Chapter 5
Five
Two days later, Grace had worn a path into the rug before her father’s study, her steps measured but restless as she paced the length of the corridor.
Her hands were clasped tightly before her, her thoughts circling without rest, each one pressing harder than the last. At last, she stopped, drawing in a steady breath as she fixed her expression into calm resolve.
Without allowing herself another moment of hesitation, she turned the handle and entered.
Walter Bennet sat behind his desk, papers spread before him, though he did not immediately look up.
“If this is about the payment for the seamstress, it has already been taken care of,” he said, his tone dismissive. “His Grace, the Duke of Rainfield has made the arrangements.”
Grace stepped forward, her composure carefully maintained. “It is not about the seamstress, Father,” she replied. “It is about the arrangement itself.”
Walter sighed, leaning back in his chair as though already weary of the conversation. “I have no patience for repetition, Grace,” he said. “The matter is settled.”
Grace’s voice trembled slightly despite her efforts. “Then I beg you to reconsider,” she pleaded.
That caught his attention.
Walter’s eyes lifted to her at last, his expression sharpening. Grace stepped closer, her hands unclasping as she spoke more earnestly.
“Release me from this arrangement,” she begged. “I will do anything to assist you, to help resolve your financial troubles, but I cannot marry a man I do not know.”
Walter’s gaze hardened. “You will marry him,” he said simply.
Grace shook her head, her composure beginning to crack. “I am willing to marry,” she offered quickly, “but allow me time. Time to find someone suitable, someone refined, someone I might come to care for.” Her voice softened, pleading now. “Someone I could love.”
Walter’s expression turned cold. “You have been blessed with a duke,” he said. “And you speak to me of love as though it were a necessity.”
Grace felt the sting of his words, but she pressed on, “You know nothing of this man.”
“I know enough,” Walter replied sharply.
Grace stepped closer still, her frustration rising. “Do you?” she demanded. “Why has he been absent from London all this time? What sort of reputation does he carry? Why must a man of his standing resort to bidding for a wife in such a manner?”
Walter waved a hand impatiently. “Idle speculation,” he said. “He is recently widowed, that much is clear, and he required a replacement.”
Grace’s breath caught. “A replacement?” she echoed.
“Yes,” Walter said bluntly. “That is all.”
Grace’s hands trembled at her sides. “Does he have children?” she asked.
Walter frowned slightly. “I do not know,” he replied. “And it is of no consequence.”
Grace stared at him in disbelief. “No consequence?” she repeated.
“And how did his wife die?” she pressed, her voice tightening.
Walter’s patience snapped entirely. “Enough,” he said sharply, rising from his chair. “Tomorrow is your engagement party. That is where your attention should lie.”
Grace stepped back slightly at the force of his tone.
“You would do well,” he continued, “to make yourself more agreeable before the Duke decides you are too intolerable to endure.”
The words struck with cruel precision. Grace swallowed hard, her throat tightening painfully.
“Come,” Walter said, moving toward the door.
He did not wait for her to respond; he only opened it and gestured for her to leave. Grace stepped out into the corridor, her movements stiff, her composure barely intact.
The door closed behind her with finality.
She stood there for a moment, staring at the wood as though it might open again, though she knew it would not. The tears threatened, pressing hot and insistent behind her eyes, but she forced them back. She would not break here.
The sound of the front door opening echoed through the house.
Grace turned, startled, just as Victor entered the foyer, travel-worn and still removing his gloves.
He paused at once when he saw her. “Grace?” he said, concern already in his voice. “What is wrong?”
That was all it took.
She crossed the space between them in an instant and threw her arms around him.
“Oh, Victor,” she cried, her voice breaking at last. “All is lost.”
Victor stiffened in surprise before returning the embrace, his hand coming up to steady her.
“What has happened?” he asked urgently.
Grace pulled back slightly, though she did not release him entirely. “Father has arranged… no,” she corrected herself bitterly, “he has sold me in marriage.”
Victor’s expression darkened at once. “What?” he said sharply. “That is absurd.”
“It is not,” Grace said, shaking her head. “It was done at Boodle’s in front of a room full of men.”
Victor stared at her in disbelief. “That is scandalous,” he observed. “It cannot be true.”
“It is,” she insisted. “And I am to marry the Duke of Rainfield.”
Victor’s brows drew together. “Rainfield,” he repeated. “I do not know him.”
“Nor do I,” Grace said. “And yet I am expected to bind my life to his.”
Victor sighed. “Where is Father?” he asked.
“In his study,” Grace replied quietly.
Victor stepped back, his expression resolute. “Then I shall speak with him,” he declared. “Go to the parlor and wait for me.”
Grace hesitated. “Victor…” she began.
He shook his head once. “Go,” he said gently.
She obeyed, though her steps felt heavier than before.
The parlor was quiet when she entered, the same elegant room that had once been a place of comfort now feeling cold and distant.
Grace moved toward the window, her gaze drifting outward, though she saw nothing.
Her thoughts churned relentlessly, her father’s words, the humiliation of that night, and the sharp, unsettling presence of the man she was now bound to.
Evander Rivers.
She pressed her lips together, her hands clasping tightly before her. He was a stranger, a force she did not understand, and yet he had stepped forward to save her from the others. She did not know whether to resent him or… something else entirely.
The door opened behind her.
Grace turned at once as Victor entered, his expression grave. She searched his face, her hope fragile and immediate.
“Well?” she asked.
Victor exhaled slowly. “He will not budge,” he said. “I am so very sorry, Grace.”
The words settled heavily between them.
Grace closed her eyes for a brief moment, steadying herself as the last of her hope slipped quietly away.
All is lost.
Grace stood at the entrance of the drawing room of Evergreen House, her gloved hands clasped lightly before her as she steadied herself for what was to come. Victor lingered beside her, his presence a quiet anchor amidst the rising tension in her chest.
“You must be prepared,” he said gently, though his tone carried a warning beneath it. “There will be looks, Grace… and whispers. The entire ton is already speaking about how this marriage came about.”
Grace inclined her head, her expression composed, though her stomach tightened. “I expected as much,” she replied.
Victor studied her for a moment, then offered his arm. “I shall be beside you,” he assured. “You will not face it alone.”
She placed her hand upon his arm, grateful despite everything. “Thank you,” she said softly.
The doors opened.
At once, the murmur of voices swelled, then shifted into something sharper, more focused.
Grace felt it immediately, the weight of attention, the subtle turning of heads, the pause in conversation that spoke louder than any words.
She stepped forward regardless, her posture flawless, her expression serene.
Yet within moments, she realized that nothing Victor had said could have prepared her for the reality.
The whispers were not subtle.
“The one who was auctioned?” one whispered.
“How utterly improper,” a man’s voice followed, low but distinct.
“And yet she secured a duke. Perhaps there is method in the madness.” Soft laughter rippled through the group.
Grace kept walking.
Another cluster of guests shifted as she passed. “I heard it was done at a gentlemen’s club,” one lady whispered, “in front of dozens of men.”
“How mortifying,” her companion replied. “And she still dares to host as though nothing has occurred.”
Grace’s hand gripped Victor’s arm, though her expression did not falter.
“She looks rather pleased with herself, does she not?” someone added.
“Or perhaps she has no shame left at all,” a gentleman’s voice answered, amused. “If I had secured such a match, I might endure the embarrassment as well.”
Grace forced her gaze forward, her steps measured.
“I wonder what he paid,” another voice murmured. “Whatever it was, it must have been worth the spectacle.”
“Or perhaps she was simply desperate enough to allow it,” came the reply.
Grace felt the words like small cuts, each one precise and deliberate.
She wished, with a sudden sharp ache, that Joan were there. Joan would have stood beside her without hesitation, her presence a shield against the cruelty of polite society. But there had been no time, no chance for her letter to reach Kingsfall and for her friend to come.
Victor’s hand tightened slightly over hers, a silent reassurance.
Grace drew in a slow breath, steadying herself once more. She scanned the room, her gaze moving over the gathered guests, searching for one figure in particular. Yet he was nowhere to be seen. A small, unexpected thought surfaced.
Perhaps Evander has reconsidered. Perhaps he has chosen not to come.
Relief flickered briefly.
Followed, to her irritation, by disappointment.
So he is a coward after all.
And then, he entered.
Grace’s breath caught despite herself as Evander Rivers stepped into the drawing room, accompanied by another gentleman.
He moved with quiet authority, his presence drawing attention without effort, his expression unreadable as ever.
Her eyes moved over him before she could stop them, broad-shouldered, tall, his dark brown hair slightly unruly, his deep grey eyes scanning the room with detached precision.
He was, she realized, even more striking than she remembered.
Heat rose unbidden to her cheeks, and she straightened at once, annoyed at herself for the reaction.
He saw her and came directly toward her.
Victor shifted slightly beside her, his posture tightening, though he said nothing as Evander approached. Grace held her ground, her expression carefully composed as the two men reached her.
Evander inclined his head in a measured bow. “Lady Grace,” he greeted.
“Your Grace,” she replied coolly.
He turned slightly to the man beside him. “Allow me to introduce Lord Colin Drayden,” he said. “A friend of mine.”
Colin bowed politely. “Lady Grace, it is a pleasure,” he said, his tone far warmer than Evander’s.
Grace inclined her head graciously. “Lord Colin, you are most welcome,” she assured. “This is my brother, the Marquess of Hamton, Victor Bennet.”
The men nodded in greeting to each other.
“Your Grace, Lord Drayden,” Victor said.
“There are refreshments available, and the music shall begin within the hour,” Grace pointed out.
Colin smiled. “Then I shall avail myself of a drink,” he said lightly.
Grace nodded at Victor, implying she was to be left with Evander for a word.
“I shall join you,” Victor said.
Colin bowed once more, and they withdrew, leaving Grace and Evander alone.
The silence between them settled immediately.
He regarded her with that same assessing intensity, as though measuring her once again. “You may expect only one dance from me this evening,” he said without preamble.
Grace blinked once, taken aback by the bluntness.
“Only one?” she repeated.
“I dislike the attention,” he said simply. “And we shall have more than enough of it.”
Grace let out a faint, humorless breath. “On that, we are in agreement,” she replied.
She studied him briefly before adding, “I had begun to suspect you would not attend at all.”
His mouth curved slightly. “Cold feet?” he said.
“Cowardice, perhaps,” she replied coolly.
His smirk deepened, though his eyes remained sharp. “You will find,” he said, his voice lowering slightly, “that I do not turn my back on anything that is mine.”
The words were quiet yet carried a weight that made her pulse quicken despite herself.
Grace lifted her chin. “I am not a possession,” she argued.
“Not in your mind,” he replied.
Her breath caught, though she refused to let him see it.
The noise of the room pressed in around them, the whispers continuing, but now they seemed distant, muffled by the intensity of his presence. Grace steadied herself, forcing her voice into calmness. “You are remarkably certain of yourself,” she observed.
“I am rarely wrong,” he replied.
“That must be a comfort to you,” she said dryly.
His gaze held hers, unflinching. “It will be a greater comfort to you,” he declared, “once you realize it.”
Grace felt a flicker of irritation and something else, something far more dangerous.
“You presume I shall come to appreciate this arrangement,” she said.
“I know you will survive it,” he replied. “Whether you appreciate it is another matter entirely.”
Grace exhaled slowly, her composure returning inch by inch. “Then we are agreed on one thing,” she said. “Survival will be necessary.”
For a moment, something almost like approval flickered in his expression.
Then the music began to shift, signaling the next phase of the evening.
Evander extended his hand.
“One dance,” he said.
Grace looked at it for a moment before placing her hand in his.
“One,” she agreed.