Chapter 1
NO ONE IN the room paid Grace Whitmore any mind. Hardly anyone ever did.
The harvest ball was full to bursting, the outer edge of dancers all the way to the wall of Shefford Park’s cavernous ballroom, and Grace’s attempt to find one person—one man—was beginning to feel nearly impossible.
She pressed to her toes, eyes narrowed in search of the man.
Should she seek him out? Would he find her for their dance?
It oughtn’t to be so difficult to locate her betrothed.
Miss Heathgrow passed in front of Grace, her full skirts sweeping against Grace’s own.
But when Grace smiled in greeting, the woman barely cast her a glance.
That was nothing new. It was hard, after all, to convince an entire neighborhood she’d grown up in that she was now worthy of their interest. Renovations and additions to their home and substantial dowries for all three girls were trifling things compared to the stain of tainted money.
Papa had worked for his wealth, and that could not be forgiven by the ton.
It would not be that way after today, though. Not after her betrothal to Lord Ellison was announced. The heir to the earldom. The man who would one day host this very ball himself.
Heavens, that meant she would host this ball.
The glittering ballroom seemed to tilt before her—candles, dresses, and columns alike skewing to the side as her chest tightened, both in trepidation and excitement.
This was everything she’d worked towards for years.
Years of acting the perfect young lady, honing her skills of conversation and talents in the most genteel activities, had paid off a week before, when Mama informed her that the match was secured.
For some time, Grace had subscribed to the belief that she should have had her come out elsewhere.
In Bath, perhaps, where the knowledge that Papa had earned his money, rather than inheriting it, would not be so well known.
Her dowry would have secured her a fine match without so much effort there.
But it was all worth it now. Mama was thrilled.
Ecstatic. Her father was pleased. Her younger siblings would be gratified.
After all, this would pave the way for them as well as elevate their standing in the neighborhood.
And Grace… Well, Grace was not meant to show her emotions.
But she could not ignore the flare of excitement—of hope—that the upcoming nuptials brought her.
An advantageous marriage and spotless reputation were the best she had to help her family elevate themselves now.
But after marriage… perhaps then, she could relax a little.
Be more herself. And while her association with Lord Ellison was slim, she knew him to be an exciting, enjoyable sort of man.
Surely she would be allowed some of the same freedom.
“That Daisy Brooks seems intent on dancing with every man available tonight—eligible or not.” Annabelle appeared at Grace’s side in a flurry of lace and feathers, cheeks flushed becomingly.
She grasped Grace’s hand, spinning to stand beside her.
Her friend’s smile was always brightest at a ball in which every one of her dances was claimed.
“And you?” she asked. “You cannot be sitting this set out!”
“I am engaged for the next set, only awaiting my partner,” Grace replied, leaning close to be heard over the tumult that filled the room.
Lord and Lady Shefford always invited the entire neighborhood—farmers and peers alike—and it made for a raucous affair.
It was at just such an event some three years previous that Annabelle and Grace had met and formed a fast friendship.
After finding themselves painting the walls and connecting over their fathers’ merchant backgrounds, Annabelle had called the next day to ask Grace’s opinion on a new gown.
Now, years later, Grace counted Miss Lennox as her closest friend.
Annabelle leaned her shoulders against the wall behind them, blowing a stray, dark curl from her eyes. “And who has measured up to Grace Whitmore’s perfection?” she teased.
Grace shook her head, but her lips lifted regardless. Though appreciated by her family, Grace’s perfection was a point of frustration for Annabelle, who thought it an act.
Which it was. But a necessary one.
“Lord Ellison,” Grace murmured, and Annabelle spun, eyes wide.
“No,” she said, the single word both curious and aghast. “How did you manage that?”
Grace’s eyes darted beyond them, but as usual, no one paid them any mind. She had been bursting with this information for days now; surely she could tell the one person she trusted implicitly.
Annabelle’s dark brows rose. “You have a secret,” she said, hand tightening around Grace’s fingers. “Tell me.”
Grace was helpless against her demand. “But you cannot tell a soul.”
“My lips are veritably sealed,” Annabelle breathed.
“Lord Ellison has asked for my hand in marriage. The announcement will be made tonight after dinner.” Her voice nearly stifled the words, as if Grace betrayed Mama by saying anything when she’d been instructed not to.
Annabelle was so shocked, all expression had been wiped entirely from her face. “The… you… how?”
Grace repeated all the reasons she’d given herself for the unbelievable turn of events.
“Mama and Lady Shefford attended school together years ago. And… Well, my understanding is that the earldom is in a bit of financial distress. Lord Ellison may be rather mercurial, but he has a great sense of responsibility for his future title. I suppose he saw me as a commendable option for a wife.” Her stomach twisted. Not unpleasantly.
“But…” Annabelle blinked. “Many young women have money aplenty. I do.”
Yet Grace hardly heard. She’d glimpsed him, weaving through the crowd with athletic grace, his eyes scanning the many faces before alighting on hers.
Though an easy smile played across his lips, there was no special warmth in Lord Ellison’s eyes.
After all, theirs was not a love match. But marriages made on business were not unusual, even for two people who hardly knew one another.
After the announcement was made, he would court her for three weeks as banns were read in the parish.
But both families had agreed, so he had to see something within her.
Though they were not well-acquainted, they’d grown up in the same neighborhood.
They’d even attended the same events—at least as of late, now that her family had elevated their station in Society.
Annabelle was stiff at Grace’s side, eyes darting between Grace and Lord Ellison as the latter bowed over Grace’s hand. His dark hair was a wave of styled curls, his eyes a shade of green, and his shoulders stretched the expanse of his dark blue coat.
Her mouth felt suddenly dry.
“Miss Whitmore, I believe this set is mine?” he asked.
What was going through his mind? He appeared so steady and unaffected despite the fact that in a mere hour, he would be engaged to her.
But Grace showed none of her nerves either. Nor her excitement. She dipped a small curtsy and smiled her most circumspect smile. “I do believe so, yes.”
He tucked her arm into the crook of his before turning to Annabelle. Grace viewed her friend as he must. Much prettier than Grace, much better dressed, much more personable.
And yet, somehow, he’d chosen her. Among all such options in the neighborhood.
“Do you know Miss Lennox, Lord Ellison? She is a particular friend of mine.” Grace performed the introduction, strangely satisfied to be able to do so.
Usually, it was Annabelle introducing Grace to new acquaintances, sharing the newest bit of gossip, or explaining that powdered hair was nearly out of fashion and Grace had best inform her maid of that fact.
And now, Grace was introducing her best friend to her future husband. Annabelle would grace the halls of Shefford Park because of Grace.
Lord Ellison bowed, just a small dip of his chin really, and after a few pleasantries, he took his leave, directing Grace to the dancers.
Grace aimed a smile at Annabelle, but her friend’s eyes had fastened on Lord Ellison’s back.
Her stomach dipped. If her own friend could not believe the match was to happen, who would? But then they reached the dancers and Lord Ellison patted her gloved hand before releasing her, offering reassurance even if he did not realize it.
Then he took his place across from her, turning to the man beside him and eliciting a laugh from the gentleman.
It was always that way with Lord Ellison.
There was an energy about him, a way of filling every room he entered.
It was more than his title or good looks.
He himself just seemed so genuine. The music began and when he turned his smile upon her, warmth filled her lungs.
They met in the middle, grasping hands and switching places.
“Are you well this evening, my lord?” she asked.
“Certainly,” he returned, eyes on hers until they parted to weave around the couple beside them. Did he mean something within that single word? Was he assuring her that he was happy with the upcoming match, even if it had been instigated by their parents?
They grasped hands again, his firm as they engulfed hers. “And you?” he asked. “Are you well? Do you enjoy dancing?”
“I am, yes. And indeed, I do. The exertion is appreciated.” Her gaze stayed up but her mind was on her feet, ensuring she did not miss a step. He mustn’t regret his choice of wife based on a poor showing.
He nodded, his eyes flicking over her shoulder with a smile and nod to whomever he saw.
For her part, she hardly spared a thought for the whirl of color and conversation around her.
What did one say to a man with whom she would be intimately connected, and yet hardly knew?
Discourse on dancing and one’s health was not exactly the foundation to build a marriage upon.