Grace (33 page)

Trevor spoke little on the way. He had not slept all night, tormented by visions of Grace changing her mind and not showing up. His most horrible imagining consisted of her making an appearance, only to run from the church—and from him—in the middle of the ceremony.

Gareth somehow managed to sense Trevor’s fears. He teased him the entire way, despite the censorious stare of Sebastian and the obvious annoyance of Jonathon. The jibes hardly mattered. Trevor, lost within his own thoughts, scarcely heard.

Several blocks before reaching the church, their conveyance slowed, then stopped altogether. After a moment the door opened, and one of the footmen stuck his head inside. “My lord, the road between here and the church is completely blocked.”

“Has there been an accident?” Trevor asked. “Why don’t we just go another way?”

“
All
the roads are blocked, my lord.”

Trevor drew his brows together. “Well, then,” he said. “We shall walk.” He stepped out of the vehicle, followed by Sebastian, Gareth, and Jonathan. He looked up and down the street in disbelief. “Where in the world did these
people
come from?”

Jonathon spoke. “I imagine they are on their way to a wedding.”

Trevor’s jaw clenched. Despite the modest number of invited guests, the ton had apparently decided to turn out in force, drawn by the public and tumultuous courtship preceding the wedding. He turned back to the waiting footman. “Send a man to Lady Egerton’s home to warn them of the traveling difficulties.” The footman bowed and turned away. Trevor looked up at his driver. “When you manage to get to the church, see what you can do about getting the problem solved so we can get out after the ceremony.” And without waiting for a reply, Trevor turned and began walking toward the church.

Gareth walked quickly and drew even with Trevor. Just as he opened his mouth to continue his teasing, Jonathon stuck his foot out and smoothly tripped him. Gareth stumbled, then managed to regain his balance before falling to the cobbled street. “Don’t,” said Jon in a pleasant voice as he walked past. Gareth scowled.

When they arrived at the church, they worked their way through the throng of people waiting to enter and walked around to a side entrance. The bishop waited for them just inside, wringing his hands in agitation. Jonathon and Gareth stopped and spoke quietly with him while Trevor walked across to the door that led out into the church proper. He opened it a crack.

The pews had already filled to capacity, and Trevor could see even more people waiting outside the massive front doors. He felt a movement at his side, and turned to find Sebastian looking out into the church beside him. “There must be six hundred people out there,” said Trevor with more than a trace of irritation. “Who invited them?”

His friend shrugged with disinterest. “I can only imagine,” he said, “that people flock to a wedding for the same horrible reason they flock to an execution.”

Trevor openly glared at the duke while the organ began tuning up in the other room. Gareth, who had overheard Sebastian’s cynical comment, gave a sharp bark of laughter. His brown eyes danced. “And what exact reason would that be?”

“A morbid curiosity for the irrevocable,” replied Sebastian.

A slight breeze carried the songs of birds into the room where Grace dressed for the most important day of her young life, surrounded by the people who knew and loved her best. Patience, Faith, and Amanda attended her, beautifully gowned in simple silk dresses of the palest green. They would carry bouquets of pink roses and white daisies, flowers that some might consider unfashionable but that would always be the most beautiful flowers in the world to Grace.

She stood solemnly before a long mirror as Amanda attached the long, weblike veil of silver net to the delicate wreath of flowers that held her flaming hair away from her face. She draped the folds artistically around Grace’s arms, then let the veil fall from her fingers to shimmer in waves to the floor. She stepped back to admire her friend. What she saw reflected in the mirror nearly made her gasp. Although Grace wasn’t smiling, her peaceful face reflected the quiet inner joy she felt, and her blue eyes shone radiantly with the love she had for the man to whom she would pledge herself for eternity.

The gown she had intended to wear hung forgotten in the closet. Instead she donned the gown her mother had worn when she married Grace’s father. Patience had first proposed the idea, and the whole family agreed that it felt right for Grace to wear it. Everyone had always said she looked exactly like her mother. Grace had found that hard to believe as a child, and even harder to fathom when she became an awkward adolescent. She remembered people
telling her how beautiful her mother had been, how kind and gentle and wise, and Grace had always smiled politely and said thank-you. Then, when alone, she would creep away to her room to open the miniature portrait she secretly kept in her drawer. She would look in the mirror and try very hard to find a resemblance, but would give up when she saw the image that stared back at her: a skinny teenager with carrot-colored hair and the multitude of tiny brown freckles that came from spending all of her time out-of-doors.

She looked in the mirror now and caught her breath. Somehow, it appeared, all those people had not just said those things to be kind. She stood still as Patience bent down to straighten her hem, and caught Amanda’s eye in the glass. Amanda smiled. Grace glowed today, and she felt that glow to her very soul. Her face reflected utter serenity, as though she knew that nothing and nobody could possibly spoil this day.

Although dreadfully out of fashion, Grace’s pale gray gown looked just right. Long, sheer chiffon sleeves hugged her upper arms and gradually widened to bells at her wrists. A double row of glittering diamonds beautifully accented the square neckline, cut low in the front and the back. The bodice, tight to her waist, made Grace look even smaller than usual, and the skirt fell in frothy layers of dove-colored chiffon from her trim waistline, all the way down to brush the floor.

She had left her hair unbound, save for a diamond clip that held back the burnished curls from her face, because Trevor had once told her that he always imagined her with her hair down. She had added the clip only because she wanted Trevor to be able to see her face as she walked down the aisle, wanted him to understand that she came to him with pride, with joy, and without a trace of uncertainty.

They heard a hesitant knock on the door. Becky opened it and cautiously stuck her head inside. “Miss Grace?”

“What is it, Becky?” Grace turned and smiled at the little maid, beckoning for her to come into the room.

“Mr. Ackerly asked me to come up and tell you that it is time to leave. His lordship has already left, and sent word that the roads around the church are nearly impassable.”

“Well,” said Patience past the lump in her throat, “I suppose we’re as ready as we can be.” She crossed the room to where Grace stood, and laid her hand on her sister’s cheek. “Shall we go?”

Grace shook her head. “Why don’t you go on down? I think I’d like to be alone for a few moments.” Patience smiled and bent to give her sister a quiet kiss; then all the girls filed out of the room.

Grace watched them go, then looked around the quiet chamber. Her eyes filled with nostalgic tears. Never again would she have a bedchamber exclusively hers, a room she could call her own. Always, from now on, she would share her space with her husband. She walked slowly around the pretty room, running her fingers across some of the furnishings, picturing in her mind the times she and Faith had curled up together on the bed after returning from an evening out to talk and laugh over the things that had happened.

Grace thought of her smaller room in Pelthamshire. She realized, with a funny little tingle in her stomach, that the next time she slept in that room, Trevor would sleep with her. She smiled to herself, looking forward to sharing the home of her childhood with the man she loved.

Another thought occurred to her. Leaving her chamber and walking down the corridor to the room occupied by her father, she knocked quietly. “Papa?” She listened for a moment, then pushed open the door when nobody responded.
Grace stepped in and was immediately transported back in time by the smell she always associated with her father. She caught her breath. Papa would give her away today. Never again would they share the same type of relationship.

She crossed the room to the bureau and ran her fingers over the carved handle of the brush that lay atop a folded sheaf of papers, noting the glint of silver mingled with the strands of blond caught in the bristles. It was funny, but she had never thought of Papa as growing older. He never seemed to change as the years passed. She picked up the brush with a smile. The top fold of the papers that lay beneath it popped up. Grace caught sight of Trevor’s signature, the bold, distinctive handwriting she had come to know so well leaping from the page. Curious, she picked up the papers, unfolded them, and began to read.

It was a document outlining her betrothal to the Earl of Huntwick, signed by her father and by Trevor. It was dated just two days after she’d left for London. One day before Trevor had followed her here.

Bemused, she walked out of her father’s chamber and back into her own room. She sat back down at the dressing table and considered what the document meant. Then she smiled. Trevor could have compelled her to marry him from the outset. Instead, he had chosen to court her, had allowed her the opportunity to develop feelings for him. Still, she wondered why he had not told her of the betrothal after they had reached their understanding.

No matter. Grace stood again with the papers, intending to return them to the top of her father’s bureau. As she turned to leave the room, she caught sight of the sudden movement of a figure behind her. Just as she opened her mouth to scream, a large hand clamped around her mouth. Before she could react she was struck sharply on
the back of her head with a blunt object. In an instant her world exploded in shards of blinding pain. The betrothal contract fell from her limp fingers to the floor as she slowly slid into oblivion.

“She’s late.” Trevor’s face reflected nothing.

“The roads,” said Sebastian.

“I sent word.”

“She’ll be here.”

Trevor looked out the window. The snarl of carriages and conveyances had finally untangled, and he could see no reason why Grace would not already have arrived at the church. He turned away, his jaw tight, intending to summon a footman to go look for her, when he heard an urgent knock upon the door.

Really, he knew right then that she wasn’t coming. Before Jonathon had opened the door and spoken to the unseen man outside, before he had even turned to give Trevor the news that Grace was missing, he knew. Gareth stood by awkwardly. Sebastian looked, as always, impassive, and Jonathon looked sober. The bishop rustled in and tried to say a few words, but Trevor dismissed him immediately.

“Was there a note?”

Jonathon held up his hands in a gesture that indicated he didn’t know, so Trevor looked around and said simply, “I suppose we should escape before someone informs that throng in the church that there will be no wedding.” He nodded curtly to a footman, who scurried off to summon his carriage to the side door. “I’m going to the Egerton place.”

Sebastian spoke up:“I’ll stay and see to things here with Gareth.” The younger Lloyd nodded in agreement.

“I’ll come with you,” said Jonathan. “My wife is there, in any case.”

The two left and rode without speaking. When they arrived,
Greaves opened the door before Trevor knocked. Trevor walked straight to the study, where he knew the family had likely gathered. As he entered, Mercy looked up with red-rimmed eyes. “This is all my fault,” she said, then ran past him and up the stairs.

Trevor looked at Bingham Ackerly, who said, “Grace found the betrothal contract. We discovered it on the floor next to her dressing table.”

“And Grace?” One might have thought Trevor was asking about the weather. Faith watched him closely, noting the carefully shuttered look in his eyes.

Patience stood and walked toward him. “This was on her dressing table.” She handed him a single sheet of paper.

He folded the note and placed it inside his jacket pocket. The words
some time alone
were, at least, encouraging. “All right,” he said. “You’re her family. You know her best. Where might she have gone?”

“Home,” came a small voice from the doorway. Mercy had come back quietly. Trevor thought a moment, then said to Bingham, “Mercy is right. Grace is headstrong but not foolish. Take the family back to Pelthamshire. I’ll come in a couple of days, unless you send word sooner.” He stopped a moment, then continued, “She has asked me for some time alone. The least I can do is to give her that.”