening to take off with her beloved Baron to Gretna Green and elope. No one had been able to talk any sense into her, least of all Grace. Short of locking her in her room day in and day out, the Deringer’s had been at a loss of what to do. Then yesterday morning, the seemingly inevitable occurred. Rosalind vanished, leaving only a hastily scribbled note declaring her undying love. She would return, she wrote, only when she was wedded and no one could stop her. Lord and Lady Deringer had seemed to take particular offense to the last sentence, and off they went to chase down the ill fated lovers after hastily delivering Grace to Catherine’s townhouse.