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‘Grace? Why, dearest, you look so troubled. Is something amiss?’
Her expression was so worried that Grace had to bite her tongue to stop herself from breaking down. It would have taken a heart of stone to resist the pull of that readily offered sympathy: how many times had Mrs Dauntsey soothed Grace’s bumped head or grazed elbow as a child, or passed her a sweet beneath the cover of a card table? Her kindness had always been apparent, but never more than at that moment, her obvious dismay tempting Grace to confess every secret sorrow she’d ever had.
A single impatient sigh from directly behind her chair made Grace start in surprise, the sudden movement once again sending a shard of agony through her injured neck.
He followed us in here?
She winced, twisting to peer at Spencer looming above her and looking for all the world as though she was the bane of his existence. He was close enough for her to have touched the soft fabric of his rich breeches and the very idea of such a scandalous—and tempting—action jolted Grace into speech.
‘Did you say something?’
Spencer folded his arms across his broad chest, the movement causing his impressive biceps to bunch beneath the scant cover of his shirt in a way so damnably interesting Grace felt her face flush scarlet as she hastily turned away again. A flicker of that same sensation she had felt earlier sparked into being within her and she would have given anything for a glass of cold water with which to douse the alarming embers that glowed at his sudden proximity.
When he replied it was directed over her head as though she wasn’t there at all. ‘I found Miss Linwood out on the Cobb in a state of acute distress. As far as I can gather she’s had to call off her engagement this evening, although I haven’t the pleasure of knowing why.’
Grace gritted her teeth, resentment simmering alongside her dismay as the older woman’s brows knitted together further.
As if I needed more proof his good nature has gone for ever, taking with it the boy I thought so highly of.
She could still sense Spencer standing at her back, in all likelihood scowling down at her from his great height, and the knowledge of his unseen closeness stirred the fine hairs of her neck. Irritation at his meddling coursed through her, although another stream of something close to a kind of breathless apprehension mingled with it. His voice was deep and expressionless, yet it possessed an educated cadence so pleasing that even in the depths of her annoyance Grace felt herself give a small shudder when he spoke.
It has to be the loss of William. What else could change him so drastically for the worse?
From his stance behind her chair—his chair, in fact—Spencer couldn’t see the set of his silent guest’s expression, although if the stiffness of her shoulders was anything to go by it probably wasn’t one of delight. Looking down at her from behind only afforded him a view of her blonde ringlets, one escaping from a cluster at the back of her head to snake at the base of her slender neck, but it was enough to make him avert his eyes in sudden discomfort. There was something so vulnerable about that nape, so delicate as it rose out of her lace-trimmed collar, that was deeply unexpected and just as deeply disturbing. It roused something in him, some glint of the weakness he had determinedly suppressed for so long it was a wonder to discover he could still feel it.
Be careful. A sense of danger nagged at the back of his mind, a clear warning against the perturbing turn this sorry business was taking. It must have been the suffering on her face that called to him, holding a mirror up to the pain that so often clouded his own features; but that was not a good enough reason to allow any assault on his restraint and it was with a frown he took in her words as she began to speak.
‘Thank you, Spencer, for that succinct summary of my misfortune.’
Spencer raised an eyebrow at her frigid tone, but held his tongue. The distress written on Grace’s features had been clear to see and his discomfort grew as he realised how much he disliked the memory. It might even have stirred the remnants of his long-buried compassion had he not been so resolutely steeling himself against the flash of momentary weakness the despondent Miss Linwood somehow already managed to provoke in him.
If Will was still alive, he would have her laughing already. He always knew how to make a woman smile. Then again...
Hadn’t that been the very thing that had come between them, in the end?
Spencer gritted his teeth in instinctive dismay as the question arose, but nothing could stop the relentless march of his thoughts down the one path he would have given anything to avoid.
Not this again. Not now.
He could hardly even recall her face: Miss Constance Strong, the lively, captivating woman both twins had loved—to their everlasting detriment. The image of her beauty was eclipsed by other memories, of how he and the man he’d loved as a second self had argued over her, the only thing they had ever been unable to share. If only he’d let Will win, had stepped back and stopped their quarrel before it was too late—but that was a pointless wish and one that did nothing to erase the guilt that had swirled inside him like an icy storm ever since.
You can’t allow yourself to walk that path again. If you hadn’t been so foolish as to lose your heart to a woman you might still have a brother...not that any woman would want you now.
Alike in so many ways, all traces of the cheerful nature the twins had once shared were now gone for ever: Will’s disappearing in the cold finality of death and Spencer’s snuffed out like a candle beneath the unbearable weight of the shame and remorse that had haunted him since that terrible day two years before. Some pale shadow of his better self lingered for his mother’s sake, a last echo of the person he had once been before tragedy had made him retreat from the world to drown his sorrows in drink, but even that phantom would fade as soon as her sickness overcame her. When that happened, his transformation into a mere husk of a man would be complete.
His mother’s voice jolted him from his maudlin train of thought. ‘Is that true? You’ve had to call off your engagement?’
Even from behind Spencer saw the way Grace’s throat contracted in a dry swallow, the slight curve of her cheek visible to him tight with strain. If she was battling the urge to break down and air her soul, she was putting up a good fight, he thought with a gleam of grudging respect, but nothing could overcome the kind probing of his mother and he at last heard a shuddering sigh escape her that lifted the intriguingly slight shoulders beneath her gown.
‘I...’
Grace stopped at once as the sitting-room door opened and a maid bearing a tea tray appeared, lapsing into tense silence she didn’t break even when the servant retreated once again.
In the ensuing quiet Spencer stepped smartly round Grace’s chair to stand closer to the hearth and table laid out before it. A quick glance in her direction now gave him his first uninterrupted view of her face since she had sat down and he clenched his jaw in sudden horror at the jolt that leapt within him at the sight.
Her lips trembled in obvious emotion and her hands were clasped together tightly on her knees, one finger rubbing at her knuckles in absent-minded distress. She looked so plainly unhappy, so heartbreakingly tiny in his enveloping chair nestled among the cushions like a lost creature in need of a protective arm. The shocking urge to offer that arm was suddenly overwhelming, coming apparently from nowhere, and Spencer shoved it back from the forefront of his mind.
What are you thinking of?
He bent his head lower above the tray, ostensibly stirring the tea leaves while his mind flooded with confusion and the shrill peals of alarm bells rang in his ears.
What is the meaning of this?
It was years since he had resolved to separate himself from the world and all the people in it—both for their sake and his own. Nothing good had come from his weakness for Constance’s charms, her laugh still occasionally punctuating the nightmares that plagued his fitful sleep. Only the death of one he loved and a lifetime of regret had been his reward for believing he might find happiness with another, far too high a price to pay again.
It was easier to turn oneself to unfeeling granite; to care about others was to wear one’s heart outside the body and the world was cruel enough to crush it beneath its boots if given half a chance. If there was something in Grace’s tender vulnerability and guileless face that touched the last shred of humanity he had left, he would fight it every step of the way—anything rather than risk another mistake, another soul-destroying loss; another scar to add to the collection borne by more than just his skin.
He roused himself with a brisk roll of his shoulders. The ridiculous thoughts that insisted on trying to worm their way into his already whirling mind would be dismissed. Grace would soon be gone from his house, taking her disconcerting effect on him with her, and then he needn’t see her or her accursedly moving sadness again if he chose. It was almost amusing he’d let himself get so carried away by such folly.
How foolish to fear something that was never a danger in the first place.
Reassured at last by his own sensible thinking, Spencer risked a swift look up at Grace as he handed her a cup, which she took in one shaking hand.
‘You were saying?’ Mrs Dauntsey prompted gently.
‘Oh. Yes.’ Grace took a small sip of her tea. It was far too hot to drink yet, Spencer knew, but the attempt at normality seemed to give her the courage to go on.
She sighed again, her eyes suddenly sparkling with unshed tears that made Spencer’s brows contract in a brief frown of discomfort. Grace took a deep breath before continuing, but the quaver in her voice was painfully obvious. ‘My fiancé ended our engagement only this afternoon and now I find myself in a position—oh, such a position—I just don’t know what will become of us all now!’
The tears she had tried in vain to conceal now spilled down her cheeks and she covered her face with her hand in a mixture of shame and distress that pricked Spencer in the soft underbelly of his determined indifference. Her dismay at breaking down was clear, but she couldn’t seem to control the storm of weeping that held her in its merciless grasp—it was an uncomfortable relief to Spencer when his mother hurriedly set aside her cup and took the younger woman’s hand in her own, helping Grace to stem the tide of misery that shook her slender frame.
‘Oh, my dearest girl! Please don’t cry so. Whatever do you mean, you don’t know what will become of you all? What can have happened?’
Grace brushed the wetness from her face with the backs of her fingers. She hesitated, a shadow of reluctance crossing her countenance, but the entreaty in Mrs Dauntsey’s face forced her to speak. ‘Spencer said you hadn’t heard of the misfortune that has befallen my family.’
Spencer watched as his mother nodded warily, her glance flickering towards him briefly in a look he had no need to puzzle over. Disappointment and unhappiness gleamed in it, a clear indication of Mrs Dauntsey’s thoughts. ‘That’s correct. I haven’t been able to stir outside since we arrived and I’m afraid an...indiscretion of Spencer’s means we’ve had no visitors to bring us news.’
Another flit of guilt pinched Spencer beneath his ribs at his mother’s delicate phrasing of a distinctly indelicate event. As a Quaker she disapproved strongly of his drinking and as his mother she despaired to see its effect on her only surviving son. His very public fight had made him notorious in a society where once he might have been welcomed with open arms, his fortune and face usually a guarantee of entry into the upper echelons. Now his actions would rob his poor mother of respectable company—for who would choose to spend time with a family whose sole heir was so evidently running wild? The inconvenient truth of his only having acted in self-defence wouldn’t be allowed to get in the way of a good story, the rumours about him too salacious to be tempered by facts.
Spencer tracked the fascinating movement of Grace’s throat as she swallowed down another sigh, bobbing her head in a hopeless nod. ‘I see. Well. Poor Papa has been taken to Fleet Prison in London. He is completely innocent of all charges, of course, but he is accused of making fraudulent investments, running up debts and any number of financial indiscretions actually performed by his dishonest business partners. He has been declared bankrupt in his absence.’
Mrs Dauntsey’s lips parted in frank disbelief. ‘That cannot be so! Surely nobody could be so stupid as to believe your father capable of such actions?’ She pressed a hand to her thin chest, clearly shocked to the core. ‘Such a thing is impossible. Your father was always such a gentleman! Where are the real perpetrators, who allow him to be exposed to these lies?’
‘They have fled, cowards that they are. Without their testimony there is nobody to take the blame but Papa, even though the first he knew of this whole affair was when the bailiffs came knocking at our door.’
Grace looked down at her hands, fingers clenched into fists and knuckles shining white through pale skin. ‘As I’m sure you can imagine, our standing in society is now lower than dirt. I had hoped my fiancé would help us in our plight, but now...’ Her lips trembled again and she folded them into a tight line of unhappiness that made Spencer’s own twitch in unconscious reply. ‘We have no prospects, no fortune, and with four daughters to support Mama faces the likelihood of having to give up our home.’ She finished on a dry sob and clenched her jaw shut so firmly Spencer saw the tendons of her neck flex painfully.
There was a silence.
Standing before the fireplace, Spencer felt the warmth of the flames creeping up his back, although nothing could chase away the chilly dread that flared within his gut. It was a feeling close to sympathy that circled inside him, startlingly insistent and refusing to be dismissed. The sight of Grace’s tears spoke to something in him, some aggravating weakness that he had thought his studied apathy for the world had killed off—but there it was, the desire to wipe away her tears, and the suffering in her look called to his own in a language he understood only too well.
The quiet stretched on for several moments, only the movement of Grace absently stirring her tea breaking the illusion all three were carved from stone. It almost made him jump when his mother cleared her throat and spoke with businesslike directness.
‘Well. As I see it, there’s an obvious solution; at least in part.’
Mrs Dauntsey glanced towards Spencer and he cocked his head in wordless query.
What scheme has she come up with?
Unease began to filter into his mind and he felt his eyes narrow in suspicion.
If his mother saw his cautious reaction, she gave no clue. ‘I will, of course, employ you as my companion.’ She fixed Grace with a forthright gaze, oblivious to Spencer’s start of alarm. ‘You can come to live here and I will meet all your expenses. With only the three younger girls to support, I’m sure your excellent mama will more than rise to the challenge.’
Watching with disbelieving eyes, Spencer saw Grace’s mouth drop open, all words stolen from her by utter surprise.
‘You cannot be serious?’
‘As the grave. It would be a joy to have you about the house and renew the friendship between our families. If you came to live here, it would surely ease some of the financial strain, and Spencer wouldn’t feel obliged to waste his time attempting small talk to entertain his aged mother. After all—’ Mrs Dauntsey shot him another look that made his insides twist ‘—your dear mother and sisters are likely to be the only company I’ll have to enjoy, given the circumstances.’
Spencer sucked in a sharp breath of dismay, covered by an abrupt turn away from both women and towards the hearth.
The very last thing he wanted was for Grace to take up residence in his home, her disconcerting effect on him already becoming an irritation he could have done without. It was bad enough he had felt that damned glimmer of something for her already, without the dangers of having to see her admittedly not unpretty face across his breakfast table every morning. If only there was something he could say, something he could do to dissuade his mother from this plan—but one quick glance backwards pricked at his conscience. His already tainted reputation would have long-reaching effects, the rumours of his temper unlikely to be forgotten. Perhaps there might be some small glint of merit in her scheme—although mingled with the threat of unseen complications for himself.
‘But I could be getting ahead of myself. You might be hoping your fiancé will return to you?’
The shake of Grace’s head was the most vehement movement Spencer had seen her make yet. ‘Henry would never seek my hand again. I wish I’d known before what I now see so clearly: he never wanted anything from me other than my wealth and connections. As soon as I had neither his interest vanished at once. He never—he never truly loved me.’ She gave a small sigh, a wretched thing that nipped at Spencer uncomfortably. ‘The details of our separation will be forgotten soon enough, I am sure. The only thing I wish to remember with any clarity is never to venture my heart in such a way ever again. The risk to one’s soul is too great.’
It was as though she had read his mind, Spencer recognised with a frown of surprise as Grace took another sip from her cup. It was the same conclusion he had come to as he sat within the belly of a storm-tossed ship returning to England, bandages staunching the flow of his blood and pain from more than just his wounds making him want to cry out in agony. Constance had been the first woman to capture his heart and his actions because of it had cost him dearly—he would not be caught out twice. How the pale young lady who had claimed his chair had managed to so exactly articulate his own feelings he didn’t know—only that it was almightily unnerving.
‘My only hesitation in accepting your kind offer would be my reputation.’ A rosy blush spread across Grace’s cheeks as she continued, the colour illuminating the delicate lines of her cheekbones and jaw that Spencer suddenly realised—with another pang of dismay—were very fine indeed. ‘I couldn’t bring disgrace upon this house and allow you to be connected to our shame.’
Mrs Dauntsey waved a dismissive hand, although Spencer could have sworn he saw a glint of irony in her eye.
It wouldn’t be only Grace who made this house notorious. Isn’t that what you’re thinking, Mother?
She’d been too frail to leave the house and hear the whispers about him first-hand, but she was no fool. Anybody who had ever walked among the judgement of the ton knew how they could drag a man down with their words, destroying his good name in the blink of an eye if they thought him undeserving.
‘I couldn’t care three straws about that. Society busybodies will always find something to talk about. I don’t see what anybody else’s opinion has to do with it—and that’s my final word!’
She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes briefly. Her chest rose and fell a little more quickly than usual, Spencer saw in swift alarm—she was tiring rapidly, and very soon she would be worn out completely.
She needs to rest. This has been too much excitement.
Whatever his thoughts on the matter, now was not the time for further discussion. His mother’s colour had already ebbed a little and her breaths bordered on laboured as she smiled across at Grace apologetically.
‘I tire so easily these days. I ought to be taking to my chamber now.’ She paused for a moment to regain her breath. ‘But before I do, may we shake on our arrangement? If you are agreeable, of course?’
Spencer concealed his uneasiness behind one large hand, rubbing the dark bristles of his chin. Grace appeared to be hesitating, obviously turning the words over in her mind—but then she extended her hand and his mother took it firmly.
‘I can’t thank you enough, Mrs Dauntsey.’ Grace’s voice shook, but this time the tremor seemed of awed relief rather than bleak emotion. ‘You will never know how grateful I am for your help.’
‘It’s time you called me Dorothea and I only wish I could do more. Please assure your mother of that and tell her I long to see her and your sisters soon.’ Mrs Dauntsey’s eyes were warm, but an edge of pain had crept into her tone and Spencer stepped towards her.
‘If you ladies are quite finished, I shall escort you to your rooms, Mother.’ He fixed her with a look that brooked no refusal. ‘Miss Linwood, the carriage will be waiting for you now. If you are willing, I shall send it again to collect you tomorrow evening.’
‘Thank you.’ Grace averted her eyes from his, the trace of a blush flickering a little stronger under his intense watch. There was none of the warmth with which she had addressed his mother, he noticed.
But who do you have to blame for that?
He sketched a short bow, attempting to block out the unwelcome question. ‘I hope you will excuse us. Rivers will see you out. Goodnight, Miss Linwood.’
Easing his mother to her feet, Spencer helped her from the room. Pausing on the threshold, he turned back briefly, intending to say something more—but all words escaped him as he saw the dazed relief that had flooded Grace’s face and the sudden beauty of her wonderstruck smile sent him striding mutely away before she could turn to see his grim discomfort at the sight.
Chapter Three (#ud10f9f25-e6b0-57d5-93b2-cf581cf34aba)
Spencer strode through the house to his library with his jaw clenched on rising bad temper, trying with each footstep to outpace the thoughts that pursued him. The same old nightmare, the one he dreaded more than any other, had visited him as he slept the previous night and the combination of waking bathed in sweat and the tiredness that resulted from it did not improve his mood. It wasn’t just the lack of sleep that tore at him, however, or the usual sickening guilt that made him reach for the nearest bottle. Ever since Grace’s arrival two weeks before he’d found it increasingly difficult to find an escape from the troubling reaction her presence provoked in him and it was becoming more vexing by the day.
It wasn’t as though he had any real basis for complaint, some irritable part of him recognised. The difference in his mother was striking, even after such a short time, and the change in her would have cheered anybody to see it. She still tired easily and the slow sinking of her features into her drawn face hadn’t ceased, but there was a gleam in her eye Spencer hadn’t seen for months and it was plain Grace’s company was the cause. The regular visits from Mrs Linwood and her three younger daughters had helped, too, no doubt, but it was Grace who was always busily arranging a warm shawl about Dorothea’s shoulders or making suggestions to the cook that might tempt her to take more than a mouthful. He would have to admit having Grace come to live with them, comfortably installed in her own private rooms, was the best thing that could have happened for his mother—especially given his own behaviour had played a large part in her isolation.
No. He couldn’t complain. And yet...
She’s handsome when she smiles.
The unwelcome thought flashed through Spencer’s mind yet again and he scowled to himself in a combination of frustration and alarm. Not this nonsense again. Is there no escaping it?
It was irritatingly true that Grace’s countenance grew in appeal the longer one looked at her. At first sight her fair skin had seemed colourless to him, her pale hair and eyes frankly a little bland, but closer inspection showed an almost pearlescent quality to her complexion and, when the shadows of sadness cleared, her eyes sparkled with an intelligence that would surely interest any sensible man. Even the fragility of her slight frame took on a new elegance after reluctant study, her movements measured and step quiet as she moved through his house.
But it was that smile—that damned smile—that made the biggest difference. It gave life to her face and animation to her features, highlighting the graceful contours of her pronounced cheekbones as though a candle flickered behind them. Only a simpleton could ever think she was plain after seeing that curve of her lips and the tiny dimple that appeared in one soft cheek—
No!
Spencer brought his fist down hard on his thigh as he walked, the furrow between his brows growing deeper by the second.
This will not do!
He shook his head fiercely against the unwanted barrage of images that bombarded him. Dwelling on a woman’s beauty was for other men, men who hadn’t caused such terrible destruction with their misplaced affections. It was for them to stare and pine and write poems praising their lady’s limitless charms: all things he could no longer entertain since his catastrophic entanglement with Constance had caused such devastation. Love and death walked side by side in his mind now. Guilt ran like an icy river beneath both, linking them together with its cold fingers, and no amount of time would thaw the frost that formed around his heart. Grace might have attracted his attention for some absurd reason, but she would never be allowed to be anything more to him than a reluctantly hosted guest. The consequences were too stark and the risk of unimaginable pain could have made a weaker man shudder.
Not that she would want to be anything more. That idiot Henry Earls has cured her of any such notions once and for all, I fancy.
With a fresh wave of aggravation Spencer wrenched his focus away to remember the decanter waiting for him beside his favourite reading chair, which would provide some relief, hopefully, from the disloyal workings of his mind. Whether drink had become his closest friend or worst enemy was becoming difficult to tell these days, he thought darkly; but it was the only thing that helped silence the demons that plagued him, and with the added complication of Grace moving warily about his home his mind felt more troubled than ever.
The library door stood slightly ajar when he reached it and pushed through with an impatient hand. Perhaps it shouldn’t have been quite so surprising, then, to find someone already in the room, although Spencer’s thoughts were too occupied to consider the possibility until his heart gave a sudden lurch at the sight that met his eyes.
Grace sat curled in the very armchair he had been aiming for, her legs tucked beneath her and eyes intent on a dog-eared book Spencer recognised at once. It was one of a pair Mr Dauntsey had given his sons eight years before on the last birthday they would spend with him, the name of one twin inscribed in each in their father’s slanting hand. Spencer’s copy lay safely in his untidy desk, so it had to be William’s that Grace held in slender fingers, poring over the contents with her delicate profile thrown into sharp relief by the window behind her head. It was a pose Spencer suddenly remembered vividly from when Grace was a girl, too shy to speak much in his presence, but she was far more confident now, an intelligent and accomplished young woman, and the knowledge kindled something within the broad spread of his chest.
Pull yourself together, man. So she reads—what of it? She always was a bluestocking.
She hadn’t noticed him standing uncertainly in the doorway. Engrossed in her book, Spencer was at perfect liberty to take in the blonde tendrils that gleamed softly in the winter sunlight as they tumbled about cheeks it would surely be a fine thing to touch... It was an unacceptable urge, but one that roared up with a power that shocked him, strong enough to cause the faintest flicker of something long hidden deep within him to attempt to spark into life.
