CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CARRIAGE TO CLAREHAVEN, HAMPSHIRE, ENGLAND – MID-MAY, 1814
His chest constricted as if she’d stabbed him. Of all the things he’d expected her to say, that quick, decisive “no” wasn’t one of them. He exhaled slowly, fighting to keep his face stoic.
“I see,” he said, his voice calm. But his stomach rolled. Why didn’t she wish to marry him? Could she not see what a position she was now in? Polite society would scorn her, a woman fallen.
His uncle’s voice echoed in his mind. You’re only half a man.
Of course. Of course she didn’t want to marry him. Who would want someone whose body betrayed him as his did? Who would want to risk having children who might suffer the same affliction? And his uncle, his blood relative, had kidnapped her and dragged her across England. The man was mad. And Damon damaged. Perhaps she feared bad blood ran through the family. He wouldn’t blame her.
He’d offered a marriage free of its normal obligations so that she’d not feel forced, but still had the means by which to rescue her honor.
The natural progression of their courtship would have led to this point, to a proposal, would it not? Given her response to their kisses, he was certain she desired him as much as he her. He’d hoped with time, she’d wish for, insist on, a full marriage. A consummated marriage. Hoped she could be happy with him and might even come to love him.
It was her choice to make, whether to marry him and save her honor, or to refuse him, thereby ending their association. For if they didn’t marry now, there was no future for them. They could not go back as they’d been before his uncle’s actions, and because of those actions, there was no other reasonable path forward.
And she’d refused him.
He could tell her he loved her. He could risk it all.
But if she refused again, if she rebuffed him in that moment of most intimate exposure, he didn’t think he could survive it. Too many people had rejected him to risk revealing himself in that way, and none for whom he’d felt the half of what he felt for Grace.
Still, he owed her. He owed her his name, not only because Fillmore had robbed her of her honorable status in society, but also because she’d likely saved his life when she’d attacked his uncle with that poker.
He crossed his arms, staring out the window. The scenery passed by, an indistinguishable blur. Much like his emotions.
“Damon,” she said, her voice the softest whisper, but he ignored her.
She did not try again.
After a few moments, Deveric stirred, his hat falling into his lap. He yawned, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, sister,” he said. “Between running after you and helping care for the baby, I’m a little short on sleep.”
Grace gave a half laugh, though a quick glance revealed her eyes were on Damon, not her brother, her fingers nervously pulling at her gown. “You’re up at night with Isabelle?”
Deveric shifted in his seat. “Occasionally. When Eliza will let me; she mostly wants to tend to Belle herself. Refuses the nurse, even.”
“She is a wonderful mother. And you a wonderful husband.”
Was that wistfulness in Grace’s voice? Damon closed his eyes as the two conversed, fatigue seeping into every pore of his body—and his heart—though he listened carefully to their words.
“Are you all right?” Deveric asked Grace after a few moments.
I will not peek. I will not look to see her face.
“Yes. Though overwhelmed by all that has happened, I suppose.”
“We should go to Clarehaven for a while, to let you recover.”
“And because you want to see Eliza, I’m sure.”
“Always. Unless you’d prefer to return to the family in London?”
There was a pause. “No. I do not wish to be the subject of further gossip, the next nine days’ wonder. Let them find something new to obsess over. In time they shall forget me.”
“Understood.” Deveric fell silent. A minute later, he asked, “Damon?”
Damon reluctantly opened his eyes. He turned toward Deveric so as to avoid Grace. He could not look upon her just now, not with his soul in a thousand pieces. He had offered for her and she had rejected him, despite the situation in which she now found herself, despite the moments they had shared. “Yes?”
“Do you wish us to take you to Thorne Hill? It’s rather on the way, from what I understand.”
Damon ground his teeth, a muscle popping in his cheek. “I would prefer to stay with Grace. We have unfinished business.”
Grace coughed. Deveric raised an eyebrow.
“I have asked your sister to marry me. She has refused. Given all that has happened, I feel I must convince her otherwise.”
For he must. Though she had slain him with her refusal, he could not leave her to a life of dishonor, devoured by scandal. She deserved far better, even if it be a marriage in name only. Something to rescue her reputation. The protection of the Malford wealth, the Malford name. Though the Demon Duke had sullied that in the eyes of the ton, as well, no doubt.
Both of Deveric’s eyebrows rose as he studied his sister. “You refused him?”
Damon could not help but look to her, to gauge her response to her brother’s challenge.
Grace’s cheeks blazed bright red, her eyes darting to Daisy. “This is neither the time nor place to discuss it.”
Was it Damon’s imagination, or did Grace elbow Daisy in the side? The maid squirmed and then blinked, sitting up straight in the seat.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Daisy,” Grace said, her voice all too innocent. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Damon’s mouth tipped up in a sardonic grin. He caught her eye and dipped his head briefly.
Well played. But this isn’t over yet.
THE REST of the trip to Clarehaven passed more quickly than Grace had expected. With Daisy awake, they’d dropped all intimate conversation, thank heavens. Her feelings were entirely too raw to discuss.
Instead, Deveric and Damon talked about the management of an estate the size of Clarehaven. Though her brother’s detailed discussion of farming methods and crop yields nearly lulled her to sleep, Damon asked numerous questions and compared how things were done at Thorne Hill.
“I look forward to implementing a number of your suggestions, Deveric. It is good to have the counsel of someone with, er, more years of practice.”
“Any time,” her brother responded. “I must say, for a man not raised as the heir, you have done a remarkable job of it, Damon. You have my respect.”
Damon had swallowed, his throat bobbing, but made no response beyond a curt nod. Grace’s heart, however, swelled in gratitude toward her brother. No matter that currently she and Damon were in a mess, surely Deveric’s acceptance, the affirmation of a fellow duke, must assuage some of Damon’s self-doubt. And Damon deserved as much.
After a short silence, Damon addressed Daisy. “Do you mind if we don’t go to Thorne Hill immediately? I know I promised a position there.”
Daisy’s eyes bulged in her head at a duke asking her opinion. “It is no problem fer me, Your Grace,” she squeaked. “I am sure I can be of help in the kitchen.”
“I don’t suppose you have any experience as a lady’s maid?” Grace asked.
Daisy swallowed. “No, milady. But my sister was lady’s maid to Daphne, afore she died. I sometimes watched her.”
Grace’s eyebrows knit together. “I am so sorry for your loss.”
Daisy clutched her hands together. “She sickened and died within a week. Same as Mum and Da.”
Grace fought the urge to hug the poor girl; it would likely overset her. “Well, if you are willing to try, I find myself in need of a lady’s maid, at least until Bess returns from London.”
Daisy nodded, a hesitant smile on her face. “I would be right happy to help you, milady.”
“Good. That’s settled, then.”
All four occupants fell to their personal thoughts, a quiet with its own peace infusing the coach.
But Grace knew it would not last. No, she still had her family to face. And Damon.
IT WAS LATE in the evening when the coach finally rolled up to Clarehaven. They had stopped occasionally to change horses and for a fine cold lunch from an inn along the way.
Grace exhaled in relief as she exited the coach, guided by Deveric’s hand. She looked up at the tall columns framing the doorway and smiled. “It is good to be home.” How she had missed it.
“Yes, it is,” Deveric agreed.
Helping Daisy from the carriage, he transferred her to his waiting butler, Mulder. “Please take Daisy to Mrs. Wiggins.” The butler gave Daisy the barest of nods, his bearing stiffly erect.
To Daisy, Deveric added, “Mrs. Wiggins is Clarehaven’s housekeeper. She will see you settled.”
Daisy nodded her thanks and left with the taciturn butler.
A squeal emerged as the grand front door flung open and a short blonde woman raced down the stairs, launching herself into Deveric’s arms. She kissed him once, twice, and then pulled away to greet Grace, enfolding her in a warm embrace. “I knew he’d find you. I knew it! Thank God!”
Grace beamed. The light, loving manner of her sister-in-law was the perfect balm to the heaviness of the last days. “Eliza, you are always such a delight.”
Eliza giggled and turned back to Deveric. Damon stood to his side, and Eliza, upon seeing him, exclaimed, “Hello! I’m Eliza Mattersley. And you are?”
“Ah, my dear, bold wife,” Deveric said, stroking a hand down her arm. “Still American in every way, too impatient to wait for an introduction.”
She elbowed him, but her cheeks cracked into a smile.
“Eliza, the Duke of Malford,” Deveric said, his eyes twinkling. “Malford, this is my wife, the Duchess of Claremont.”
She dropped him a curtsy. “It is my pleasure, Your Grace. Thank you for rescuing our dearest Grace. Rather like a chivalrous knight of old—or the hero of a modern gothic novel, don’t you think?” She winked at him.
Grace nearly laughed out loud at her sister-in-law. Dearest Eliza, indeed; she brought joy wherever she went.
Eliza turned to Grace and hooked her arm through the young woman’s. “Come, let’s get something to eat while you regale me with this crazy adventure. Maybe some of Cook’s cherry tarts?”
“Save some for me!” Deveric called after them.
Eliza flashed a saucy grin over her shoulder. “Your treats come later.”
Grace looked back, as well, not wanting to miss her brother’s reaction to his wife’s suggestive banter. Instead, her eyes locked with Damon’s. His were burning, hungry, devouring her so fully she shivered.
If pure physical passion were a reason for marriage, she’d wed him in a moment. For she liked nothing better than imagining herself the tart, the object of his appetite, and him consuming her. It was quite the vision, indeed.
But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t enough.
ELIZA AND GRACE sat in the kitchen, cups of hot chocolate resting on the wooden table in front of them. Eliza took a bite of a tart, a delighted noise escaping from her as she licked the cherry filling.
“Exquisite, as always,” she said after she’d finished chewing. “I have never understood how you stay so slim with treats like these in the house!”
Grace looked down at her own lean frame. She rather envied Eliza’s curvier figure, truth be told, whereas Eliza often bemoaned her own proportions, stating on more than one occasion she wished for Grace’s willowiness. Did women always want what they didn’t have?
“Too many more of these and Dev is never going to look at me again. I haven’t even lost the baby weight, and here I am, stuffing my face.”
Grace snorted. “I cannot foresee any circumstances in which my brother would not be totally besotted with you, Eliza. The rest of us, either. Clarehaven hasn’t been the same since you arrived, and for that, I am eternally grateful.”
It was hard to remember Deveric as he had once been: stoic, reserved, dedicated to duty but keeping people, including his own son, at arm’s length. He’d lost his first wife and infant daughter in childbirth, and his guilt over their deaths had nearly consumed him. Until Eliza. He’d fallen madly in love with her and the American had turned him around one hundred percent.
No wonder. Eliza’s exuberant personality and sparkly wit, her entrancement with everything she saw, everything she experienced, as if it were all new to her, endeared her to all. Oh, to approach life with such curiosity and zest!
It was Eliza, actually, who’d most encouraged Grace to write.
“Mark my words,” she’d said. “Women writers are going to become more and more well-known. I have no doubt that authors such as Mary Wollenstonecraft, Fannie Burney, Ann Radcliffe, and Jane Austen will be remembered for generations to come. Your name could be among them!”
It had been some time since their last visit to Chawton for tea with the Misses Austen, however. Since the autumn before last, in fact. When Deveric had learned Eliza was with child, he’d practically forbidden her to breathe, much less travel, so terrified was he of losing the baby and his wife with it. Eliza had grumbled but mostly acquiesced.
“Though I don’t bow to all his demands, that one was a small price to pay for Dev’s peace of mind,” she’d said recently. “Besides, it gave me lots of time to spend with Frederick and Pirate.”
Frederick was Deveric’s son, and Pirate the one-eyed puppy he’d adopted shortly after Eliza had come to Clarehaven. The boy and the dog were inseparable, and the same was now true for her nephew and his father, too. Eliza was to credit for that, the reconciliation between father and son. They owed her so much.
Grace sipped the chocolate, its liquid deliciousness coating her parched throat. She was tired—exhausted, in truth—but she didn’t wish to be rude to her sister-in-law, especially considering Eliza was choosing to spend time with her, rather than Deveric or her own children.
“Thank you, Eliza.”
“For what?”
“For letting Deveric come when baby Isabelle is so new and you wanted him here.”
“Are you joking? You’re his sister. You’re my sister. We’d do anything for you.”
Grace’s eyes welled up.
“Oh! I didn’t mean to make you cry!”
“No, no. It’s fine. I’m merely tired.”
Eliza hopped up from her chair. “Absolutely right. How silly of me to keep you here after all you’ve been through. You go up to bed. We’ll talk again in the morning. Just know I’m here if you need anything.”
Grace stood up, cup in her hand. “Thank you.” With a grateful nod, she headed to her chamber and hopefully for blessed sleep, where she could forget everything that had happened over the last two days. At least for a little while.
What I need is love like you have found, dearest Eliza. Or the ability to forget Damon Blackbourne existed. For the Duke of Malford had seeped into her soul, and she feared no exorcism was strong enough to ever remove him.
But half measures were not enough. A marriage of convenience, of distance, was no marriage. She wanted all of him, or nothing at all.