Grace (9 page)

Furious, Grace crumpled the note and tossed it into the drawing room fireplace. The last thing she wanted or needed was for the Earl of Huntwick to live nearer Pelthamshire. She watched the edges of the note catch fire and curl into ash. When the last bit of paper disappeared in the flames, she nodded with grim satisfaction and stalked out of the drawing room in search of Patience. Her older sister had begun pressing her again this year to go to London for the Season. She and Faith had an open invitation from their mother’s eldest sister. Until now, Grace had considered the idea of spending the entire spring in the city both distasteful and useless. But suddenly, she found the prospect of leaving the village very attractive. If Trevor insisted upon moving into her territory, she would strategically retreat to his. With luck, she would be far away from Pelthamshire long before the Earl of Huntwick returned.

As the stately coach again passed the little inn on the outskirts of the village, Trevor looked out the window, a thoughtful smile hovering around his mouth.

“I would not have imagined deflowering young virgins your style, Hunt.” Sebastian spoke the words lightly, but his brows drew together in a disapproving frown.

“It’s not,” Trevor replied uninformatively, somewhat annoyed
by his friend’s erroneous assumption that his motives for seeking out Grace were purely sexual.

The duke remained undaunted. “Virgins,” he stated flatly, “are nothing but trouble.”

The earl raised his eyebrows at Sebastian. “Are you lecturing me, Your Grace? Speaking, perhaps, from the vast experience your age and travels have afforded you, my young, fledgling duke?” He turned back to the window. “Please. Spare me the sermon, Sebastian. You should be concentrating on perfecting your ducal glare of glacial contempt.”

Sebastian ignored the jibe. “Making Grace Ackerly your lover would be a great deal more of an inconvenience than a pleasure, I can assure you,” he warned emphatically.

An inappropriate parade of visions chose that unlikely moment to dance through Trevor’s mind: Grace in her indecently distracting breeches, her hair unbound, a long blade of grass between her even white teeth, completely unaware of how alluring she looked; Grace tossing her head and defiantly declaring that she would not marry him, although he had not yet asked her; Grace as she would look in his bed, her glorious hair spilling across his pillows, her velvety blue eyes filled with passion, beckoning him near. . . .

Resolutely, he pushed
that
particular vision to the back of his mind and looked across the coach at his friend. “Making her my wife may well prove to be a great deal worse,” he said softly. He looked back out the window at the passing scenery, therefore missing his normally unflappable friend’s expression of shock.

T
he unmistakable clatter of carriage wheels in the drive took Wilson by surprise. The normally haughty Caldwell butler hastened to the front door in what could only be described as an undignified run. Even so, he managed only to arrive out of breath, too late to open it; the Earl of Huntwick already stood on the threshold of his spectacular estate, the Willows, grinning broadly at his slightly disheveled and quite embarrassed butler.

The small man drew himself up sharply and regained his usual ultradignified and lofty manner in a matter of seconds. “My lord,” he intoned nasally, bowing ever so slightly. “Although we weren’t expecting you for two more days, may I say how very good it is to have you home again?”

“I couldn’t agree more, Wilson,” said Trevor, clapping the older man solidly on the back. He walked in and looked around with satisfaction at the magnificent entranceway. The immaculate marble floor gleamed, and the walls paneled in satiny rosewood glowed with newly applied wax. The glittering crystal chandelier suspended three stories above his head threw a myriad of tiny rainbows around the room from the sunlight that streamed in the soaring arched windows, panes of glass that rose all the way from ground level to nearly the roof of the thirty-room estate.

Although Trevor employed a full complement of servants year-round in each of his estates, he also retained a small contingent of his most trusted staff, consisting of his secretary, cook, housekeeper, butler, valet, and coachman. This small, efficient group of people traveled with him, taking up residence in whichever home he happened to occupy. Since he followed a rather rigid daily schedule to which he strictly conformed, no matter his location, they had become very adept at anticipating all of Trevor’s needs almost before he himself knew of them. As a result, their summons to relocate from London just as the Season began hardly surprised them. They managed, with their usual aplomb, to smoothly step in and take over the running of the household. Already their presence had made a vast difference in the condition of the long-unlived-in estate. This, the home of his childhood, was also the residence in which Trevor spent the least amount of time, so most of the rooms had been closed off for years. Although competently maintained by the steward, the household had acquired a rather deserted air. Now, however, everywhere he looked, Trevor saw servants busily working; shining silver and polishing brass fixtures, dusting furniture and cleaning the vast windows that covered a great deal of the front of the mansion.

In this home Trevor had grown up, a small boy lost in an immense, intimidating, coldly beautiful mansion. With no brothers or sisters, Trevor had only the servants for friends. As it was a rather remote residence, the Willows ran with complete self-sufficiency, requiring no local village to house its servants or provide its support. His parents, though loving, had spent much of his early childhood away from home, flitting glamorously in and out of his life on their never-ending cycle of travels and parties in the glittering capitals of Europe. Without the gentle guidance of the butler,
Wilson, and the unobtrusive advice of Avery, a former footman who had eventually become Trevor’s valet, the lonely young boy would never have gotten along as well as he had. It was no wonder he treated most of his personal servants as members of his family, rather than mere employees.

Despite the fact that he had led such a solitary existence, Trevor considered his boyhood happy and content. He spent his mornings in the schoolroom with his tutor, and his afternoons riding or fishing with footmen. He often followed one or two of his favorite servants about their duties, asking pointed questions that, from a very early age, betrayed an astounding intellect. All in all, he led a rather wonderful existence.

On Trevor’s sixteenth birthday, word had come that the ship on which the Earl and Countess of Huntwick had most recently sailed had gone down in a storm, and all of the passengers, including Trevor’s parents, were lost. When the London solicitors who handled his father’s business affairs relayed the news to him, Trevor did not quite know how he should react. Since he had never really known his parents, he had, of course, felt sadness, though not grief, at their loss. He soon discovered, however, that he would now have to shoulder the burden and responsibility of vast business interests, as well as the day-to-day running of several estates and the livelihoods of a multitude of servants. To the inexperienced young man’s credit, he quickly threw himself into the daunting task.

He’d traveled to each of the three estates he had inherited, spending most of the next two years becoming familiar with the various tasks involved in running them, and acquainting himself with the stewards and other household staff members in each residence. Possessed of a keen mind, he quickly learned the idiosyncrasies of each location and weeded out anything he judged inefficient or unnecessary.
In short order, he improved the general productivity of all the estates and, in doing so, increased the already daunting wealth that had come with his title.

It was not until he finally traveled to London, though, that Trevor really
became
the Earl of Huntwick. With his ready wit and natural charm, he’d quickly become a favorite in the drawing rooms and at the dinner tables of London’s elite. Already handsome at the age of eighteen, he had the bearing and presence of a much older man, thanks to a childhood spent almost exclusively with adults. At the many soirees, balls, and routs he attended, he came into contact with other men who shared an interest in many of the business ventures in which Trevor’s father had involved himself. It did not take long for him to decide he would much rather handle his own affairs than have the London firm the former earl had hired continue to do so. Although they had done a competent job, he felt certain he could do better.

He’d done just that. His fertile mind, quick to pick up on the nuances of things said and left unsaid, cataloged and stored information about new investments, social trends, and shipping propositions. He possessed an uncanny sense of timing about which investments would pay off, and which would lose money. Time and again, the risks he took returned at a greater profit until, five years after the death of his parents, Trevor had become one of the richest and most sought-after young men in Europe. Possessing both lineage and good looks automatically brought him to the attention of all society mamas with daughters of marriageable age, but as the years passed and his wealth increased, his interest in marriage appeared to decrease.

His charm, however, remained legendary.

Among the young debutantes who emerged each Season, one heard whispered rumors that this girl or that woman or Lady Such-and-such had fallen into the Earl of
Huntwick’s bed at a mere quirk of his aristocratic eyebrow. Every mama’s heart raced with both hope and dread when a butler announced his presence at a ball, or when he made an appearance at the opera or the theater, especially when he attended unaccompanied. Never had he shown a partiality for any one particular lady, although everyone generally agreed that Trevor would have to marry soon, even if he did so only to beget an heir and continue his line.

Now, twelve years after he had first set foot in London, he was back at the Willows, pleasurably contemplating marriage to an unknown girl who hadn’t the slightest interest in all he could offer her along with his name. He shook his head with an inward smile as he climbed the sweeping marble staircase and walked down the wide corridor to the master bedchamber, his feet sinking soundlessly into the thick blue Aubusson carpet that stretched down the endless halls.

“Good afternoon, Avery,” Trevor said to the valet, who stood at the armoire unpacking several bags of the earl’s belongings from London. Avery murmured a greeting and continued with his task, not really paying much attention to Trevor, who still stood at the threshold. The earl looked around in poignant wonder at rooms he had not seen in many years, thinking of the many things that had changed since then. The three estates, entailed and passed on to him, had all been greatly improved, and he had acquired three more: one in England and two in France. His wealth had increased more than four times in the period since he had become the Earl of Huntwick. He owned several shipping companies, and had business interests throughout the Continent, as well as in America. Until now he had not found anyone with whom he wanted to share it.

Abruptly shaking himself from his reverie, he looked across the room to a set of closed and firmly locked double doors. Although he knew exactly what lay behind those
doors, he found himself irresistibly drawn to them. He walked slowly across the room, turned the key in the well-oiled lock, and pulled them open.

At the unexpected sound of the locked doors unlatching, Avery finally looked up from the drawers of the immense wardrobe, where he meticulously placed carefully folded cravats in precise rows. “My lord,” he began to say, then stopped in surprised curiosity when he saw Trevor standing just inside the threshold of the open doors that led to the adjoining chamber. The earl slowly walked through the connecting bathing room to the suite reserved for his countess. Avery drew his brows together, then shrugged and returned to his task.

Trevor looked around the large chamber curiously, realizing with vague surprise that he had never actually entered this room before, not even as a child. Although it was a spacious, pretty room, he found he could not quite picture Grace in these delicate, fragile surroundings. He walked to the white-lacquered dressing table and ran a fingertip lightly across the polished surface, the movement reflected in the beveled mirrors that stood atop it. Behind him, framed in the center mirror, stood the canopied bed in which his mother had once slept.

He turned and slowly crossed the room, staring at the smooth blue silk coverlet and plump, untouched pillows. He fingered a gold tassel that held open the tied-back curtains hanging from each corner of the canopy. He closed his eyes and tried again to picture Grace curled up there, her hair a bright, curly flag on the light blue linen as she slept, but found he still could not.