Chapter Eleven
Grace woke up the next morning feeling more confident about her future than she had the day before.
Despite her misstep with her new husband—she still thought it was his fault for being so infuriating—it seemed he was willing to help her restore her reputation.
She may still be anxious about the fact that their marriage was not in fact a true marriage, and she had not given up, certainly not!
But she told herself she must set that aside for now.
Yesterday she had spent the entire day worrying.
After breakfast, Rory had not sought her out as she had hoped so they could discuss what was to be done with her.
He had vanished, and she had waited anxiously until she realized he wasn’t going to find her.
That he had no intention of it, and perhaps he was feeling overwhelmed too.
And then last night he had made the offer about the theatre, and it had seemed as if they had reached some sort of an understanding.
At least she hoped so.
The countess was overjoyed to hear of their proposed visit to the theatre. At breakfast, Rory said he had arranged to attend with Grace that very night, and his aunt had clapped her hands with excitement. Which made Rory’s cheeks flush as he bent over his breakfast.
“Least I can do,” he mumbled.
“Well, I am very pleased,” she said. But Grace noticed her giving Rory a curious look, and there was a glint of amusement in her eyes. “You will enjoy yourselves,” she went on. “At least I hope so. What play is it?”
Rory was tucking into his meal, the plate piled high as usual. “I don’t know. Does it matter?”
The countess turned to Grace, and there was definitely a twinkle in her eye now. “I suppose not. You will be able to wear one of the new gowns the modiste fitted you for yesterday.”
“But I thought it would be several days yet before—”
Jennie’s expression grew determined. “I will send her a note to tell her you need one for tonight.”
Grace blinked. To have such power that to want something was immediately to get it done! She had never held that sort of authority.
“You have new gowns?” Rory looked up, brows raised.
“Your aunt kindly offered for me to—” Grace began stiffly.
“Your wife was in desperate need,” his aunt said astringently. “Someone had to do something, Rory.”
Rory frowned as he picked up his coffee cup. “I could have done that.”
The countess shot him a mocking look. “I doubt it, nephew. What do you know of women’s clothing?
” Then, seeing him about to respond, “No, please don’t answer that.
Yesterday, Ormsby sent the remainder of Grace’s belongings as if he couldn’t wait to be rid of her.
Oh well, his loss. Besides, I am more than happy to help Grace look the part of the wife of Lord Rory MacKenzie.
It gives me something to do until James comes home. ”
She looked sad for a moment, and Grace wondered why her husband was away so long. She obviously missed him, which meant their marriage wasn’t one of those convenient unions.
“I am most grateful,” Grace assured her, and she was. “If I can repay you in any way, then please . . .”
The countess waved a dismissive hand. “There is no need. I will enjoy watching the two of you enter society and take it by storm.”
Rory and Grace exchanged a glance that questioned that ambition.
And yet Grace felt as if she and her husband were on the same page.
Yes, taking society “by storm” was rather ambitious, and besides, who wanted to be the center of attention like that?
But surely a ripple would help to ease her back into fashionable circles.
The remainder of Grace’s day was filled with the countess and her modiste finishing one gown and making headway on several others.
There were more fittings and long discussions, and Grace gave up her protests.
Jennie did appear to be enjoying the whole process, and it seemed ungrateful to object too loudly.
Even Bothwell deigned to come downstairs to observe them, as if offering his approval.
“My cat does not give his affection to just anyone,” Jennie said thoughtfully.
“Then I am grateful he has given it to me,” Grace said with a smile. “Does he like your nephew?”
Jennie laughed. “The opposite. I’m not sure who he likes the least, Callum or Rory.”
The countess arranged for them to have a small supper before they left for the theatre, and Grace waited nervously for Rory to arrive.
He had been absent again today, and she was aware her appearance was very different from the girl in the pink wedding dress.
Her new clothes were fashionable and flattered her rather than just being hand-me-downs or cast-offs.
When her mother was alive, there had been new dresses several times a year, but since she had died, Grace’s needs had been set aside in favor of her sisters’.
She didn’t mind that so much, but lately even her sisters were being neglected.
She didn’t think Ormsby was poor, just reluctant to spend his pennies on things he did not consider important.
She fidgeted and wondered impatiently why she should care what Rory thought of her appearance.
But she did. She wanted him to be proud of her and pleased to have her by his side.
Perhaps that was because now they were going to be working together to repair her reputation, and she felt it was important to be in harmony with him.
It couldn’t be because she wanted his admiration, goodness me, no!
Rory finally returned home and went up to his room to be dressed by his uncle’s valet.
When he appeared in the dining room in his tight-fitting pantaloons and the favorite green jacket, with his auburn hair gleaming in the candles in the chandelier, Grace thought what a handsome man he was.
She found herself staring at him in a very silly way, but then when he noticed her transformation, he seemed to be having the same problem.
His bow was more formal than it usually was, but his blue eyes were warmer as they inspected her new gown and her fashionable hairstyle.
“You look . . .” he began, and then he smiled. “Grace, you are beautiful!”
Grace felt herself swell with pleasure. But then he had to spoil it.
“I canna understand why Ramsgate would rather have fought a duel to the death than marry you.”
Her expression must have gone awry because he seemed to understand he had made an error. He frowned and then opened his mouth as if to repair the damage, but before he could do so, his aunt interrupted them.
“That color suits you very well,” she said to Grace, with a satisfied smile. Her gaze swept down over the gown and then back up again. “Yes, Rory is right. You do look beautiful, my dear.”
It was a beautiful color. Grace thought of it as the color of the sea off the coast of Cornwall, where her mother’s family originated.
Turquoise, she would have called it, and it suited Grace’s pale skin and dark hair.
The sleeves were short and puffed and the neckline was low, the swell of breasts showing more than Grace normally allowed, while the skirt was narrow and decorated with swags of ribbon.
She did not resemble her mother in hair or eye color, but her features were very similar, which may have been another reason Ormsby did not like her.
Did she remind him that when her mother was young, there had been another man who held her and possessed her?
A man whose careless treatment of her mother caused Grace to be born.
Was Ormsby jealous? He had been possessive of her mother while she was alive. It was unfair of him to take out his feelings on a child though, and one who had had no say in the matter of her conception or her birth.
They sat down to supper, and at the countess’s nod, Hocking beckoned his minions to serve the soup.
Grace noticed that Rory seemed to find it difficult to look away from her, and although it would have been nice if he were admiring her, she didn’t think that was the case.
He seemed to be fixated on the space between the neckline of the gown and her chin, which seemed a little strange.
There was some bare skin there but nothing that could be called indecent.
She was showing some bosom but only what was in keeping with the fashion, and yet she caught him looking more than once, before he quickly glanced away when she caught him staring.
Whatever possessed the man? She hoped he would not be staring at her all night, not when she was already concerned about the reaction to her reentry to society.
Would it be very unpleasant? The scandal with Bolton was still very fresh, and laid on top of that was her hasty marriage to Rory. Titillating ammunition for the gossips.
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach and she found she was not as hungry as she had thought she was.
As she nibbled at the various dishes, the countess kept up the conversation while Rory answered with a smile or a few words when it was necessary.
He too was quieter than usual, and Grace was relieved when it was time to rise and leave.
Until she remembered what lay before her.
*
There was quite a crowd gathered outside the theatre.
As Grace waited for their coach to reach the front of the queue, she began to grow more and more anxious.
She knew people were going to stare and whisper, and they would call her by that awful name—Disgrace.
This was why Ormsby had warned her to stay away from social gatherings, to vanish from sight and take her scandal with her, and here she was doing the exact opposite.
And wasn’t that why she was supposed to ensure Rory consummated their marriage?
So that if the scandal became too much for him, he could not abandon her?