Quite dead in the middle of Quent’s parlor at Marisdùn Castle, the man’s hair turned completely white. Grace wouldn’t forget the sight either, not as long as she lived. It could have only been made worse for Hope as she’d somehow loved the late-scoundrel. “Time, dearest. It’ll just take time.” Which was what she’d been telling herself for the last four years. Eventually, it had to be true, didn’t it?
“I don’t know.” Hope shrugged. “I don’t feel like myself anymore. I’m not sure I even know who I am.”
“Well, that’s easy.” Grace bumped her shoulder with her sister’s, hoping to lighten the mood. “You are simply the most gorgeous lady in all of England, and the world will be whatever you make of it.”
“The most gorgeous lady?” Hope laughed. “You only said that because I look just like you.”
Grace bit back a smile. “And aren’t you lucky for it?”
Her sister laughed again, which warmed Grace’s heart just a bit…until she spotted the one man she hoped to never see again as long as she lived. Standing with their mother was Grace and Hope’s great-uncle, the intimidating, arrogant, and completely domineering Duke of Danby. A chill crawled down Grace’s spine. Shouldn’t their reprieve have been longer?
“What in the world ishedoing in London?” she breathed out. Did he have his stack of special licenses with him too? Had he decided he didn’t want to wait for next Christmas to make his decrees? Blast it all! He hadn’t already secured matches for Grace and Hope, had he?
She’d been doing her very best trying to find an acceptable husband. She really, truly had. Some fellow who was pleasant, interesting, noble, someone she wouldn’t mind living her life with, even if she didn’t love him. And she certainly didn’t need any added anxiety with His Grace watching her every move.
“Lady Heathfieldishis granddaughter,” Hope whispered.
“I hardly think he traveled from Yorkshire to London to attend Lady Heathfield’sal fresco.” Blast it! Blast it! Blast it! Grace thought she had more time than this.
“Mama looks as happy as you are about it.”
Well, the dukedidknow some scandalous secret about their mother. At least he’d referenced her scandalous past when he’d summoned them all to Yorkshire for Christmas a few months ago. Grace, Hope and Patience still had no idea what that scandal was, however. “Do you think he’s blackmailing her about that secret?”
A snort escaped Hope. “He’s the one who’s obsessed with keeping scandal from the family’s name. I hardly doubt he’d resort to blackmail, since he wouldn’t want anyone else to know whatever it was Mama did, or whatever he thinks she did.”
That was probably true. Grace hadn’t thought about it like that. Still, the last thing she wanted to do was encounter the duke, not if she could avoid doing so. “I, um, spotted Tessie Berkswell, back by the refreshment table. We should go visit her, don’t you think?”
Luckily, Hope nodded her head, but then she said, “I never thought I’d see the dayyouwere intimidated by anyone, Grace Post.”
Well, the Duke of Danby was hardly just anyone, was he?
Chapter 4
April 1817 - Waring Hall, Westmorland
The day wasbeautiful with the sun shining so nicely on the old Baroque manor, which didn’t match Oliver’s temperament in the least. But how could it? After all, it had taken days to make it to Waring Hall, and Oliver was on the edge of his seat the entire way. He could not get to Westmorland fast enough and he couldn’t divulge Benjy’s suspicions about Douglas Waring to his mother or Veronica while they traveled north. After all, there was nothing any of them could do to make the Hall faster than they had, and his mother did not need the extra worry about Ginny’s safety. So Oliver let that concern sit firmly on his shoulders to bear alone.
His coachman opened the door and Oliver waited as patiently as he was able while the man helped his mother and then his sister from the conveyance. Then he bounded out of the coach after the pair, relieved to finally be at their destination. He glanced toward Benjy, just a few feet away, and nodded a thanks once more.
Then the front door to the manor opened, and Swale, his sister’s slim butler, looked quite pleased to see them. “Lord Prestwood, my ladies,” he said in greeting. “Lady Grasmere will be so relieved you’ve arrived.”
“Swale, how is Lady Grasmere?” Mother asked, quickly ascending the large stone front steps.
“She is in her chambers, Lady Prestwood.”
“Come, Veronica,” Mother called over her shoulder as she stepped through the large door. “We’ll attend her immediately.”
“She is in good health?” Oliver asked, as the butler truly hadn’t answered that question, and it was the only one he cared about.
“She is resting,” Swale replied. “She has had a difficult time since his lordship’s passing.”
For the first time in days, Oliver took a relieved breath. No matter what else had happened or might have happened before he’d arrived, Ginny was alive and well. Thank God. “I’ll just speak with Swale, Mother,” Oliver called after her. “Then I’ll join you.”
She waved her hand in the air as though she couldn’t be bothered to care. Now that they were at Waring Hall, nothing Oliver did or didn’t do would warrant a notice from his mother. She would sit at Ginny’s bedside both day and night, and probably drive his sister half-mad in the process.
“Prestwood?” Came a familiar voice from inside the nearest parlor. And then a moment later, Ginny’s brother-in-law, Lord Douglas Waring appeared on the threshold, a confused expression upon his countenance. “What a surprise. I had no idea you’d be traveling north during the season.”
No doubt Oliver’s appearance had been a surprise, especially if Ginny’s footman’s worries were warranted. “Mother decided she wanted to be by Ginny’s side during her final months of confinement.”