A Gentle Grace (Wedded Women Quartet) (8 page)

That left Grace alone with Catherine and Josephine, who separately could be somewhat managed, but together were a force to be reckoned with, especially when it came to their strong minded opinion on what their friend should wear to the Almack’s ball.

“Now stop complaining,” Catherine ordered sternly, “and enjoy the fact that you will be the most fetching woman in the room.”

“Yes, stop complaining,” Josephine echoed. “Now, let us move on to more important matters.” She held up a double strand of pearls. “Do you think these clash with my dress?” 

Built in 1765, Almack’s was the first social club in all of London to admit both men and women. It was an unpretentious building, long and plain from the outside, with simple decorations on the inside comprised primarily of floor to ceiling draperies on either side of the arch-topped windows, the occasional crystal chandelier, and a mix of large paintings and mirrors.

The ballroom itself was quite large, but the adjoining supper room where weak lemonade and thinly-sliced bread (usually hard as a rock) were served was quite small, lending itself to traffic jams of the worst sort.

If one wanted to avoid being discreetly groped or caught in a crush of perspiring bodies they avoided the refreshments all together. Unfortunately for Grace, she had forgotten to eat before leaving the house and found herself to be ravenously hungry with no solution in sight other than navigating the perilous entranceway to the supper room.

Despite the ball beginning only an hour prior, it was already filled to the brim. Catherine and Josephine were dancing with their husbands in the middle of the floor. Grace caught quick glimpses of them as they whirled past, Catherine refined and elegant as a swan in all ivory while Josephine was making
quite
the impression in her low cut sapphire blue gown.

Her gaze drifted to Marcus and Traverson. Dark haired and solidly built, Catherine’s husband was the perfect compliment to his wife’s willowy beauty. He held her tenderly, as one might grasp a fine stemmed rose, and although his expression was stoic, there was no mistaking the love that gleamed in his eyes. They danced elegantly, each step in perfect harmony as they swirled around the ballroom. 

If Traverson and Josephine’s waltz was a bit more disjointed, it was only because Traverson could not seem to tear his eyes away from his wife’s exposed bosom. Grace suppressed a grin as she watched the Earl whisper something in Josephine’s ear which resulted in the blond rolling her eyes before she tugged up her décolletage one scant inch. Although Josephine loved to complain about her marriage, it was common knowledge – at least to her friends – that she would happily walk over hot coals if Traverson asked her to. She loved him beyond reason and when she reached out to tuck a dark brown curl behind Traverson’s ear and he leaned forward to nuzzle her cheek, Grace felt a pang deep inside her chest.

Would she ever have what her friends had? She
thought
she had found it with Stephen, and was willing to risk another broken heart to find it again. But what if the love that she had once known, the love she had grown to depend on as surely as the air that filled her lungs, was nothing more than a fantasy? What if it was gone, and there was no getting it back? What if… No. Within the tight confines of her gown her shoulders stiffened and she lifted her chin as she made a decision.

There would no more ‘what ifs’. There
could
be no more ‘what ifs’. The time for them had passed the moment she decided to give Stephen another chance. To give their love another chance. She could plunge headfirst off the cliff or step back from the edge entirely; there would be no middle ground.

She only hoped Stephen would be there to catch her when she fell.  

Stephen saw Grace the moment she entered the ballroom. How could he not? She glimmered like the sun, so breathtaking in her beauty that he could not tear his eyes away. When she disappeared inside the supper room he waited impatiently for her to return, pacing the length of the far wall as a panther would within the confines of a cage that was too small.

Women who would normally come up to him in droves were conspicuously absent, but that did not mean they had not seen him. They watched from a safe distance, hiding their murmurs of speculation behind their fans, but Stephen’s hearing was keen, and he could not help but overhear snippets of their conversations.

“…engaged to Lady Deringer, you know…”

“
Grace
Deringer? Surely you jest…”

“…left her high and dry…”

“He is certainly handsome… Earl….”

“…why he ever asked that little fool to marry him…”

That brought Stephen up short. Turning slowly towards the bevy of heavily made up beauties, he waited until every pair of eyes was pinned to him before he dipped low in a mocking bow, tipped his fingers to his brow, and drawled, “Dear ladies, while it is a pleasure to be the object of your scrutiny, I must admit I do not have the same tolerance when it comes to my fiancée.”

A brunette, braver than the rest and a little tipsy on something stronger than lemonade if her stuttered step was any indication, came forward. “Your fiancée?” Her rouged cheeks puffed out. “Are you still engaged, then?”

Stephen nodded coolly. “I am.”

“To Lady
Deringer
?” the brunette persisted.

“If she will have me.”

“But… But weren’t
you
the one to leave
her
?”

Most of the brunette’s companions tittered their agreement – a short blond with a bulbous nose even went so far as to laugh – but Stephen saw more than one head tilt thoughtfully to the side. It was, he thought, almost too easy.

“Alas,” he said, clasping one hand over his heart. “If it were only so. Now if you would excuse me, my ladies, I must find my estranged fiancée and see if she will ever consider taking me back.”

Stephen walked away with a smile on his lips as the women’s conversation went in a rapidly new direction.

“…why he left so suddenly, you know…”

“She must have broken his heart…”

“…have to tell Lady Teawell at once!”

And then another female voice, vaguely familiar, spoke silkily directly over his left shoulder: “That was a very clever thing you did.”

Stephen stopped in his tracks and slowly turned. “Lady Gates,” he said stiffly.

“Oh, hosh posh. Are we not past all these formalities yet? I have been dreaming of your untimely death for months. The least you can do is call me by my given name.”

Stephen’s jaw clenched. He had never gotten along with the woman standing in front of him, nor had he ever understood how Grace claimed her as one of her closest friends. But she had been there for Grace when he had not, and for that he owed her the world. “Josephine, then.” And because he knew she of all people would appreciate bluntness, he said curtly, “What do you want?”   

“What do I want?” Josephine sighed. “I want you to jump in front of the nearest carriage and never be seen again. But I suppose that would make Grace unhappy, and we do not want that, do we Lord Melbourne?”

“No,” he agreed warily, “we do not.”
What the bloody hell did she want
?

She extended her arm. “Walk with me.”

Left with little choice – giving Grace’s best friend the direct cut would most definitely
not
help his cause – Stephen grasped Josephine’s elbow and they began a slow, leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the crowded ballroom.

They passed in front of a gold framed mirror, and Stephen could not help but glance at their reflection. Next to Josephine’s petite frame he looked like a giant, and the gauntness in his face took him by surprise. How much weight had he lost while abroad? It was, Stephen thought grimly, the wrong question to ask. The right one was simple and much more to the point: how much had he lost period?

As if she could read his thoughts, Josephine tugged on his arm and swiveled them both in a half circle until they were facing their reflections. She pursed her lips and adjusted a pin that had come loose from her coiffure before her gaze skittered across the glass to Stephen. “You look horrible,” she said cheerfully.

“Yes, I do.” There was no denying it. The time spent away from England – away from Grace – had not treated the Earl kindly. His blond hair was now streaked through with gray at the temple. Deeps lines ran across his forehead and marked the corners of his mouth. He felt older as well, not just physically but mentally. The dangerous game he had played had taken its toll on him in more ways than one. Yes, it had saved the life of a woman he cared deeply for… But if it ultimately cost him the love of the one woman he could not live without, was it worth the sacrifice?

Josephine sighed, drawing his attention. Their eyes met in the mirror and held for the briefest of moments before flittering away in opposite directions. Her expression thoughtful, Josephine began to walk once again leaving Stephen with no choice but to follow.

“I never liked you, you know,” the blond said as they skirted around a trio of gentleman. “You and Grace… You never seemed to be a very good fit. Of course, I suppose the same could be said of me and my Traverson.”

“You love him,” Stephen said with some surprise. He could hear it in her voice, see it on her face. She came alive at the merest thought of her husband, and it showed.

“Yes.” Josephine slanted him a sideways glance. “I do. You sound shocked.”

“I am,” he admitted candidly. “The last time I saw you together—”

“At Margaret and Henry’s wedding. Yes, I remember.” She waved her hand in the air. “No need to venture into the past, Lord Melbourne.”

“Except when it pertains to me.”

Her lips curved. “Yes, precisely so. My
point
is that I have, on very, very few occasions, not been entirely accurate in my assumptions. I was wrong about Traverson. I hope, for Grace’s sake, that I am wrong about you as well.”

“I just want her to be happy.” Stephen winced at the sudden hoarseness in his voice. If he became choked up in front of Josephine, of all people… No. It did not even bear thinking about. Schooling his countenance to reveal nothing save his customary air of perpetual boredom, he cleared his throat and stared straight ahead.

“Implying that she is the one who called off the engagement instead of you is certainly a good place to start,” Josephine said.  “It really was quite clever. It will allow Grace to save face, although I do believe your reputation may suffer.”

His response was a careless shrug.

Once he had been quite proud of his reputation as a womanizer and a rake. It had certainly been well deserved, if nothing else. But now? Now he simply wanted Grace back, his reputation be damned.

Josephine stopped so suddenly Stephen was yanked back when she refused to let go of his arm. The woman, he realized as he rubbed his shoulder and scowled, was much stronger than she looked. “Either tell me what you want to tell me, Lady Gates, or do me the great pleasure of disappearing entirely,” he growled. “I have no patience for your games.”

Josephine gave a haughty toss of her head, but when she lowered her chin he saw a smile lurking in the corners of her mouth. “We were all under the impression that Grace would have to win you back, but that is not the case, is it Lord Melbourne?”

“Win me back?” Of their own accord his fingers closed around Josephine’s exposed shoulders and he gave her a little shake. “What do you mean by that? Damn you, tell me!” 

“And ruin all the fun?” One slender eyebrow arched. “No, I do not think I will. Enjoy the rest of the ball, Lord Melbourne.”

Cursing under his breath, Stephen released her. It would be a waste of time to question Josephine further. She would only tell him exactly what she wanted to, nothing more and frustratingly less. Raising her fingers to her forehead in a mock salute, Josephine spun on her heel and sauntered away, leaving Stephen to sort out the sentence that had struck at his heart like a sledgehammer.

We were all under the impression that Grace would have to win you back, but that is not the case, is it
?

Not the case, is it
?

Is it
?

What the bloody hell did that
mean
?

There was only one way to find out. Jaw clenched, arms stiff at his sides, stomach twisted in knots, Stephen struck out across the ballroom. He cleared people from his path with one murderous glare after another and no one was so foolish as to dare speak a word in his direction. He was a man on a mission, and that mission was – had always been, really – Grace.

CHAPTER NINE

There was a reason Grace possessed such a fondness for pastries. She allowed her friends and family to think it was because of her perpetual sweet tooth, and while that was certainly true, it was also not the whole reason, nor even the half of it.

No, the real reason she adored pastries was the memory they evoked. One bite of the thinly layered dough to the fruit filling within and she was a young girl again, entertaining her first gentleman caller on the veranda of her parent’s modest country estate while her mother peered anxiously through the window and her father oh-so-casually cleaned one of his rifles in the drawing room.