“Which one are you?” came a familiar, disapproving voice from a few feet away, and then a shadow fell over Grace and Daniel.
She turned her attention and scowled at her great-uncle, the Duke of Danby.
“Never mind,” the cantankerous old duke grumbled. “I can feel the warmth rolling off you in waves, Grace.” He huffed in a breath and turned his chilly glare on Daniel. “Daniel Lacy, are you not?”
“Yes,” Daniel answered slowly as though trying to sort out the sour old man.
“Daniel, His Grace the Duke of Danby. He’s my mother’s uncle.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Your Grace.” Daniel nodded at the duke.
“Yes, it generally is,” Danby replied, his gaze sweeping over Daniel in a most dismissive way, which only made Grace tip her head back slightly in defiance.
There was no reason for Danby to be so dismissive. Daniel Lacy was a perfectly fine gentleman. He was intelligent, came from a decent family (byblows aside, of course) and was exceptionally kind. Of course, His Grace was probably annoyed simply because he hadn’t chosen Daniel himself, irritating old man. Had he decided Grace should spend the rest of her days tied to some sycophantic toady? Probably. And that thought made Grace’s stomach roil in protest. It was reason enough for her to tighten her grasp on Daniel’s arm, determined never to let him go. Hopefully he wouldn’t be able to smell the desperation on her.
“Do have a wonderful evening,” Grace replied haughtily and practically dragged Daniel away from her contemptible great-uncle.
It was so good to see Ginny’s cheeks have more color to them. Slowly, but surely, she looked a little healthier each passing day. However, her mood had not lightened since Oliver had arrived. Neither had Oliver’s, honestly. He was still on high alert, and would be until her abominable in-laws had been captured.
He poured over each and every London Times that was delivered searching for any word on Douglas Waring. The news was several days behind, of course, and he felt certain if the villain had been caught, the Duke of Danby would inform him as quickly as possible. Yet he searched just the same as it made him feel not quite so hopeless so far north. If he was honest with himself, he was also searching for any word in regard to Grace. If she brought some fellow up to scratch, would she announce in the papers? Not everyone did. Honestly, she wasn’t the sort who would, but each passing day that he didn’t see a notice for her betrothal, made him breathe a bit easier.
Chapter 8
June 1817 ~ Highfield Park, Buckinghamshire
Oliver had a pounding headache. His head had been pounding for days, actually. Of course, traveling for days from Westmorland to Buckinghamshire with his mother, sisters and infant nephew who had the lungs of an opera singer would give anyone a headache.
What he needed more than anything in the world was a glass, or perhaps a couple, of Braden’s smuggled whisky. Who was he fooling? What he needed more than anything in the world was to see Grace. Even a passing glimpse of her would lighten his heart tenfold. But a glass or two of Braden’s smuggled whisky would be most appreciated as well.
“Ah, Lord Prestwood!” Monroe, the Posts’ butler greeted him with a smile as he held the door wide. “Do come in.”
Oh, Highfield Park was blessedly quiet! It almost felt like a sanctuary as Oliver stepped over the threshold. “Is Lord Bradenham in, Monroe?”
“Indeed, sir. In his study. Shall I announce you?”
Oliver shook his head. “I know the way.” And perhaps he’d make a detour past the music room en route to Braden’s study and hope for that glimpse of Grace that he really did need more than anything else in the world. She was forever gliding her fingers over the pianoforte, and just the thought of finding her had Oliver increasing his step.
Unfortunately, no music drifted down the corridor, and the room was quite vacant when he reached it. In fact, the Park was so quiet he hadn’t any sort of clue as to where to find her. Gracehadcome home after the season, hadn’t she? What if she hadn’t come home to Highfield? What if she and Hope had gone on to Yorkshire to visit Patience? Or what if….
He couldn’t even finish that last thought. After the most trying weeks of his life, Oliver could not bear to think that shemighthave married some idiot in his absence, even if she had been quite determined to find a prospective husband the last time he’d seen her. Certainly God wouldn’t be so cruel to him, would He? Not after everything Oliver had suffered through the last few weeks. God had to be more merciful than that.
Finally, Oliver sighed and slowly made his way to Braden’s study, where he found his friend at his desk, looking quite intently at a ledger before him.
“Please tell me you still have some of Grant’s whisky.”
Braden looked up from his desk, smiled at Oliver and pushed out of his seat. “You’re back!”
“Just a few hours ago.”
“Sit, sit.” Braden rounded his desk. “I’ll pour you a glass,” he added, starting for his sideboard. “And tell me all about Grasmere and Waring. I’ve only heard a few things in the wind.”
Oliver sat in one of the seats across from Braden’s desk and released a sigh. What a bloody awful situation it was. “They tried to starve Ginny,” he breathed out, remembering how gaunt his sister had been when he arrived at the Hall and feeling sick all over again. Braden pushed a glass of whisky into his hands. “I could just kick myself for sending him away when I reached Waring Hall. I just wanted him as far away from Ginny as possible at the time.”
Braden nodded as though that made sense and hitched his hip on the edge of his desk, cradling a glass of whisky of his own. “But he’s been apprehended?”
“Him and his wife.” Oliver nodded. “And all thanks to the Duke of Danby. He put some fellows on it who didn’t rest until they found Waring. Bastard’s actually rotting in Newgate, which is a relief, I can tell you.”
“Newgate is the bit I heard.” Braden raked a hand through his hair. “But Ginny and the baby…”