To Win a Lady's Heart (The Landon Sisters) (6 page)

Chapter Nine

Hetty cornered Corbeau in the corridor just beyond the library. “It’s raining.”

“I know.”

She gave him a pointed look. “Everyone is terribly restless.”

This time of year was all the more difficult for the inclement weather. The climate was conducive to rain at the best of times. Winter, however, would be mistaken by few for the best of times.

And the guests were feeling the constraint of being cooped within the walls. That’s how it seemed, at any rate, though he could well have been alone in the sensation and mistakenly applying his own agitation to others.

“If I could help the weather, believe me, my dear sister, I would.”

“It’s just that ladies are used to walking and men are used to riding. All the little agitations of close quarters are building up, and everyone’s quickly losing sight of the sort of mood they ought to be in at Christmas.”

“And for that I’m all the more grateful I have my mornings in the stables.”

Hetty squinted at him. “You’re still doing that?” She shrugged, giving her head a little shake, as if she might pause to wonder at him from time to time, but it’d be too much to ever try to hope to actually understand him. “Really, we must have occupation, or we’ll all go quite mad.”

“I’m sure you can think of something.” He moved past her, wood floor creaking under the rugs, only to pause. “Perhaps no hiding game, though.”

“Some effort is required of you, you realize. Not much. Just a little.”

At the door, he looked back at her. “There is a matter requiring my immediate attention. As soon as it’s resolved to my satisfaction, I shall be at your disposal.”

“Matter?” She made a moue. “What matter?”

“It’s rather delicate.”

“I’m not.”

If she were still in the schoolroom, he’d reach out to tousle her curls. “Be that as it may, leave me my happy fancies, won’t you?”

“I’m quite grown past the age where you might protect me, you know.”

He smiled, wistful nostalgia for the bright-eyed girl she’d been, warring with a fierce pride to be able to call himself brother to the astonishing creature she’d become.

Given his care of her in the years since their parents’ deaths, it would have been nice to believe he’d had something to do with what she’d grown into. But Hetty was always going to be Hetty, the rest of the world—including him—be damned. The picture of a proper lady was something she could never be. And he wouldn’t have her any other way. “Again, pray leave me to my fancies.”

She sighed. “Well, all right, attend to whatever it is that so urgently needs addressing. But don’t forget your guests do need you.”

If only he could.

Individually, he liked them all well enough on their own merits. Even Lady Rushworth wasn’t without her positive qualities, though he didn’t have time to stop to think about what they might be.

The group as a collective whole, however…a sort of cold dread crept over him. He shut the library door.

At last. Sanctuary. The only thing he needed after the rather alarming morning was a few minutes’ peace. Alone.

What was more soothing than the smell of books and leather and ink?

Only one thing. Out the windows in a far field, there they were—his horses.

Corbeau started pulling away his jacket. Finely cut as it might have been, occasionally a man needed the freedom of shirtsleeves.

“Oh, forgive me, my lord, I’m so sorry.”

His eyes landed on Lady Grace. She stood in the corner shelves of books, wearing an expression that could have been alarm as easily as it could have been guilt.

Interesting though—she wasn’t blushing.

She kept talking as he replaced the article of clothing. “It’s just, I was going to ask, you see, and I was looking for you, but your butler said you were unavailable for a short spell, but assured me you wouldn’t mind if I borrowed something.”

“The novels are together there at the end on the newer shelf.” Jacket replaced, he pointed.

“My mood isn’t suited to a novel today.”

“Ah. I see.” He paused. “Anything particular I might help you find?”

“Oh, no. I was just—” Hastily, she glanced over the titles at hand then pulled a slender volume from the shelf. “This will do nicely.”

He came closer to peer at her selection. “Read Latin, do you?”

“What?” She looked at the gold lettering inscribed on the spine, sour annoyance replacing the surprise on her face. “Oh. Actually, no.”

This time, she did blush. Prettily, too. The rosiness staining her cheeks highlighted those dashed irresistible freckles.

“Take your time. And don’t mind me.” Trying not to smile, he took his place at the desk. His steward wouldn’t mind terribly if he attended to the business piling up. At least someone would be happy.

He took the top sheet from the pile and tried to attend.

Happy for a proper reason, that was. Whatever satisfaction Corbeau felt about having unsettled Grace, he wouldn’t be allowed to own it to anyone but himself.

Not that he wanted to unsettle her. At least, not as the word was at face value. But if his presence affected her…well. He wasn’t averse to allowing himself the fleeting pleasure of enjoying the evidence of the experience.

“Have you had a terribly difficult morning?”

He set the paper aside. “I’m sorry?”

“The servants have been terribly on edge.”

“Have they now?” Not that he could blame them.

“I’m prying unforgivably by asking, of course, but is there trouble afoot?”

Inwardly he smiled that stating she was prying unforgivably hadn’t stopped her from launching ahead without hesitation.

Corbeau leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, considering. Every waking moment since their midnight meeting he’d spent with a nagging question at the back of his mind. How was he going to win Grace?

Trouble was afoot with the servants. And he had half a mind to share the matter with her. But it seemed an odd thing to win her by venturing on this particular topic.

Then again, perhaps it wasn’t so strange.

It might, in fact, make all the sense in the world. Grace was a strong woman, and showing her that she would be an equal partner in their life might indeed be a faster road to winning her than anything else. Certainly better than Max’s foolish notions, no question.

The thing of it was, would she be shocked if he told her?

Grace? Steady, levelheaded Grace? Shocked? He bit back laughter.

He checked the inappropriate mirth and gave the situation the seriousness that was its due. “As I fully intend to marry you, my intention to do so and my belief that my hopes will come to fruition lead me to believe informing you of this matter, though it would properly be the purview of my count—”

“Stop! If those are your terms, I don’t accept.” Scowling, she turned back to the books, rubbing her arms absently as if chilled.

He let his eyes linger. He could sit watching the back of her for a long time and remain perfectly content.

When he spoke at last, he selected his words with great care. Being forthright herself, Grace would appreciate direct speech. “Today I was made aware that one of the maids has gotten herself with child.”

That had her attention. Grace whirled to stare at him, eyes glinting with steely challenge. “I might be an unmarried woman, my lord, but my understanding is strong enough on such concerns to know that, save one in all of history, women don’t get themselves with child.”

He gave a single nod of agreement. “I apologize for my poor phrasing.”

“I don’t see what’s so difficult about the situation. They don’t have to have the banns read. Surely they can be married easily enough by common license.”

“If there were to be a marriage, I would see it done.”

“There isn’t to be a marriage?” Grace’s lips pressed into a line. “Don’t tell me the poor girl is being sent away.”

“She’s been spoken to on the matter and remains firm. She’s not naming the father.”

“I doubt she’d tell you.”

“As do I, which is why it was the housekeeper who had a word with her, not me.”

“It’s not fair. The girl shouldn’t be alone to take the blame, banished from her home and all who know her while whoever it was who—who—well, whoever he was, doesn’t have to shoulder his share of the responsibility.”

“I quite agree. It’s not fair. But those who know her now scorn her.”

Grace was visibly seething. Her eyes flashed, her brows sunk low. Her indignation on the matter was doing something to him in the vicinity of his chest. It made him want to pull her close and kiss her brow and tell her he was going to make the world a better place to live or die trying.

Lord, but she was going to make him an excellent countess. Her energy. Her passion. The way she spoke her mind to him just now, with her strength of conviction, no matter what the rest of the world thought.

He stood. “I don’t care for it any more than you do, but it’s for the best.”

“I have been scorned. I know what it is when those you believed cared for you turn their backs on you in your time of greatest need.”

The perfume of her willed him to pull her close and imprint the fragrance upon his senses.

For a long second, it was all he could do to keep from kissing her then and there.

Remembering himself, Corbeau spoke gently. “What your father did wasn’t your fault.”

“I thought you didn’t want to speak of the past.”

“It seems to haunt you.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. And I know—I know it wasn’t my fault. But others didn’t. When we needed compassion, when we needed friends—” She drew herself up. “Well, we learned quickly enough what we’d become in the eyes of others.”

“Then they were never worthy of you to begin with.”

“I can do without such silly sayings as that, if you please, my lord.”

“It’s true.”

She didn’t respond.

“Lady Grace, I sense there might be something you wish to tell me. Some deeper reason why you might wish to end our engagement.”

“Oh, let’s talk about something else.” A hint of desperation lingered in her voice. “Please.”

“Forgive me. It’s not my intention to make you uncomfortable.” He swallowed and his tone went soft. “If I might add one thing, however?”

She did nothing but look at him expectantly, her silence an agreement to continue.

“I hope you soon deem me worthy of your trust.” He took a deep breath, content to change the subject for the time being. “In the case of the maid, I have every reason to believe the maid was complicit in the doings that saw her into her current condition.”

Her brows sunk a fraction. “Do you?”

A sour twist invaded his stomach at the suggestion. “The question of force was put to her directly and vehemently denied. If I had the slightest reason to believe otherwise…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, only shake his head. It was hard enough knowing Grace understood some men’s souls were dark enough to be able to do such things. What he himself would be capable of were something of that magnitude of wrongdoing to happen under his very roof was a theoretical query he dared not ponder.

She raised her chin. “Well, that’s something.”

“What’s done is done. The most compassionate thing we can do for her now is see her well cared for, which I fully intend to do—for both her and the child.”

“What’s done is done—except on one matter. The identity of the father.”

“I told you, the girl wouldn’t say.”

“You need to find him out and hold him accountable for what’s happened. She can’t shoulder the burden alone. You must discover who the father is, and he must take his share of responsibility.”

“How do you envision this? Am I to press suspicious questions upon every male of age within a ten mile vicinity?”

“Are you giving up even before you’ve made the attempt?”

“You can’t be serious. Grace…” He paced away, running fingers through his hair. “This isn’t how the world works.”

Her face turned to stone. “My lord, that, I think, is entirely beside the point. The world works by our hands and ours alone. There is no hope for betterment if we don’t fight to create something better.”

Chapter Ten

After her little speech to the earl, Grace, without having selected anything to read in the Corbeau library, found a maid and issued instructions for a compress to be sent up to her room. The idealism she’d spouted at the earl left her mind spinning. And, somehow, unsettled.

No sooner had she tucked into bed with the cool cloth over her brow than she was asleep.

An hour later she woke, cursing herself for the ninny she was. Of course she’d unsettled herself. How could she not? Everything she felt on the subject pointed to the unfortunate truth she’d been struggling with for weeks: the only thing she would bring to a marriage would be the stain and dishonor of her father’s nefarious misdeeds.

She had to talk to Corbeau. He seemed not to understand. Well. She’d just have to make him understand.

The maid came to dress her for dinner. The meal was near interminable. Lady Rushworth had a particular knack for eyeing the diners as if tallying sins. Grace felt her ladyship’s gaze wandering in her direction again and again, as if tonight she found Grace’s manners unforgivably lacking.

She wouldn’t have believed it beforehand, but the wait for the gentlemen to join the ladies in the drawing room afterward proved far more brutal. Her mother hadn’t joined them this evening, reputedly not feeling well.

The soft candlelight set the silks of the room aglow. Grace sat apart from the others, lengthy imagined conversations with Corbeau spinning through her mind, each more heated, more frustrating than the last. And all ending with a quick dissolution of the engagement—which she absolutely wanted, of course.

Instead of triumphant and free, however, the imaginings only entrenched her in her unsettled feelings, if such a disparate thing were even possible.

Unsettled? No, that wasn’t the right word. It was bereft. An odd sort of panicked emptiness. But what was supposed to fit in the hollow space caged in her ribs?

The earl was a good man. A very good man, who would make a good and steady husband.

If her father hadn’t gambled everything away and left the family in utter ruin before his death, things could have been different. When so long ago Corbeau had come to her, his heart in his hands, asking in that earnest and straightforward way of his if he might court her, she might have said yes. The trajectory of both their lives might have been utterly different.

So what was she doing trying to escape the engagement? But accepting—no relenting—under such circumstances as this, a forced engagement, of all things, well… To marry under such terms…to marry him knowing her scandal would tarnish a man like the earl. It seemed so unforgivably coldhearted.

“Grace?”

Softening her features, Grace focused on Hetty, who took the seat beside her. “Yes?”

“What is it? You’ve been troubled all evening.”

Grace could hardly own what she felt to the sister of the man to whom she was, for better or worse, currently bound. A bittersweet sorrow tinged her heart. In the past, Hetty had always been the one to whom she could unburden her thoughts, even the most weighty.

Phoebe and Jane called them to come make a third and fourth for a game of cards.

Grace shook her head. “I’m of no mind for cards tonight, I’m afraid.”

Hetty rose. Her color was high, her expression tender. “Please reconsider. It would do you a world of good. We can talk about this later. Besides, you’re in need of a distraction, I shouldn’t wonder, and the more frivolous, the better.”

“My head is too much a muddle. I’d only upset everyone with my poor plays.”

“If you lost all your fish to others, they could hardly be upset with you if the aftermath meant hoarding their spoils.”

“But what meaning does winning have if there is no challenge in the getting of the prize?”

“Perhaps you’re right, you should be left alone tonight. Time for one’s self is important upon occasion.” Hetty nodded, her face warm with compassion. “Don’t tax yourself overmuch with such thoughts, though.”

Hetty approached Eliza with the hope of finding a more willing—and rational, was Grace’s editorial thought on the matter while observing—fourth than Grace.

At last the gentlemen began to come through.

Before she could consider too carefully about what she was about to do, Grace took herself into the direct path of Corbeau. His whole form visibly tensed as she drew near. How could he be so at ease when they were alone—almost jovial at times—but so serious and so on guard when in the presence of others?

“I thought we might talk, my lord.” She offered what she hoped was a disarming smile. Given the strain in her own body from the last hours’ mental distress, she could well have looked quite deranged.

He, however, looked as he always did. Tall. And well featured. And with rather more masculine allure than he’d any right to while in mixed company.

All she had to do was accept the engagement.

It seemed so easy.

The man who could have been hers stood silently before her, waiting for her to speak.

If only she could marry him.

No. There was no hope for the engagement. There was no hope for them. She wouldn’t let herself believe otherwise. If she deceived herself…if she told herself she was trapped and had no choice but to agree… It wouldn’t be fair to Corbeau.

She tried to smile again, this time with little doubt of failing hopelessly. “On second thought, I’m not sure it matters.”

When he slipped her arm into his, a delicious warmth spread through her veins. Odd how right it felt to be close to him, to be close enough to discern the light scent of the starch of his clothing in the air.

He began leading her in a slow turn to the cooler side of the room. “Is this about this afternoon?”

“I thought I wanted to discuss it, but I find I don’t.”

A sidelong glance revealed the way his expression had darkened. “If you have something to say, my lady, I expect you to say it. I won’t be provoked into being made to guess at what it is you might want.”

“Guess at what I might want?” She stopped abruptly to face him, shoulders square, her stare boring into his, her voice low. “My lord, that’s a game I would not play.”

He softened. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to suggest you might trifle with me.”

“I think I should—” She stepped back from him, an impression of loss rippling through her when she put distance between them.

The earl would never be improper with her. All his notions of honor and all.

Which was a pity, because she mightn’t mind terribly if he showed her a glimpse into wickedness.

Taking her out in her nightclothes while he fed the horses didn’t count. It was impetuous, but certainly not wicked. What was salacious if not the very soul of wicked? And those things he’d said to her in the storeroom, those things about kissing…

If she had the chance to kiss him, to really kiss him, she’d throw herself on the opportunity.

Well, she wouldn’t think of them ever again because he’d never act on them. They were as good as forgotten. It was a result of a moment’s fancy. But they weren’t real.

The sooner she was away from this man, the sooner she would have hope of regaining hold on her senses. “I think I should join my sisters.”

Cards had been abandoned in favor of gathering in sets to dance while Lady Eliza sat at the instrument playing lively reels.

“You want to know why I told you what I told you.”

Her breath caught in her lungs. Yes. That was it exactly. She hadn’t put it in so many words herself, yet he’d spoken perfectly.

She raised her chin. “I thought you weren’t going to be guessing at what my wants might be.”

“No, you weren’t going to be silent when you should speak and hope I guess correctly at what it is you want.” The depths of his eyes sparkled with challenge. “And now, my lady, now is the time you should speak.”

Grace needed no further encouragement. They were in company, yes, but were at the far side of the room. The music and laughter would drown out any chance of being overheard. “You don’t understand what it’s like to live under the perpetual shadow of such a scandal as my father left in his wake—being utterly unable to do anything or go anywhere without heads turning and people whispering.”

“You shouldn’t care what such fools think of you.”

“No? And what about my sisters? Their chances of making good matches ruined forever unless they break all connections and assume another name. Nobody should have to live like that. I hate it. For myself I might be able to stand it, but for them…” A familiar old ache welled in her chest. Grace shook her head.

“I think it still bothers you, too, my lady, does it not?”

She let out a breath. Admitting how much she was still bothered by their circumstances was difficult. “It’s difficult to speak of. I shouldn’t wish you to believe that I pity myself.”

“That I should never believe. Not of you, my lady.”

“It’s painful to be turned away by your friends.” There. She’d said it. “It’s painful to have doors slammed in your face. Those days are largely gone, of course, but only because we keep a relatively quiet life. But there is still talk. Still whispers. Still hateful scorn in the faces of others when new people realize who we are and the infamy into which our father sunk before his death. We’ll never be free of it. And what’s done is done. The best we can hope is not to bring others down with us.”

“You don’t think me capable of judging for myself what I would find tolerable and what I would not?”

“I believe you’re every inch a gentleman, my lord, ruled by honor.”

“What should I be ruled by according to your measure, my lady?”

“My measure is not important. I have no wish to change you, my lord. Indeed, you are all that you should be, I daresay.”

“You don’t need to protect me, you know.”

Every last fiber within Grace wanted to believe him. But she couldn’t. She didn’t dare. Oh, she didn’t doubt he spoke the truth. “Perhaps not. But I don’t think you’re seeing the full picture.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It wouldn’t be only you harmed by the association. What if…” What if they had children? Her throat closed, snuffing out the words as surely as they’d never existed at all. Blast it all, why did this have to be so difficult?

“You’re thinking of my sister?”

As much as she hated untruths, she nodded, relieved to have avoided delving too far in her original direction. She didn’t trust herself to speak. There could have been tears. The thought of what she was giving up by never being able to marry—all she had in hand now for the asking by the whim of fate—and all she couldn’t keep.

Of course she wouldn’t dream of harming Hetty’s prospects. Not for the world.

But there was a special agony in thinking she might bring an innocent life into the world, a life that might have to suffer for his or her grandfather’s mistakes.

As if sensing she needed a moment to recover herself, he remained silent.

“Imagine our situations reversed—what then? Imagine you have almost no options for earning a living, imagine relatives disdain you and strangers sneer. Imagine that anyone marrying you would sink irrevocably by nothing more than the association. Can you tell me you would want to inflict that upon…?” Oh, hell, she might as well own her feelings. “Upon someone you esteem? Upon someone you…care for?”

He said nothing.

Finally, she reached out to touch his arm. “Promise me you’ll think on what I said.”

Corbeau said nothing. His eyes remained hard, his unwavering gaze stayed fixed. He parted his lips and drew in a long breath.

She braced herself for his abject refusal to consider anything she’d said.

But she’d underestimated the man. Apparently, he wasn’t quite so unmovable as she’d originally believed.

“I promise.”

A blade cut through the center of Grace’s heart. The look on his face as he’d issued his assurance to her had left no question as to exactly what it cost him to say those words.