A Lesson in Pride (10 page)

“Of course, my lady,” Mrs. Smith nodded. “Dinner will be at eight. I will send your maid up as soon as she arrives.”

“Thank you,” Ginny acknowledged. The door closed and Ginny took a seat by the fireplace. Staring at the flames that warmed the room nicely, Ginny wondered about Nigel. She hadn't heard from the man during her mourning, not that she had expected to. Was it too much to ask that she not run into him while in London? No, but Ginny had the experience of seven lives to tell her that it was impossible for him to have gone away, never to return. Allowing herself a few minutes to warm up, Ginny finally rose and went to her desk. She penned a quick note to Grant, just letting him know she was in town. By the time she finished, Maggie had arrived with hot water. She would wash up and then take a nap. Such a decadent life she led.

Before Maggie left, Ginny handed her the letter. “Could you please see this delivered, Maggie? It's for an old friend of my father's and I am hoping that he can stop by and give me information on him.”

Nodding, Maggie took the note and left. It was silly to play games with her maid, but she didn't need the young girl telling tales about her writing to unmarried men not related to her. It was a constant battle to know who was trustworthy and who would stab a girl in the back at the first chance they received.

Crawling into bed, Ginny was awarded with a dozen emotions at once, all concerning her one night with Grant Montgomery. It seemed that Alysanne was alive and well and very much anticipating his arrival. Would he come the next day? Instead of contemplating it further, Ginny closed her eyes and waited for a salacious dream to invade her thoughts.

Chapter 11

A week went by in a flash as Ginny helped her stepdaughters prepare for the upcoming parties. They had already received several invitations to some of the best affairs. It was no wonder that the ton would be curious about her and the girls. Her marriage was the stuff of gossip legend, and she hadn't been seen in a year. It would be good for Charlotte and Hope, as there would be loads of eligible men for their perusing.

Every day Ginny would look for a note from Grant and every day she would be disappointed. How was she to get him to fall in love with her if he never came by to see her? Ginny found herself jittery and anxious over his refusal to contact her. It was so out of her character, Ginny could only attribute it to Alysanne. Never before had she been so plagued by her character's personality. Most of the time, Ginny could hardly remember that she was playing someone else's life. Why now? Ginny was left to wonder and deal with the effects.

As a second week went by, Ginny was beginning to feel frantic. Employing all the tricks for keeping panic at bay, Ginny was able to appear calm on the exterior. She doubted anyone even realized the anxiety that had become her daily life. She was so certain that she had fooled those around her that Ginny was shocked when Hope inquired about her health one day at tea.

“Are you feeling well, Ally?” Hope asked with concern etching her features. “You are barely eating and are so jumpy that no one wishes to walk up behind you.”

Ginny did a double take at the question. Here she thought she'd been hiding it so well, but apparently everyone had noticed after all. Not wanting to concern her stepdaughter, she smiled and responded, “I believe I'm nervous about your presentation tomorrow. Meeting the queen is such an honor.”

“Oh, pish. Charlotte and I will be fine. From what I have heard from my finishing school teachers, you curtsy and are gone. No one even has time to say a word to her.”

“Yes, it will be fine,” Ginny said, trying to sound reassuring.

“Are you certain that is what is bothering you?” Hope asked, her eyebrows raised.

“Of course. What else could it be?” Ginny went to take a sip of her tea, nearly spilling the contents when Hope spoke again.

“I thought that maybe you were nervous about meeting a gentleman.”

“What?” Ginny spurted out before she could stop herself.

Hope laughed. “It is not only I and Charlotte who are in the market for a husband, is it? My father left you a generous stipend to live on, but I am sure you wish to find someone to spend your life with as well.”

It was just Ginny's luck to have such an astute stepdaughter. “If I remarry, I will lose my inheritance.”

“I guess you will just have to find a wealthy man then.”

Ginny smiled and took another sip of tea. Grant was not a wealthy man. If anything, he was in much the same boat as Alysanne's father, even though his contacts were far more impressive. A marriage between them would be a disaster for them both. A discreet affair might be arranged, but Ginny had no doubt that there was something in Drake's will that would cut her off if she were caught.

Putting down her teacup, Ginny stood and asked, “Should we go find Charlotte and practice your curtsy again?”

Rolling her eyes, Hope stood as well. “If we must. I would never want to make a fool of myself for my brief presentation.”

The ladies left the room to find their third. The more Ginny thought about it, the more she knew for sure that Grant had to be the one. His lack of wealth was the hurdle they would overcome. If only she could talk to the damn man.

Chapter 12

Grant arrived home well after midnight, having ridden straight through from Lady Emerson's home in Ipswich. The weekend had been an unmitigated disaster, though Grant doubted Lady Emerson would feel the same. She had invited him up with the promise that her husband was to be at his hunting lodge in the far north. Her husband was indeed absent, but she had invited many other people to the house. Grant was left to sneak around like a thief in order to have any time with the shapely, young wife.

After a week, Grant had finally made his excuses and left. He hadn't been home in nearly a month, having attended several other house parties before Lady Emerson's illicit offer. He was tired, cold, dusty, and more than ready for a bath and bed. His valet was just as shattered as he was, so instead of torturing the poor man, Grant washed up quickly from the basin and sought out his own comfort in his den. After pouring himself a glass of brandy, he went about sorting through his mail.

There were the usual invitations. Many women of the ton would invite him just to say he'd been at their home. The rampant gossip about who he was sleeping with was more fictional than not. Grant could recall that even old Lady Gratham had claimed an affair with him not that long ago.

One letter caught his attention immediately. The beautiful, flowing penmanship mixed with the scent of perfume caught his eye and nose. He didn't recognize the script, so he opened it with a flick of his finger and read the contents.

It was from her. The dowager Lady Essex now, but he'd always known her as Alysanne. The daughter of his former friend had finally returned to London. He had avoided all mention of her when he could, not wanting to ignite even the smallest gossip. She had been banished to the country to wait out her mourning, but according to the short note in his hands, she had returned only a couple weeks before. She was inviting him to tea, asking to catch up on any news he might have of her family.

Soon after his night with Alysanne, he and Nigel had had a falling out of sorts. Nigel had come to him to complain about his son-in-law's will that left him with nothing. The conversation turned to his ungrateful daughter, who was clearly putting her own needs well above his.

When Grant defended Alysanne, Nigel had become enraged. As if it had happened only yesterday, Grant could recall every word the man had said.

“I should out her, you know. I should tell everyone that Drake had not been the one to deflower her.”

“And who would you say did the deed, Nigel? Would you out me as well?”

“What? You would not stand with me? We have been friends for too long for you to abandon me.”

“Abandon you?” Grant could still feel his blood pressure rise thinking back on their words. “You would humiliate me and your own daughter just so neither of you would benefit?”

“Damn you! I deserve that money. I am the one who found Drake in the first place.”

“And you nearly damned your daughter to a life of hell at his hands, just so you would never have to soil your own hands with work.”

“Oh, and you are a fine example of someone who works for his pennies, is that it? You are no better than I, my friend.”

With that, Grant had taken his leave. Over the past year, Grant had been careful not to run into his old friend. He knew Nigel was still skulking around London, but in what capacity, Grant couldn't say. He wished his old friend no ill will, though he admitted that he was happy that Alysanne was no longer in his power. As a rich widow, she would be more than capable of caring for herself.

He remembered her as she was that night. Not the scared, shy, little girl he'd come to know over the years, but as a strong, confident woman. What had happened in the few hours of her marriage to build her confidence was still a mystery to him. Perhaps he would join her for tea and ask her himself.

Penning a quick note back, he sealed the missive and placed it on the corner of his desk for his valet to deliver the following day. His buoyant mood over hearing from Alysanne was soon dashed. The very next letter in his pile was from his father, demanding an audience with him upon his return. The years had taught Grant that it was better to get any meeting with his father over with as soon as possible. He penned a second note, placing it on top of the one to Alysanne, informing his father that he would be by the next morning.

What could his father want now? As long as his brother, Reginald, continued to have girls, Grant was a necessary evil. If anything should happen to Reggie before he could produce an heir, Grant would automatically be next in line. It was the only reason why his father tolerated him at all.

Grant examined his father's note for some clue as to the reason for the meeting. Surely, the old man wouldn't cut him off before securing the title. Bedford had always been an enigma to him, making decisions based on cold, calculated logic, never considering the people who would be affected by those decisions. Servants were to be used, not considered. Tradesmen were treated as servants. The rest of the ton were only tolerated if they had something to offer the dukedom. If not, they were soundly ignored. Grant's mother had been lumped into that category. Once Grant had been born, she had been dismissed from his father's life as someone who could no longer give him what he needed. The woman had died alone, since his father could not even be bothered to contact him when her health declined.

After reviewing the rest of his correspondence, Grant went to bed. As he took off his clothing, he thought once again of Alysanne. It would be good to see her and make sure she was fine. Over the past year, he had wondered if she were well, but he was never brave enough to contact her. After Nigel's threat, he didn't want any suspicion to come back to him. He might augment his income with the wealth of rich women, but even he didn't want to be known as Franklin Drake's bedroom substitute.

********

Sleeping in, Grant gave plenty of time for his note to be delivered before making his way to his father's townhouse. The duke of Bedford, Heath Montgomery, was a bitter man well within his sixties. His health was stable, but he had been declining over the years. It appeared that even as rich and powerful as the man was, none of that would matter when the Reaper came calling.

Grant recognized that most of his father's bitterness stemmed from his fear of death. He'd managed to avoid watching his wife's slow decline by keeping himself in London nearly full time. Grant's mother had been sent to one of the many country estates, out of sight, out of mind. His father's time would come, but Grant wasn't sure if that would make him happy or sad. He had no desire to spend any time with the old man, but on the other hand, his brother was even less likely to be generous with him. Reginald had always thought of him as lazy and inconsistent. Little did either man know of the true Grant, who was fairly resourceful and highly intelligent.

Approaching the house on foot, Grant was reduced to having to knock and be announced. It mattered little that he'd lived in this very house as a child, on the rare occasions his father had allowed him to join him in London. It didn't matter that he was still technically the spare heir. What mattered was that Bedford kept up his appearance as the commander of his own ship, making everyone else his minions.

The butler answered promptly, allowing Grant entrance into the foyer without waiting. It was probably the only concession Grant would be given by his father's staff. No refreshments would be offered. The stodgy, old butler would take his coat and hat, and he would return them upon Grant's departure. Other than that, Grant was afforded no other courtesy.

“Lord Grant, your father awaits you in his study.”

“Thank you, Jennings,” Grant muttered as he made his way to the rear of the house. The butler would not even announce him, as his position did not warrant it. He was, after all, the second son.

Knocking lightly, Grant opened the door and entered without permission. His father did not even want to waste his breath speaking unnecessarily. As a man in his thirties, Grant had learned all he needed to know about his father. Everything Grant did was to keep his father in the best spirits the man could achieve, which was never high in the best of circumstances.