Chapter Eight
Grace didn’t know how—or where—to start.
It had been so long since she’d allowed herself to remember the bad times, that recalling them now was as if the doors of her mind needed oiling before they would open.
So she sat for a minute or two, enjoying the warmth of the fire on her legs and the warmth of a man everywhere else.
It was a strange moment; nobody had held her or cuddled her for the longest time, if ever. Max hugged her, of course, but a brotherly display of affection couldn’t come near to matching the exquisite sensation of being nestled against a charming gentleman in an outrageously shocking way.
A sigh caught in her throat. Then she steeled herself. “I suppose it’s fair to say that I met Martin Chaney when I was nineteen.”
It was a start, and surprisingly enough, she got the words out without difficulty.
“He was…he was so handsome. Well-spoken and well-read; his family lived not far from Seton Hall and we’d crossed paths as neighbourhood children do—at county fairs, market days, and occasionally at some church fete or other, so we weren’t complete strangers. You can imagine the sort of thing. Happens all the time.”
“Was your marriage arranged?”
“At first glance, you might say that was the case. My parents and his parents were better acquainted, and given how close we were in age, it seemed sensible to put us together and see what transpired. It was a sensible alliance, but there was no pressure from either family.” She thought about it for a moment. “If we’d not liked each other, I doubt any match would have been made. But that wasn’t a problem.”
“You found him acceptable, then?”
“I did,” she answered quietly. “And more. I was at that stage of my youth when romance was all; to be swept away by love’s sweet passion was an experience much desired by all of us budding debutantes. So by the time we’d had our first dance together, a debut of sorts as a couple, I was already half in love with him.”
“Not surprising,” soothed Perry. “A handsome young man and a beautiful young woman? Just the sort of thing that fairy tales are made of.”
She nodded. “Indeed. And that is an excellent summation of our year together. A true fairy tale. At least how I perceived it. We moved to a house in London that his aunt had owned; I did all the things young brides are supposed to do—you must know—visits, and teas, and outings to the country. He was involved with several members of Parliament. I remember thinking at the time that he had his own growing political ambitions. Sometimes he would accompany me of an evening, and when he could not attend, I would ask Max to be my escort. There were more than a few of those…”
“Why did he not attend, Grace?”
She shook her head. “Most often it was a serious headache—and he would turn quite white during those periods, refusing to stay in a room where the curtains allowed in the sunlight. Others had told me about the same symptoms in people they knew, so I thought little of it.”
Perry was silent, which she appreciated. This return to the shadows in her past was not easy, and his restrained acquiescence of her hesitant words comforted her.
“Laudanum relieved his pain, and I was glad it was available, since he would return to me once the siege had ended, jovial and happy to be out and about.” She swallowed. “These episodes increased in frequency. I can see that now, in hindsight, but I did not know that the amount of laudanum he ingested was also increasing.”
“How could you? Even if you did, it wasn’t anything you could control, Grace,” said Perry, his chest rumbling as he spoke.
“True, but I had no idea of the devastating effects such a panacea carried with it.” She moved slightly. “With time, his pain episodes increased in severity…I heard him crying out some times. It was terrible. And afterwards his happiness became more intense. More like euphoria, I suppose. They were extremes, Perry. And I couldn’t see them.”
“You were too close, love. How could you?”
“I suppose,” she sighed. “But eventually, one winter night—almost twenty years ago now—we’d just returned from visiting friends. It was cold…that bitter cold that only January can inflict. I remember hugging my cloak tightly even as we entered the house. But he appeared hot, burning hot, throwing off his greatcoat, tearing himself free of his jacket and pulling his cravat loose. It was strange. His colouring was high, and I saw his eyes…so wide and dark. It concerned me, so I suggested we share a cup of tea before retiring.” A tiny shiver danced over her skin.
“I’m here, Grace. Take your time.” His arms were warm around her, giving her the courage to continue with her narrative.
“He briefly excused himself, then came back downstairs and we went into the parlour. There was a tea tray set out.” She managed a brief smile. “With a Dundee cake. I recall it so clearly.” It was almost as if she could smell the rich fruitiness and the tang of whiskey. “Our cook had baked several for the holiday season, and it was a favourite of ours. It’s a thick and heavy cake, so there was a larger knife next to it for serving.”
Grace took a breath. “I thought nothing of him picking it up. Nor of him running his hands over the blade, other than he should be careful not to…not to c-cut himself…”
Her voice tapered off as she shivered again, this time more violently.
“Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you safe.”
Once again, Perry soothed her agitation. In many ways it was cathartic to relive these moments, but in others it was a resurrection of the horror and pain she’d suffered.
Closing her eyes, Grace continued. “He seemed so bright. Chattering away about the evening, laughing, it was as if he’d had the best time ever. I walked to the table and asked him to cut me a slice of the cake. He looked at me in the oddest way—a piercing gaze, as if he wasn’t quite sure who I was. Then he-he raised his arm and turned the knife on me, bringing it d-down toward me. I ducked away, but he caught the side of my face. I felt the skin tear, and then warm wet heat as blood poured over me.” She breathed in air to fill lungs that seemed empty. “I c-couldn’t even scream, I was so stunned…and then he just shook his head and said…and said…No more. I’m done with it.”
She’d not realised that tears were pouring from her eyes until Perry wiped them away with his fingers.
