Chapter Eight
Grace gave the Dashworth family a week to look through Sebastian’s belongings without any interference from her.
Emily invited her to join them on several occasions, but Grace held back from accepting.
As much as she had liked them, and as lovely and welcoming as they had been to her, all aside from one family member, she recognised that they needed time to deal with their emotions.
Her refusal to return to Glanmore House had absolutely nothing to do with avoiding the duke, whose animosity towards her had hurt more than she would care to admit.
Long ago, she had decided that what people thought of her would be of little concern to her.
For years, she had managed to live by her own decree.
If she could accept that her own parents and the man she had married couldn’t bring themselves to love her, then the disdain of one man should not bother her.
Yet, she could not deny that his response to her played on her own insecurities.
She’d be walking with her maid or chatting with Mrs Hitchings and the image of his curled lip as he questioned her intentions would pop unwanted into her mind.
Frustratingly, she could understand his point of view.
A strange woman had appeared in his life claiming to have news of a brother who had died over two years ago.
The way he had spoken to her had made her lose her temper, but the fact she had called him a pompous clodpate was her own doing.
It was as if she wanted to be ejected from the Ton and was going about it by insulting one of the highest-ranking peers in the land.
Not only that, she did not want to fall out with the rest of the Dashworth family.
His Grace had been in their lives a lot longer than she had, and his brothers were far more likely to take his side than hers.
Better to let both of their tempers simmer down before she became embroiled in their lives once more.
Instead, she filled her days with receiving guests during the afternoon and attending events in the evening.
There was no shortage of invitations: trips to the theatre, rides in the park, dining at the tables of some of the most influential members of the Ton, according to Mrs Hitchings.
In seven days, Grace had spoken to more people than she had in the last two years.
The constant whirl almost kept her mind off the Dashworths, but thoughts of them and, even more frequently, the cantankerous duke were never far away.
‘I tell you,’ said Mrs Hitchings as they made their way to yet another ball, ‘come the Season you will be inundated with requests for your presence.’
‘You mean it will be busier than this?’ Grace couldn’t believe that they weren’t in the Season proper. She hadn’t had a moment to herself.
‘Oh my goodness, yes. There are often more than two events in any given evening. If the summer is anything to go by, you will be invited to all of them.’
‘Interest in me will probably have died down by the start of the Season.’ She wasn’t sure if this was something she desired or not.
‘I sincerely doubt it, my dear. Society may have paid attention to you at first because of the Duke of Glanmore’s pointed interest, but the continued fascination with you is all down to your personality.
You have charmed everyone, as I knew you would as soon as I met you.
I must say that it warms my heart to see you getting the reception you deserve. ’
Grace rather thought she was an object of curiosity, a novelty amongst people who had known one another for years and valued the fresh blood.
Add to that her American heritage and she was in high demand.
People wanted to know what the former colonies were like, often assuming they were a poor cousin to England.
Most of the time it was amusing to tell a story and watch as the listeners realised that the country across the water was every bit as sophisticated as their own.
On the rare occasion, Grace was subjected to coarse remarks about her place of birth, but as these were made by people who appeared to be displeased about other things, it was easy to ignore these comments.
Just as she was ignoring Mrs Hitchings’ comments about her being of particular interest to the Duke of Glanmore.
Her dear friend entirely misunderstood His Grace’s focused attention on her.
On this evening, Grace had barely stepped into the ballroom before a wave of men approached her, asking for her dance card.
As they all but lined up to request the pleasure of her company, Mrs Hitchings beamed with pleasure.
When Lord William, the Beauvarlet marquess everyone was very excited about, bowed and asked for the waltz, Grace feared her friend might faint from the excitement.
Lord William was handsome and wealthy and, so it seemed to Grace, a man with integrity.
If she were looking for her next husband, he would be on her list. But her marriage to Ichabod had been brutally awful.
Hell would freeze over before she wed another.
As the marquess walked away, Mrs Hitchings grabbed her arm.
‘My dear, he would be quite the catch. If you were able to secure his interest before the Season begins, it would be a triumph, and I am confident that you are on the way to doing so already. He has already paid you such marked attention that I believe he must be seriously intending to court you.’
‘Oh dear. Do you really think so?’
Either ignoring or not noticing Grace’s dismay, Mrs Hitchings continued, ‘He is of an age where most men would be considering a wife. He danced with you twice at my little gathering and to request a waltz this evening…’ Mrs Hitchings flicked open her fan and waved it about.
‘It has been rumoured that he is looking for a wife and if you were to be that woman, your place in English Society would be secured. Being wed to him is only second to ensnaring the Duke of Glanmore, I would say.’
‘I do not believe I shall marry again,’ said Grace. And she certainly would not be setting her cap at the duke if she was, or the Beauvarlet heir for that matter.
‘I do understand, my dear,’ said Mrs Hitchings, idly patting Grace’s arm. ‘I should not like to replace Mr Hitchings. But you are too young to hide your light away. I am sure your husband would not like you to grieve for the rest of your life.’
Grace was sure Ichabod would have desired her to be as miserable as possible for as long as possible, the rest of her life ideally.
She hadn’t revealed the true horror of her marriage to anyone.
Not even Clare knew everything, partly because she had not wanted to dim her sister’s happiness and partly because Clare had died before the worst of it had occurred.
Grace may have kept it from her sister anyway, keen not to take away anything from Clare’s life when her contentedness had been a hard-won thing.
Their parents, who had started off as self-centred, self-serving individuals, had turned evil over the years.
Clare, with her sweet-natured disposition, had fared worse than Grace, who was naturally less kind and gentle and who had refused to forgive her parents for their behaviour at a far younger age than Clare.
Grace was halfway through a cotillion when she spotted some of the Dashworth family at the edge of the dance floor.
Katherine and Sophia smiled at her when she caught their eyes.
She smiled back until she saw that the man standing next to them was neither of their husbands, but the duke.
He was not looking at her. His lips were set in a grim line and he stared straight ahead as if he could not see or hear the merriment around him.
The dance turned her away from them and she tried to focus on the lively story her partner was telling her and not on the duke’s brooding presence.
Too soon, the set was over and her partner was leading her off the floor in the direction of the Dashworth group.
It would seem odd to pull him in a different direction, so she allowed herself to be tugged along.
The Dashworths had been joined by several people, all of whom Grace had met, and she ended up standing in their circle.
Fragments of conversation reached her, but it was hard to follow one particular thread as all the voices ran together.
She kept what she hoped was a pleasant, vague smile pointed in the direction of all the participants, trying her best not to glance in the duke’s direction.
But somehow his presence was like a constant draw on her conscience.
The temptation to look at him pulled on her senses, blurring everything else into the background.
In the end, it became too much and she caved in to her desire.