Chapter 10
“YOU LOOK VERY pretty, miss,” Mary said, putting the finishing touches on the mass of curls artistically styled around her face.
She’d fixed the dress Grace had marred while climbing trees the day before and promised not to breathe a word of it to her mother, and now the Ellison family was coming for dinner that very night, along with the Brookses, Denhams, and Hartwells.
“Thank you,” Grace said, unaccountably nervous.
Outside of the harvest ball, she’d not attended any events, and time with Lord Ellison hadn’t helped her brush up on her social skills.
She’d grown unaccountably relaxed with him, in fact, their ridiculous outing the day before being evidence of that.
What if she forgot how to act tonight? What if she offended someone?
She slipped into her silk open robe, the gold thread glinting in the waning light from her window as Mary fastened it then added a few pearl-studded pins to her hair.
Ten minutes later, she met her parents in the drawing room to await their guests. She kissed Papa on the cheek—he’d arrived that very morning—and smiled at Mama before the woman bustled from the room to see to some last-minute detail.
But it was the third person that caught her attention most.
“Clara?” Grace asked, crossing to the next oldest Whitmore who sat near the windows.
“No one told me you’d returned!” Her sister’s face was familiar and yet strange.
The same light hair, blue eyes, and smiling mouth but with added lines and slimmer cheeks, plus a look in her expression that Grace couldn’t decipher.
And, of a sudden, Grace hadn’t a clue what to do.
The relationship between Grace and her parents had proven itself to be warm yet removed.
Should she hug Clara? Exclaim her excitement? Nothing at all?
Clara answered for her, standing in a rustle of skirts, hands enfolding Grace’s own. “Are you well? I was terrified when I learned, but Mama wished me to wait and travel with our aunt.”
Unannounced, Grace’s throat constricted with the effect of her sister’s concerned eyes and firm, familiar grip. She swallowed back tears, smiling. “Yes, I am well. A bit excessive in head space, but well.”
Clara’s hands tightened about Grace’s. “You truly do not remember a thing?”
“Bits and pieces.” Grace lifted a shoulder.
“Do you… remember me?”
“Yes! Yes, of course. Though I would be much obliged if you would remind me of any particularly entertaining stories you and I might have. It seems the last six years are nearly a blank.”
Clara’s mouth spread into a grin, creasing her cheeks. “Shall we begin forthwith? I cannot allow you to walk about without a perfect remembrance of how very impish you are capable of being.”
“Truly?” Grace asked, moving with Clara across the room to the settee and lowering her voice.
“I admit that Mother’s descriptions of me made me certain I was a great bore.
” Much as she’d felt with Annabelle, an excitement filled Grace at the prospect of memories returned to her.
But there had been something discomfiting underlying the excitement with her supposed friend that was not there now with her sister.
“Oh, of course you were a proper lady, even more so when Papa’s business elevated our status in Society, but at your heart, I fear you were quite wild.” Clara’s expression shimmered with delight.
Grace shook her head in wonder as she sat. “Yes. That makes a great deal of sense.” She worked through the information. “Then I only affected perfection?”
Clara nodded. “Yes. As we both did, though I admit you were far better than I. We wanted to make good matches, you see. Help Father solidify his standing after all his hard work.” She smoothed her skirts. “Now, I must know. Do you recall the incident with Mama’s terrier?”
A smile tugging at her lips, Grace shook her head. “When did it happen?”
“Perhaps two years ago, just before I left for the seminary.” Her sister adjusted her seat, seeming to settle in for a good story, when Mama approached them.
“Our guests will be here any moment,” she said, wringing her hands together.
Clara’s posture had been curved forward, eyes light with entertainment, but now she straightened, folding her hands in her lap.
Grace watched her, intrigued by the change, however subtle. In an instant, Clara had molded into the perfect lady, down to the light lift of her brows and open expression.
Mama let her hands drop to her side, and a smile curved her lips. “How I have missed having the two of you together. The house feels empty without all my children in it. Your aunt is well?” she asked the last to Clara. “I have yet to see her, encumbered as I’ve been preparing for the evening.”
Clara nodded. “Indeed she is. Though she informed me our carriage was horribly sprung and begs you to have our gardener tend to the delphiniums, as they look to be half-dead.”
A light laugh escaped their mother as she circled the chair and sat. “Dorothea always was the more particular of my sisters. I shall remind her that delphiniums are summer blooms and therefore are half-dead now.” Mama shook her head, but then straightened, her expression growing serious.
“Clara, I expect you will help Grace appear to perfection tonight.”
“Grace does so on her own,” Clara said, wrapping a hand around Grace’s where it lay on her skirt.
“Yes, of course,” Mama said, eyes flicking to Grace then back to Clara. “But with the circumstances as they are, she would appreciate your support. But I must speak to you alone, before the evening begins.”
The door behind them opened, revealing the housekeeper’s anxious expression.
“Oh dear,” Mama said. “What is it now?” She stood, moving to the servant.
Clara squeezed Grace’s hand before removing her own. “I suppose our recollections will have to wait.” Her eyes darted to Mama in the doorway. “Is she still so intent on her quest after everything?”
“What quest?”
Clara hesitated. “Perhaps I am wrong.”
Grace cocked her head. “Tell me.”
Her sister’s lips twitched to the side in a sort of discontented, contemplative expression. “Mama has been single-mindedly seeking your marriage. She… well, she wished it accomplished before she allowed me out in Society. But with my age…” she trailed off, watching Grace’s expression.
Grace should have known. Even with her impaired memory, she ought to have realized that Mother’s prodding into marriage was not just a desire to help Grace move past her accident, but also a lifelong goal.
Her parents must keep to the tradition of only ever having one daughter out at a time, but she and Clara were barely a year and a half apart, which did not give much time to Grace.
Mama had said that her time with her aunt and uncle was meant to produce a husband. Before her memory had been stolen, she must have been aware that her time was short.
“I am sorry to have delayed your coming out,” Grace said.
Clara shook her head. “No, please do not be. I am rather terrified of a Season, in truth. I do not know how you managed it so perfectly. You always said and did the right thing; it was no wonder they secured an advantageous match.”
“A match? I was aware of no match,” Grace said. “Was there someone in Dover?”
Clara blinked at her. “No. I mean the betrothal last year. It was called off, though I do not know why.”
“My betrothal?” Grace’s mind raced. “I was betrothed?”
Clara nodded. “Evidently, so.”
“To whom?”
Her sister’s brow was creased. “I haven’t a clue, to be honest. I was at school at the time.
You wrote to tell me of it but said you were not at liberty to disclose the man’s name just yet.
And then, next I heard from you, you had begged to be released from the agreement and had no wish to rehash the sordid affair.
I admit I was sorely curious but assumed you would tell me when you were ready.
” The line on her forehead deepened. “Mama has not told you?”
Grace sat, rather stunned. She had been betrothed? Why had Mama said nothing? Who had she been engaged to?
And why, when the topic of marriage was broached, did her mind immediately jump to a certain gentleman? One with dark hair, amused eyes, and a strong jaw.
“Lord and Lady Shefford, and Lord Ellison,” the butler announced, thoughts of Lord Ellison evidently making him appear. Grace watched as the butler stepped aside and the trio entered the room.
Mama and Papa moved to intercept them, but Lord Ellison did not immediately greet them. Instead, he paused on the threshold, eyes finding Grace. His lips tilted upward.
Her own mouth lifted in return. With the dinner this evening, he’d not come to take her on some adventure during the day, and she’d felt the lack acutely. No rock skipping, tree climbing, or horse riding had made the afternoon drag on.
Did he feel the same? Did she brighten his day as he did hers?
And could he know of this betrothal? They’d not been well-acquainted before her accident, so she didn’t imagine so. If it had been a great scandal that had caused her to end the engagement, surely Clara would have heard of it?
Lord Ellison paused to greet her parents before crossing to her and Clara.
“I’ve missed you today,” she said, quite without thought. It took all she had not to press her hand to her mouth as if she could recall the words. As it was, Clara stifled a laugh at her side.
Lord Ellison did not laugh though. “And I, you,” he said, his eyes steady on hers. Rain began a low patter against the windowpane to their left.
Goodness, was the room hot? It must be her dress—the silk did not breathe.
The rest of the party arrived, filling the room with conversation.
Grace was inundated with well-wishes for her health and curiosity over her situation.
Lord Ellison disappeared for a time, greeting their neighbors in his easy manner, though his eyes caught hers across the room several times over, each moment sending a thrill through her.