Chapter Twenty One
Want me to toss ‘is lordship’s misbegotten arse into the Thames?”
Grace snickered despite herself. “Thank you,” she said to Uncle Chris, “but no.” Though it was sweet of him to offer—in a way.
Mostly sweet, anyway. There was no sense in asking where or when he’d heard of her falling out with Henry; there wasn’t a single member of her family who wasn’t nose-deep in everyone else’s business at all times.
“The Severn, then,” he said, as he handed off his coat and hat to Redding, who had likely become so inured to casual talk of murder or maiming that it could no longer elicit even the faintest twitch of his mustache. “A bit out o’ the way, mind ye, but I’d do it.”
Of course he would. Without question. “Sometimes,” she said, “the best revenge is a life well-lived.”
“Brutal,” Uncle Chris said, with a low whistle and a shake of his head. “Might be worse than death fer ‘im, ‘avin’ to watch ye be happy.”
Grace pursed her lips together to suppress the laugh that threatened. Naturally he would take it thus, instead of the intended statement that she meant to move on with her life regardless.
“Ye’re too good fer ‘im anyway, Gracie.”
“Yes. I am.” And if Henry couldn’t see it, well, then, that was his loss and none of her own. “Is Aunt Phoebe not coming to tea?”
“She is. We crossed paths with Marcus and Lydia outside and she stopped fer a bit of a chat. Thought I’d sneak in whilst she was occupied; fer some fool reason, she don’t take well to me issuing death threats.”
For some reason, indeed. “I’ll be coming to tea, too, today.” Since she had nothing better to do at the moment, given that she would not be seeing Henry even if he did happen to come calling.
A sharp rap upon the front door. “That’ll be Phoebe,” Uncle Chris said as he strode toward it, as Redding had gone off to hang up his things.
But it wasn’t.
Grace stilled, dumbstruck, as the door swung open to reveal two figures waiting upon the steps. An older woman dressed in a lovely gown of soft lavender, and a young lady of perhaps fifteen years of age.
Both of them had the look of Henry about them, the features softened but still bearing a distinct familial resemblance.
It had been over a year since she’d last seen the countess out in society, and Grace’s fleeting memories of her had faded in the interim, but the girl—the girl was undoubtedly Henry’s younger sister, Eliza.
Uncle Chris made a sound deep within his throat; a low sort of growl that suggested that if they had dared to venture onto his property, he’d have promptly snapped the door shut in their faces. But they hadn’t, and so he turned his head toward her and asked, “Gracie?”
Oh. She was meant to do something. Say something. Anything but to stand there staring mutely, as if she hadn’t a thought left in her head. “My lady,” she said at last, hearing the strange, strangled sound of her own voice. “If you have come on your son’s behalf—”
“I haven’t,” the countess interjected, a hint of a blush climbing into her cheeks. “That is to say, I have been explicitly prohibited from it.”
“Have you?” Grace asked. “Why?”
“Because sending one’s mother to make apologies on one’s behalf is the behavior of a coward, and my Henry is not such a coward as that.” The countess reached for her daughter’s hand, clasping it in her own. “I make no excuses for my son’s behavior, Miss Seymour.”
Good of her, Grace supposed. “Then why have you come?” she asked.
“Because I was invited for tea,” the countess said.
She hesitated, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face.
“Or at least I was, once. And I understand that I owe you my gratitude, for what you have done for my family. Or—or tried to do, at any rate.” She blew out a short breath, a tiny grimace tugging at her mouth.
“Please forgive me,” she said. “I have not…been much out in society of late.”
No; Grace supposed she had not. And it was brave of her to come here, now, with her daughter in tow, no less. To offer her gratitude for Grace’s services for a task she believed had failed. Probably it felt as if her whole life had collapsed around her.
Probably she was in desperate need of a friend or two. People who would not shun her for her past, who would not shame her for those things which could not be changed.
And really, Eliza had always been kind to Tansy.
“I see,” she said. “Well, then. We have got space for a few more, I think. Provided you don’t mind the presence of children.”
“And cats?” Eliza asked hopefully. “I brought a piece of bacon for Tansy. She didn’t come to the garden yesterday; I hoped to see her here instead.”
The countess darted a baffled glance at her daughter. “You brought bacon? On your person?”
“Yes, of course.” Eliza lifted her wrist to show off the little pouch that dangled from it. “It’s in my reticule.”
Grace smothered a snicker behind the tips of her fingers at the countess’ aghast expression.
“I believe she is presently sunning herself in the drawing room window, Lady Eliza, if you’d care to visit her.
Tea will be upstairs presently, when you are ready.
But I would like to speak with your mother in private for a few moments, if you don’t mind.
” If only to provide the poor lady some small measure of peace of mind.
“Is there a problem, Gracie?” Uncle Chris asked as Eliza skittered off in the direction of the drawing room, a suspicious glint gleaming in his eyes. And she knew he must be thinking of that evening in his office not too long ago.
“Nothing for you to worry over.” She’d tell him someday, once the danger had passed.
But that was a subject for another time.
Presently, the countess had scraped together enough courage to come in spite of the possibility of rejection.
It seemed the least she could do to welcome the woman, who, to the best of her knowledge, had never said or done anything to offend.
“Will you walk with me in the garden, my lady?”
“Rose.” The name emerged from the countess’ mouth, scratchy and hoarse, as if it had clawed its way from her throat. “Rose is fine. I suppose I ought to accustom myself to it.”
Oh, dear. They really did have to have a chat. And the sooner, the better. “Will you walk with me in the garden, Rose?” she asked, and winced as a resounding crash came tumbling down the stairway, followed by a chorus of childish shrieks of dismay.
Rose’s eyes widened. “What on earth was that?” Her hands smoothed at her skirts in a faintly anxious motion, as if her nerves had suddenly taken leave of her.
Grace stepped toward her and threaded her arm through Rose’s before the poor woman could turn tail and flee for safety. “Most likely my nieces and nephews,” she said. “They’re lovely children, most of the time.”
Uncle Chris heaved an exasperated sigh. “They’re lovely children separately,” he clarified. “Together, they’re a damned menace to society.”
“Flora has got devastating aim with her peashooter,” Grace explained. “Unfortunately, there are occasional…casualties.” And the splintery shatter within that crash had sounded rather expensive to her ears. “We’ll just have a bit of a walk while the mess is tidied up, hmm? And Uncle Chris—”
“I’ll tell Phoebe two more for tea,” he said begrudgingly. “If she ever manages to make her way inside.”
Rose held onto Grace’s arm as though it were a lifeline, her expression suggesting she might be reconsidering every choice which had led her to this particular moment.
“I don’t suppose my sister-in-law will be joining us?
” she asked hopefully as she allowed Grace to direct her toward the rear of the house.
“I have missed her company,” she admitted.
“Not today, I’m afraid,” Grace said regretfully. “But we did so enjoy her company when last she came, and she knows she is welcome to return, so I imagine that we will see a great deal of her in the future. Alicia is a lovely woman.”
“There was a time that she was my only friend,” Rose said, and her head bowed as they strolled from the house out into the garden at last. “We were both strangers to the aristocracy, she and I. We became fast friends—though I have been a rather poor one of late.”
“Kind of you,” Grace said, “not to tar her with the same brush her husband rightly deserves.”
“Never,” Rose said loyally. “Alicia hasn’t got a conniving bone in her body.
She can’t have known what Nigel intended.
” A wry sort of smile, resigned and almost reconciled.
“Still intends, I suppose. I suspect we are living on borrowed time. But I do thank you, most sincerely, for your efforts. It was too kind of you to lend your assistance to a problem that was none of your responsibility to solve.”
Some things were simply the right thing to do.
She didn’t regret helping Henry as she had, and would not have allowed a private grievance to displace two innocent women from their rightful positions so a lesser man might steal a title to which he would never otherwise have been entitled.
It was patently unfair that a mere few days had rendered Henry ineligible for the earldom, that a man who was every bit his father’s son could find himself disinherited over something so small, so inconsequential.
The injustice of it had been worth fighting.
“I am certain Henry must have told you something of my particular skills,” Grace said as they wandered slowly through a row of roses.
“I’ll admit I was warned never to play cards with you,” Rose said, softening the words with a smile.
Grace laughed lightly. “Wise advice, unless you care to lose your money,” she said.
“Cheating is a specialty of mine, and I’m very good at it.
I’m very good at a great number of things, most of which would get me locked up in Newgate if I ever happened to be caught.
But I am afraid I have reached the limits of what I can do. ”