Untouched (32 page)

Awkward silence descended.

Grace had last seen her father in a towering fury. Then he’d been a powerful and frightening figure. Over the years, the

memory of that awful afternoon in his library had eclipsed other memories of love and kindness and generosity. She’d

been a spoiled little girl. Too spoiled, as her headlong descent into ruin had demonstrated. She’d learned to consider

consequences too late.

The man who stood before her wasn’t the bitter, angry monster who populated her nightmares. The earl walked with a

stick and deep lines marked his face. There was more gray than black in his thick hair.

He was her father, yet not her father. Then the familiar ironic smile flickered briefly and he wasn’t a stranger any more.

She straightened her shoulders and met his eyes with a direct look. She had a right to be here, even if he wanted to banish

her back to obscurity. But bravado didn’t disperse the haze of uncertainty, grief, guilt, and resentment in her heart. And

love. In spite of everything, love lurked too.

For a charged moment, they stared at each other, father and daughter. Only a few feet separated them, but it might as well

have been a chasm a mile wide.

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“Have you no greeting for your father, girl?” He didn’t sound angry and his stare seemed questioning rather than

accusatory.

Unthinkingly, she sank into a curtsy. “Good afternoon, sir,” she said in an unsteady voice.

When she rose, she was dismayed to see tears in the dark blue eyes that were faded copies of the ones she saw in the

mirror. She’d always favored her father’s looks, with her dark hair, pale skin, and indigo eyes.

“Sir?Is that the best you can do, Grace? After all this time?” he asked hoarsely. The hands he placed on his stick

trembled. He’d always moved quickly and vigorously. It was a shock to see he used the stick for support, not fashion.

“I don’t…don’t know what you want.”

She heard him draw in a shuddering breath. “First, a warmer welcome than I’ve received.”

“As you wish.” Hesitantly, she approached. He was stooped enough now for her to reach up and press a kiss to his cheek.

It was a brief salute. Once, she’d have thrown her arms around him in an extravagant hug. But those days were gone.

“I’m glad to see you, Father.” It was true, although the changes in him cut to her soul. Even after a few minutes of his

company, she could see this man was different from the one she remembered. For a start, he was willing to unbend

enough to speak to his errant daughter. She stepped back. “Did Uncle Francis tell you I was here?”

He’d closed his eyes when she kissed him as if the gentle salute hurt. Now he stared fixedly at her. She wondered what he

saw. At least she was dressed like a lady, not the beggar she’d looked when she’d arrived at Fallon Court. That in itself

made her feel a fraud. She was a beggar.

“No, Vere wrote to me at Marlow Hall. Thank God he did. I came as soon as I got the letter. I’ve looked for you for the

last five years, child.”

Her father had looked for her? None of this made sense. When he’d barred her from his house, she’d had no doubt that

his decision was set in marble.

Yet now he said he’d sought her out.

Bewildered, she wondered what had changed, whenhe’d changed. Was it after Philip’s death? Although neither had

mentioned her brother’s name, the tempestuous, beloved ghost hovered so tangibly, she could almost touch it.

But no. Her father said he’d started to search for her five years ago. Philip had been alive then and galloping headlong

toward ruin in the fleshpots of London.

The earl had relented for Grace’s sake, not just because he’d lost his only son and turned in desperation to his one

remaining child.

“You said you never wanted to see me again.” She couldn’t stifle a hint of bitterness. Her marriage had been

irresponsible, reprehensible, she recognized and regretted that. But her beloved father’s implacable rejection had opened a

wound that had never healed.

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She saw him whiten at her tone. “I said many things that afternoon. At the time I meant them but I quickly repented of

my harshness. Within a year, I came to York and approached Paget about helping you both, finding him a position on one

of my estates so at least you could live in some comfort. But he threw my offer back in my face.”

Her father had swallowed his pride to the point where he’d extended the hand of friendship to Josiah? Grace felt lost in a

world that bore no relationship to the one she thought she inhabited.

She spoke through a throat tight with distress and twisted her hands in her skirts to hide their trembling. “You didn’t ask

to see me?”

“Your husband said you’d turned your back on your family forever and looked forward to a new and better life with him.

He said you despised the Marlows and everything we stood for.”

She could imagine how self-righteous Josiah had sounded when he’d told her father those lies. “And you believed him?”

The earl’s mouth turned down. “I had no other option. You hadn’t written to us since your marriage or tried to see us.”

She’d always imagined that if she ever met her father again, he’d be angry, as he’d been angry after her elopement. But

instead, he was just so wrenchingly sad and she didn’t know how to react. His sadness weighed down her heart until it felt

like a massive stone inside her.

“You told me not to,” she said, fighting the urge to touch him, comfort him.

A faint smile crossed his face although the deep sorrow remained. When he dredged up a touch of the dry humor she’d

loved as a girl, she thought her heavy heart would break. “So obedient at last, daughter. You were never the most biddable

chit. A pity this was the one time you should have ignored my command.”

“You sounded like you hated me,” she said in a hollow voice.

“I was angry, disappointed.” He took a step in her direction. “But I never ceased to mourn the break with you. You’d

always been my favorite, you know.”

Yes, she had known. She’d mistakenly assumed that her father’s indulgence would extend to forgiving her unfortunate

marriage, but she’d been tragically wrong.

Except that her father had forgiven her, it seemed.

Josiah had never told her that the earl had tried to make peace. Perhaps her husband had been afraid she’d abandon him

and return to her earlier life. Perhaps they’d both have been better off if she had. They’d never known a moment of true

happiness in their marriage. Her love for Matthew shone a stark light on the sterility, emotional and physical, of her life

with Josiah.

The earl was still speaking with an urgency she’d never heard from him before. “Then five years ago, I tried to make

amends again, hoping your resentment had softened with time. But you’d disappeared. The shop in York was derelict and

none of your neighbors knew where you’d gone. I’ve searched high and low, had my men asking after you in every

bookshop in Britain. I’ve even had my agents checking in America.”

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“I was in Ripon,” Grace said. “Until a few weeks ago, anyway.”

“Ripon…”The earl paled until he was the color of new paper and staggered back as though she’d hit him.

“Are you all right, my lord?” Grace surged forward to support her father but at the last moment, hesitated. Would he want

her help?

He quickly found his balance but she noticed that the hands on his stick were white-knuckled with tension. “You were

only thirty miles from Marlow Hall? All this time?”

“Yes, on a farm. Sheep.” Grace’s mouth flattened in a wry line as she spread her hands in front of her so her father could

see. “Here are the scars.”

“Heaven curse me.” His face retained its unhealthy pallor while his voice was gruff and shaking with emotion. He

clutched the stick as though it was all that kept him upright. “My little girl with a workman’s hands. I’d brought you up fit

to become a duchess. What have I done?What have I done? How can you ever forgive me, child?”

How she hated to see her father like this. And the fault, after all, was hers. She twined her hands together in front of her

and forced herself to speak.

“I think…” She mustered all her courage and went on. “I think it is for you to forgive me, Father.” This time, the

wordfather emerged without strain.

His face contorted with emotion. “Oh, Grace, my dearest girl, I forgive you with all my heart, as I hope you will in time

forgive me. I’ve been such a fool but I hope the years have made a difference to the man I was. I hope they’ve taught me

wisdom.” He paused and extended his arm. “Walk with me back to the house, daughter?”

Grace caught a flash of painful vulnerability in his face. She was astonished to realize that even now, he was far from

confident she’d accept his escort. The Earl of Wyndhurst she recalled from her girlhood had always been utterly sure of

himself.

She took a deep breath, knowing the rest of her life hinged on what happened now. A smile would reassure her father but

she couldn’t summon one, no matter how she tried.

The earl had made mistakes. So had she. Both of them had paid a heavy price for their sins, if what she saw now was any

indication.

When she spoke, her voice was calm and sure. “I’d be honored, Father.”

The bedroom was dark as Grace crept inside. Perhaps her mother was asleep, although it was only mid-afternoon. On the

long carriage journey up from Somerset, she’d learned from her father that the countess spent most of her days dozing in

her closed room. It seemed such a tragic contrast to the vibrant, vital woman Grace remembered.

Quietly she shut the door behind her and immediately the stuffy atmosphere became a terrifying reminder of Lord John.

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Her heart raced and the breath caught in her throat. She fought the trapped feeling that threatened to suffocate her.

Then the familiar scents of roses and beeswax surrounded her and dissipated the choking panic. The combined scents

transported her back to childhood and brought tears to her eyes. Because she had moved a thousand miles beyond that

spoiled, innocent girl who was lost forever.

The smell made the past so close, so tangible. She took a deep breath and leaned against the door. It was too dark for her

to see the beautiful inlaid pattern of musical instruments in different woods. But the child inside her remembered the

violins and flutes on the back of the door. Just as the child remembered the soft blues and pinks of the floral carpet on the

floor and the blue silk hangings that shrouded the high, elaborately carved bed on its platform.

“Who’s there?”

Even her mother’s voice was different. High-pitched and querulous. She was only fifty but she sounded like a frightened

old woman.

Grace couldn’t speak over the grief clogging her throat.This was wrong, so wrong.

The bedclothes rustled as her mother shifted nervously on the mattress. “Who is it? Is that you, Elise? If you’ve come to

dress me for dinner, I don’t think I’m up to going downstairs tonight.”

Her mother never ate meals in the dining room anymore. She’d heard the bewildered love and sorrow in her father’s

voice as he described his wife’s behavior since Philip’s death. Learning of her mother’s total retreat from life had filled

her with guilt and piercing sadness.

It was worse standing in this room now and seeing for herself.

“Elise?”

“It’s…” Grace stopped and tried again. “It’s not your maid, Mamma.”

The figure in the bed lay so still that Grace could almost touch the silence. Then, so softly that she hardly heard the word,

“Grace?”

On trembling legs that she wasn’t sure would support her, Grace stepped forward. “Yes, Mamma. It’s Grace.”

“My little Grace…” Another rustle of the bedclothes. Then in a stronger voice. “I’m dreaming, aren’t I?”

It was so hard to force words out. “N-no. I’m really here.” Her strange paralysis shattered and she dashed across the

carpet to fall to her knees beside the bed. “I’m really here, Mamma.”

“I don’t believe it.” Her mother rolled over onto her side and reached out to stroke Grace’s face as if only touch could

confirm her presence. When Grace felt the dance of those loving fingers across her cheek, she closed her eyes.

She was home again.

Grace sucked in a shaky breath. Even through the shadows, she could see how sunken and pallid her mother’s face had

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become. The scraggly strands of long hair that escaped her cap were gray and lifeless. The last nine years hadn’t been

kind to the Countess of Wyndhurst. Little trace remained of the celebrated beauty who had married the earl and reigned

from Marlow Hall as queen of county society.

“I thought I’d never see you again,” the countess whispered in a broken voice.

“So did I.” The words emerged thickly, indistinctly.

“Why didn’t you come when…when Philip died?” A trace of anger. “I needed you, Grace, and you weren’t here.”

Why hadn’t she come? Josiah would have forbidden her but she could have disobeyed him. In her heart, she’d defied him