Chapter 13
GRACE
“Considering your circumstances,” Grace mimicked mockingly out loud, “and the events that transpired in the last weeks, it would be best if you did not contact her ladyship anymore. Argh!” Grace angrily tossed her reticule on the floor of the carriage.
“Can you imagine such rudeness? And from a titled person? Who does she think she is?”
Grace had just gotten rejected at the marchioness’s house. And, of course, she vented to Nina, who followed her everywhere and now only nodded in silence.
That was Grace’s life now—she would converse with her guards, the only people who had time to talk to her.
It was late afternoon when they returned to the mansion, and Grace ran straight into her husband in the hallway.
His bodyguard, Tripp, bowed to her. Her husband studied her with interest. His intense green gaze traveled down and up her dress as if she were there for his sole entertainment.
His shirt sleeves rolled up, his muscled forearms were on display, a leather bracelet around his wrist, no tie, the top shirt buttons undone. He was handsome and looked positively at ease, while Grace steeled her spine.
“Am I a prisoner now?” she blurted, which was the first thing that came to mind.
“Bad day, darling?”
God, did it irritate her that he was always so calm. And so gorgeous, she had to admit. And so magnetic that her body burned with unexplainable tension in his presence.
“Am I a prisoner?” she inquired with forced bitterness. “Do I have to be escorted everywhere?”
“I am merely making sure you are safe.”
“Safe from whom?”
He was an important man, his giant red-haired guard following him at all times. Yet, Grace didn’t need protection.
“From yourself,” he said with the hint of a smile.
She wished she had something heavy in her hand to throw at him.
No, she couldn’t.
Rivka would arrive soon, and Grace could not afford the wrath of her husband while she needed him to accept her friend.
Grace assumed a humble face, swallowed her pride, and silently recited a prayer before gathering the courage to speak on the topic.
“My friend is coming tonight.” She recited another silent prayer at this announcement. “You do not have to be here for that. I assume?—”
“I’ll be delighted to.”
Sarcasm? Very well, she would deal with that too. “There is no need for you?—”
“I”—he took a step toward her, making her take a step back on reflex and cast her eyes down—“shall be here.”
Defeated and now anxious, she went upstairs, changed into a lace dress, fixed her hair, and arranged for the tea, all the while listening to the sounds in the house. What was he doing?
“Mr. Mawr is in his office,” Eden said knowingly.
Soon, the doorman announced the arrival of Miss Rebecca.
Grace darted downstairs. “Rivka! You are here!” She hurried across the marble hall toward her friend. Her eyes fell upon Rivka’s dress, and her chest tightened.
Rivka wore a bell-shaped red skirt, nipped at the waist, and a traditional red blouse over the corset. A matching hat crowned her luscious, braided hair with the veil that draped around her neck. Heavy long earrings adorned her ears. She looked magnificent but?—
Oh, Lordy...
There came a flashback from years ago, Aunt and Uncle crunching up their noses at the sight of Rivka in her traditional dress.
“We do not want such individuals near you,” they had told Grace. “You are a respectable young lady of the ton.”
“Rivka, dear.” Grace took her friend in her arms.
“Do not taunt me! I know! I know!” Rivka studied the exotic marble hallway. “Where is your husband?”
“Oh, he is busy?—”
“Miss Rebecca!” His voice boomed through the hall, turning them around.
“Oh, dear…” Grace stiffened as she caught sight of the powerful build of her husband, who was striding toward them.
He flashed a smile at Rivka, while Grace studied his face, taken aback by the miracle—her husband was smiling broadly, which rendered his face in the most heart-warming way.
“It is a pleasure,” he said, gracefully bowing and kissing Rivka’s hand. “I have to admit that you are very special.”
“How so?” Rivka smiled back.
“Well, you were my wife’s only guest during the wedding, for one.”
Grace flinched. How did he know?
“You are also the first guest since our wedding,” he said. “I get a feeling people intentionally stay away from our house.”
“Perhaps, they are waiting for an invitation.” Rivka so openly studied Drasko that Grace held her breath.
“Perhaps,” he echoed, grinning. “May I?” He offered his elbow to Rivka and gracefully led her toward the drawing room, not paying any attention to Grace.
Confused, Grace followed. She had practiced what she would say in front of him, how she would introduce her friend, in the most wonderful words and with utmost respect to buy his good graces.
What she hadn’t expected was for her husband to completely take over the entire meeting.
“Your dress is absolutely stunning,” Grace heard Drasko compliment Rivka while Grace gave instructions to the maid to bring in tea and desserts.
“Romania? I haven’t been, though I would love to visit one day,” he said as they settled in the living room. “My own roots are a mystery, you see.”
He asked Rivka about her work and inquired about her grandfather.
Grace had thought of a dozen topics to talk to Rivka about in his presence, but the two already seemed at ease with each other.
Completely dazed, Grace sat in silence and watched Rivka’s kind smile, listened to her husband’s stories, and didn’t believe that life, for once, would be so kind to her. Her own friend at her house—a luxury she’d never had before!
Drasko was flawlessly gallant. Graceful when he asked Samira to bring an old manuscript from his library—a manuscript on Slavic shamanism that Rivka was delighted to borrow.
“Please, visit often, Miss Rebecca,” Drasko said at some point, and Grace found herself biting back tears of gratitude.
He’d never been so graceful with her. He’d never looked so at ease as he did with Rivka.
Grace had never seen him laugh so genuinely as he did when Rivka made a joke.
His laughter traveled straight to Grace’s heart.
It was a low beautiful sound that left her stunned.
Maybe, someday, she would learn to navigate this relationship.
Someday, they could be at ease. It was a frightening thought, intriguing, and scratched at her pride.
Samira brought teas and pastries.
“I noticed some of your servants are from India,” Rivka said. “Do you have an Indian cook as well, Mr. Mawr?”
“Naturally.” Drasko nodded.
“Grace hasn’t mentioned.”
He shrugged. “We didn’t get a chance to spend much time together. I am not sure my wife wants anything to do with who I am and where I come from.”
The words stung Grace. “That is not true,” she responded quietly, staring him down.
But he paid her no attention. “I love Indian cuisine, Miss Rebecca. If you perhaps feel like having a small tasting, I’d be happy to ask my cook.”
Stunned, Grace looked at Rivka.
“Why, sure!” Rivka exclaimed with enthusiasm. “How exciting!”
He gave Samira orders in a different language, and Rivka raised her brows in surprise. “You speak Hindi, Mr. Mawr?”
He grinned. “Of course, I do. I grew up in India. As colonizers, we have only one chance to the Indians’ hearts—by learning their culture.”
So, he spoke Hindi. That was news, another thing Grace didn’t know.
He caught her surprised gaze but right away turned his attention to Rivka, a triumphant smile on his lips.
Samira came back shortly with a tray that contained little jars and bowls and flatbreads and… no cutlery. She passed the moist napkins to Drasko and Rivka.
“To wash your hands, madam,” she explained to Rivka.
“Oh!”
“It is called a thali , a personal tray,” Drasko said. “And yes, we often eat with our hands.”
A smell so wonderful enveloped the room that Grace at once felt the taste on her lips.
She observed with a sense of envy as Drasko showed Rivka how to pick up the food from the tray, explained to her the sauces and the names, then picked up the tin bowl and scooped the content with the tips of his fingers and into his mouth.
Rivka did the same, laughing in delight. “Quite… peculiar, but I do like it, Mr. Mawr. Grace!” She turned to her. “Would you like to try?”
And at last, Drasko met Grace’s eyes. “I requested that my kitchen staff only serve my wife English food. I don’t think my wife is into new things.”
How unfair that sounded! How much she resented him for this response! And she resented herself for wanting to join in yet holding back so as not to come across as too eager.
Samira brought exquisite desserts, then chai, milk tea with spices, and Grace finally gave in.
She took a sip of chai, rich and flavorful on her tongue.
Locking gazes with her husband, she picked up a piece of carrot halwa and betrayed herself, stifling a moan as she took the first bite, the sweet taste so delicious she wanted to close her eyes.
He watched her with a knowing smile.
“It’s delicious,” Grace said quietly.
“Absolutely!” Rivka exclaimed. “Mr. Mawr! You should let Gracie try new things!”
Drasko cocked a brow. “I didn’t suspect that Gracie ”—his eyes glinted with mischief at repeating her name—“was willing to try new things.”
“Everyone needs time to adjust,” Rivka said.
Drasko shifted his gaze to her. “You suppose, Miss Rebecca?”
“Absolutely! And time for acknowledgment, of course.”
“Of what?”
“That what they thought they wanted is not always what they need.”
“Oh, I have always found it the best truth.”
“In fact, Mr. Mawr, you as a businessman know that new ventures sometimes might have a disheartening start but eventually become grand enterprises.”
“Some do, indeed.”
They chuckled like conspirators, but at once, a heavy weight lifted off Grace’s chest as she realized her friend was welcome in his house. For the first time in her life, things were changing for the better. Because… of her husband.
Drasko took it upon himself to walk Rivka out and ordered his carriage to take her home.
“Madam!” Samira darted out of the house with a brown wooden box that she gave to Rivka. “Delicious desserts, Narayan just made them. Try, madam.” She wiggled her head with a happy smile.
Rivka bade farewell to Drasko, then kissed Grace on the cheek and cupped her face.
What do you see, Rivka? Grace begged in her mind. What is this man?
Rivka’s eyes glowed with kindness. “I shall see you soon,” she said as they parted.
Grace walked back to the house, her husband at her side.
“You are good at making friends,” she admitted when they walked inside.
He halted and turned to look at her. “I make allies.” His smile was gone. “Friends? I have a few. But I rarely make new ones. You can’t trust a person who doesn’t accept where you come from and what you went through to get where you are.”
Was he talking about her?
She remembered him laughing with Rivka, the way he kissed her hand when Rivka was leaving, and the coldness that shifted over his face as soon as he was alone with Grace.
She couldn’t help but think about the article she had read in the archives.
A Predator or the Rightful Heir to the Mawr Empire?