Chapter 1 #2
“Your mother has outdone herself this year. The ball is quite the crush,” Grace offered. Not exactly an intimate sort of topic, but it did compliment his mother.
“She does enjoy a party, yes.” But something seemed to flicker in his eyes.
They separated again, and one of the passing couples said something to him to elicit a chuckle. Should she be more amusing? A bit of worry wormed its way into her midsection. This was not a mistake, was it?
No, of course not. Her family needed this match and as the eldest daughter, it was up to her to secure it.
Conversation would bloom; friendship would come.
Maybe even love. He likely felt as nervous as she over the impending announcement.
She did not love to be the center of attention, but as a future countess, she ought to become accustomed to it now.
The rest of the set occurred without incident. They kept to basic topics throughout, his comments were charming, though he often scanned the crowd, smiling at an acquaintance, or speaking to those around them.
He bid her farewell when the music concluded, but there appeared to be something in his gaze when it met hers for a final time. Something that spoke to the fact that they would stand side by side for their pronouncement soon enough.
It really was not soon enough though. Her heart seemed to be striving for escape, pounding as it was against her ribs.
She would find Mama. She needed to for the announcement, anyhow. The crowd seemed thinner near the veranda—she would start there.
But as she weaved through silk and cotton dresses alike, avoiding running into held glasses of negus or protruding elbows, her heart did not slow.
Was she scared of the change in her marital status or of her husband-to-be?
Lord Ellison was rather terrifying, in all honesty.
Terrifying in that he was everything Grace felt she was yet was not at liberty to act as. Fun, open, charming.
Because, truth be told, Grace was a fraud.
She faked her perfection for the sake of her family.
She’d grasped at every bit of propriety and civility that she could manage and repressed every desire to act sensationally.
As the eldest of five children, all who had come into money with their father’s successes as a merchant, she had to be perfect.
It was up to her to pave the way for her siblings and elevate her family social status.
But once she was Lady Ellison, her goals would be accomplished. The strictures would be gone.
There.
It was not Mama’s headdress she spotted, but Annabelle’s. They could finish their conversation. Annabelle was always so assured of herself—if she came to believe this upcoming betrothal, Grace felt as if she could believe it as well.
A dozen or more paces ahead, Annabelle’s sky-blue dress exited the ballroom onto the veranda, and Grace followed, narrowly avoiding a run-in with a couple coming out. She apologized and allowed them to pass before slipping through the open doors herself.
Cooler air sent gooseflesh erupting down her upper arms, and the wall of glass illuminating the ballroom dampened the noise within.
Grace’s head swung, looking for a sign of her friend, but none was readily apparent. There were a handful of groupings on the veranda, but only one person nodded at Grace, who smiled serenely back, though she really wanted to hike up her skirts and run down the stairs into the garden below.
Perhaps she was wrong and that had not been Annabelle coming out here. Was she so full of nervous energy that she was seeing things?
She turned to retreat when a familiar laugh reached her ears. Except it didn’t sound as Annabelle’s laughs usually did. It was different—breathy.
Grace’s brows furrowed. Was her friend well?
She took a tentative step to the balustrade. The laugh—giggle—came again. It sounded as if it were just below her. Curiosity got the best of her, as occasionally it did, and she placed her hands on the chilled stone rail, leaning over it.
The garden was in shadow, but there was light enough to see the couple below.
Annabelle—she would recognize that feathered headdress anywhere, was… was…
Bile rose in Grace’s throat. She clamped a hand to her mouth as she stood, frozen in place. She might not have held extensive conversations with her betrothed, but she had seen him aplenty. And she knew his telltale dark curls as well as anyone in the neighborhood would.
Heart begging for escape from her confining ribcage, Grace stared.
The owner of those curls was decidedly kissing Grace’s best friend in a shadowed corner where the stone stairs met the outer wall of the home.
Her mind spun; it seemed to tilt her view as she finally managed to push from the stone balustrade. She dragged a breath in between her teeth as her logical side tried to prevail, tried to determine some explanation.
There was only one. The man was a cad. Her friend was a lightskirt.
And Grace could not marry him.
With that realization, her vision slammed back into focus, and her feet sped into action. Moisture blurred her view, but deep breaths and clenched teeth held the tears back as she fled through the crowded ballroom.
But this was horrible. Horrible. She was meant to marry this man. Had to—for her family.
But no. In this she could not bend. Would not.
It was one thing to marry a man she did not know well, but another entirely to marry one she knew to be promiscuous.
She’d intended to elevate her family, yes, but she must also show her sisters the kind of man they deserved and give them a brother-in-law they could be proud of.
Her sisters. Heavens, Clara was near to coming out herself—if Grace did not marry soon, it would alter that timeline.
If she did not marry well, Clara’s options would be severely limited—and Margaret’s.
Not to mention William and Edmund’s futures.
All of her siblings would be affected by this.
The brightly lit ballroom appeared dull and muted.
Mama appeared suddenly in front of Grace. Her smile dropped the moment she saw Grace’s expression. “Whatever is the matter?” she asked.
Grace blinked at her, her world coming back into focus. Her mind whirring into motion.
Where Grace truly shone was not in her facade as a perfect lady of the gentry. It was in her quick mind and pragmatic approach. And an idea was already forming. She needed a husband. Had thought Lord Ellison was that man, but no longer.
Grace could, however, capture a new husband. With her dowry and training, she could accomplish it. She would have to. Not here, though—never around Lord Ellison. Her pride could not take it.
Aunt Elizabeth. Grace would convince Mama to send her to Dover to capture a man.
“Mama,” she said, terrified that her mother would disagree, would push for this engagement as she pushed for everything. Grace did not mind bending most of the time. She was happy to placate her parents and everyone around her.
But not in this.
“I cannot marry Lord Ellison,” she said.