Prologue #2
“Well, that’s Theodore Parker, of course,” Frannie said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
“This is his family’s manor.” She seemed surprised that Grace didn’t know.
It was exactly the sort of detail Oliver wouldn’t care enough to mention, which was why despite his spoiled nature, she liked him as much as she did.
Frannie’s green eyes narrowed. “What did you say your surname was?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” Grace said. She hesitated. “It’s Covington.”
“Covington,” Frannie repeated primly, thinking. She fanned herself as if the fan itself was frantically trying to escape her grasp. “Where were you educated? Woodlawn? One of the Sisters?” she asked.
“No,” Grace said. “My mother taught me herself.”
A slight frown creased Frannie’s face. “Were you living abroad, then?”
Grace shook her head. She smiled, determined to stay at ease despite the line of questioning.
“Oh.” Frannie’s own smile was falling. “Are you part of the New York Covingtons, then?”
“No. I live in Kansas City.”
“And how have you come to be acquainted with Oliver Carter, then?” Frannie asked, tilting her head.
Grace’s voice never wavered. “He’s my cousin.”
Understanding flitted across Frannie’s face, and her pretense of politeness fell away. She recoiled.
“I’ve just seen someone calling to me,” she said flatly.
She curtsied, and Grace dipped into a pointed curtsy of her own.
It seemed that her family’s reputation had preceded her.
Perhaps her mother’s slight of choosing a common, working-class man over the future governor of Missouri could be forgiven.
But Grace’s older brother Walt was whispered about from Kansas City all the way to the grapevines of St. Louis society, solidifying opinions about how far Grace’s family had fallen.
It would be all but impossible for any of the Covingtons to be welcomed back into this kind of society again—regardless of how Grace’s cousins felt about her.
Grace bit her lip. She knew she didn’t fit here.
She didn’t know why she kept attempting to try.
But—yes she did. Because she loved Lillie and Oliver and wanted to be in their lives, to be allowed in their world.
And because she wanted to help assuage her mother’s guilt.
Grace couldn’t stand the thought that her mother might regret marrying her father.
Not that she regretted having them, per se—but Grace had watched the way the guilt ate away at her mother over Walt.
Nell blamed herself for her children’s reduced position in life, for the unfortunate choices Walt had made, the way St. Louis society had shut them out and their social circles in Kansas City had recently shunned them.
But if Grace could somehow find a way to be accepted—if she could make a good enough match despite their circumstances—her mother might stop blaming herself.
And then Grace wouldn’t have to see the hollow way her mother’s skin was beginning to hang at her neck, the bruise-like circles beneath her eyes.
Perhaps her parents would dance at night in the kitchen again when they thought no one was there.
Maybe she would stop finding her mother in Walt’s room, staring at the faded drawings he’d made when he was seven.
Grace sighed. Frannie had left her standing awkwardly and alone on the fringes of the party. She turned away, cursing Oliver less for his abandonment and more for forgetting the petit fours he’d promised her, when a man with an aggressively oiled mustache suddenly stepped into her path.
“Hello,” he said. His eyes were slightly unfocused. “Would you care to dance?”
He looked at her neckline lasciviously and she tried not to shudder.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” she said. “But thank you.”
“Can’t,” he said, subtly moving to block her way. His face hardened. “Or won’t?”
He seemed alarmingly angry about the slighted invitation, and she tried to catch Oliver’s eye, but he was completely enraptured with Harriet.
Once again, she wished desperately for Lillie.
The only two people she knew at this party were completely wrapped up in one another, oblivious to the outside world, and to her sudden pre-dicament.
“I’m afraid I have to—” she began to say, stepping back, when someone came up beside her.
“Dance with me,” the man beside her finished. “No need to take offense, Alexander. It’s just that she already promised her hand to me.”
She looked up to see Theodore Parker looking down at her. He still had a slight frown on his face, but even so, he was infinitely more agreeable than the man who seemed unable to take no for an answer.
“Yes,” she said gratefully to Theodore. “I was just looking for you.”
They pushed past the scowling Alexander and Theodore swept her out onto the dance floor, his hand on her waist.
“Thank you,” she said as the music began, just as he brushed her foot with his own.
“I’m sorry,” he said at the same time.
She smiled.
“You should know I don’t usually dance,” he said, looking pained. “Especially with women I don’t know.” His hand adjusted on her waist. “That is, if I can help it.”
“Thank you for making an exception to assist a woman in distress. You should know I don’t make it a habit of needing rescues by strange men,” she said. “If I can help it.”
The shadow of a smile crossed his face, and her heart strangely fluttered.
She was very aware of the weight of his hand on the curve of her waist, the grip of the other holding her gloved palm.
“The next time you’re approached by an unwanted suitor, perhaps you could say you’ve drunk too much wine and are on the way to being sick,” he offered dryly.
She laughed and secretly sent up thanks to Lillie for making her practice dancing with Oliver, so that at least this felt natural, and she didn’t have to concentrate on counting steps. But she wasn’t used to the shoes, and she wobbled a bit in them.
“That’s not actually true, is it?” he asked, suddenly looking at her closer.
“No,” she said, amused. “I don’t really drink.”
He nodded. “Nor do I. Though I find it helpful when I’m forced into parties I wouldn’t otherwise choose to attend.”
“Would this be one of those parties?” she asked.
He twisted his mouth wryly and cleared his throat instead of answering. She liked the smell of him, deep cedar and fall leaves and tobacco.
“Do you reside here in Chicago?” he asked. “Surely not. I’ve never seen you before.”
“Just visiting,” she said. “But I’d like to see more of the city someday. Which I will now always associate with this kindness.” She curtsied to him as the song came to an end.
“I don’t know your name,” he said, bowing to her.
“Grace,” she said.
“I’m Theodore,” he said.
She loved that he wasn’t conventionally handsome, the way the port-wine stain skimmed along his right jaw line and curled up toward his mouth.
He caught her staring at it just as Oliver approached.
“May I cut in?” Oliver asked.
“I’m sorry,” she said, catching Theodore’s eye. “But I’ve drunk too much wine and I was just on my way to being sick.”
Theodore imperceptibly snorted and for a moment tightened his grip on her.
“I’m kidding,” Grace said, laughing, and she felt his hand relax. “Mr. Parker, this is my cousin, Oliver Carter of St. Louis. Oliver, while you were otherwise engaged, this kind gentleman saved me from a ghastly fate, and I’m forever indebted to him.”
“Then so am I,” Oliver said, extending his hand. “Mr. Parker.”
“Theodore,” he corrected, taking Oliver’s hand with a solemn expression. His dark eyes had a depth to them, his jaw like cut glass.
She felt a lightning bolt in her belly as he looked at her. There was a weightiness about him that suggested he didn’t smile much, but that when he did, it was a prize worth the effort it took to win.
“Thank you for the dance,” he said, bowing to her. “It was a lovely diversion, and now I’m afraid I’ve been promised elsewhere.”
She felt the disappointment settle in her body as he left them and made his way over to a group of ladies, including Frannie Allred, who had been staring in their direction. She immediately glanced away.
“And are we making any inroads with the talented Miss Forbes?” Grace asked Oliver, falling into step with her cousin easily. They’d been dancing together for twelve years, since she was ten and he was nearing thirteen. Being with him was like coming home.
He groaned. “Somehow I turn from my handsome charming self into an uncontrollable blathering oaf whenever I’m near her.”
“She must have a penchant for blathering oafs, then,” Grace said, glancing over his shoulder, “as she’s coming this way now.”
He flushed a little and she found it endearing. With his name, wealth, and good looks, he’d always erred dangerously close to becoming a rake, and she’d never known him to be this nervous around a lady before.
“And what of you, cousin?” he asked. “No one has pecked you to death yet?”
“Miss Allred certainly tried.”
Oliver rolled his eyes. “I’ve never understood why Lillie deigns to be friends with her.”
“Lillie is an angel who is friends with everyone,” Grace said.
“Even us,” Oliver said, dipping her.
“Even us,” Grace said, laughing. He twirled her, and her dress spun at her ankles, and she decided that she was glad that she had come.
Perhaps someday she would meet a man who saw her for who she was, without the trappings of the family name her mother had thrown away, her father’s honorable hard work that somehow made him pitiable, her cousins’ elevated reputation, the tragic choices her brother had made.
Perhaps someone would simply see her—passionate and loyal and sharp-tongued, with a strong nose she’d never particularly liked and aristocratic cheekbones she’d inherited from her late grandmother.