“Shall we walk?” he asked. “I believe I heard that a luncheon was being planned near the stream, just south of here. Why don’t we move in that direction?” Lady Harcourt nodded in acknowledgment, and they started further into the garden.
Henry stepped forward to walk beside her and had to restrain himself from taking her arm, though he longed to touch her. She still seemed skittish, and since he really did not know the lady, he did not feel the gesture would be appreciated, even if it was appropriate for a gentleman to offer. They walked on together, the silence awkward for a moment before she broke it.
“Thank you for meeting with me, Your Grace,” she said softly. “I know this is most unusual as we have not really made each other’s formal acquaintance and it was quite improper for me to contact you. I would beg your forgiveness for my boldness, I am usually never so forward, but I’m afraid I am quite desperate.” She was visibly agitated and wringing her gloves in her hands. Not looking at him as she spoke, her eyes fixed on the footpath before them.
“My lady, please don’t be anxious,” he said, wanting desperately to set her at ease. “I can assure you that I am not a gossip and would never share the particulars of an event that was truly not of my own affairs.” He paused and turned toward her, reaching out and placing his fingertips on her elbow to pause her. “You seem to be in great distress. Are you sure Thomas did not harm you the other evening?”
Stopping, she turned toward him and lifted her eyes to his. Her lips trembled and she took in a wobbly breath before responding, “I admit to being a bit shaken by the events of a few days ago, but I promise I am well.” She tried to sound reassuring but was not entirely successful. “Thomas took me by surprise, but with your assistance, no lasting harm was done.” She paused to gather herself and had a determined look when she turned to face him again. “I would like to ask you a favor, beyond the silence on the matter which you have so kindly offered. While I don’t believe it would be in Thomas’s best interest to talk widely about what transpired, I fear yesterday evening he may have been sharing misleading information with his friend regarding me. I know that he would do anything to maintain your good favor as a duke. Would you be willing to talk with him on my behalf and ensure that he will not spread what transpired any further?”
“Yes, I will speak with Thomas if that is what you desire,” he agreed. “But, my lady, he is at fault entirely in this situation. I do not think he would wish to speak of it, as it would only reflect poorly upon him. You are blameless.”
Looking anxious still, she explained, “I understand that, and so it seems do you, but others may not see it that way.” She paused and he did not interrupt her. He waited for her to continue, as it seemed she was gathering her thoughts and trying explain what she meant. “If it were to become known that I was found alone with a man after hours, regardless of whether or not I desired his advances—which I can assure you I did not—many will say that I was asking for such attention by placing myself in such a situation.” Henry hated it, but he knew how society operated and that there was truth in her words.
“As for whether Thomas would speak of it,” she continued, “I don’t know. But I do know how men like to discuss their supposed conquests with friends.” Once again, Henry had to agree she had cause to be concerned. “I fear this is what I observed transpiring last night, which is what prompted me to ask for your assistance.” She looked up at him with a hesitant yet hopeful expression. “I know Thomas has always sought to be held in high regard, and while I don’t know if he was actually boasting in this manner, I know he would not speak of me again if you asked him not to.”
Feeling chastened, Henry realized she was right. Most would not give the benefit of the doubt to a woman in such a situation, and it could in fact ruin her reputation. “I’m sorry to say you are correct in how many would view your situation,” he told her. “I will have a word with Thomas for you,” he said. “However, I don’t normally like to use my title as a method of persuasion, as I have seen too many others abuse such influence.” He saw her cringe under the weight of her request. “But,” he continued, “I believe you are right that it will be used for the greater good here, and I will do what I can to protect you.” Lady Harcourt bowed her head and whispered her thanks, but she still seemed to be wound tight.
“Is there any other way I may be of assistance?” he asked. “Pardon me for being so persistent, but it seems like you are still worried about something. I can assure you that you are safe with me, and I’ll make sure no harm comes to your reputation if I can help it.”
She caught her breath at his statement and slowly restarted down the path. “You are observant, Your Grace,” she said after a moment. “I am rather tired after a sleepless night, and I am not entirely sure I should be here. I fear I may be taking advantage of an old friend’s hospitality.”
He was surprised but happy to find a companion who felt as uneasy as he did at the house party. Curious, he asked her, “How is it that you know the countess?” Of course, he had learned of their friendship from Fitz the day before, but he was eager to hear what Lady Harcourt had to say about the matter herself.
“We became friends in our teenage years when our fathers sent us to the same finishing school,” she offered. “We were as close as sisters for a few years, but I’m afraid I lost touch with her once we left school, as my father died and then shortly after I was married.”
“Fitz told me you are recently widowed, my lady. Might I know your late husband?” he asked.
She seemed to become more withdrawn at his question but still answered him. “My late husband was the Earl of Camden. I would be surprised if you knew him, as he did not often move in London society.”
“I am sorry to hear you lost him. How long have you been out of mourning?” At his inquiry, she began to deeply blush. They had arrived at a beautiful, old elm tree, and she paused, placing her hand against the trunk as if the question left her in need of support. Taking a deep breath, as if she needed courage to answer the question, she slowly turned to face him so she could look him in the eyes.
“Truthfully, Your Grace, I should not yet be out of mourning.” Henry was surprised by her response, but schooled his features so she would continue. “My husband passed only four months ago, so I should not be at this house party at all, but I find myself rather desperate to be away.”
CHAPTER6
Grace could hardly believe she had allowed herself to speak so boldly. Had she truly just shared her shame with an almost complete stranger? For some reason, she felt comfortable with him, like she could confess all her worries and he would take care of her. He had offered more than once to help her after all, and Moira had vouched for his character as a friend of Fitz’s. But now, after her declaration, she feared he may not treat her with the same kind understanding. Yet as she gazed at him, she did not see disgust or condemnation on his face. Rather, he held a look of gentle concern with his mouth tipped down ever so slightly, accentuating his firm lips, and the skin around his eyes faintly crinkled.
“Is this the thing that has you feeling so desperate?” he asked, avoiding any trace of judgment in his tone. He waited patiently for her to respond, and she felt an overwhelming urge to open herself up and tell him everything, even more than she shared with Moira the previous morning.
Grace began to walk again, squinting against the sun, forcing him to keep pace. “I’m afraid I find myself needing a placement as a companion or governess . . .” she began hesitantly, “and I need to do so quickly.” Saying it out loud so plainly was both a relief and a humbling reminder of what she needed to keep her focus on, rather than the man beside her who was proving a distraction with his very solid and manly presence.
“Lady Geffen and I reconnected a week ago after many years,” Grace continued, refocusing on the matter at hand, “and when she invited me here, I saw an opportunity for a brief respite before I take up work. I decided to attend even though it is painful for me to abandon propriety regarding mourning, but I desperately needed a break from my husband’s family while I plan for the future. I have made the countess aware of this, as I do not want to take advantage of her friendship,” it was important to her that Carrington understood this. “She thinks she will be able to protect me from gossip or judgement if my circumstances are uncovered.” Grace desperately hoped he would understand, and seeing him in silent contemplation, without comment or judgement, she felt emboldened to continue.
“Moira may be able to shape the narrative,” Grace started, forgetting to retain formality in her address, “but I am still worried about how it may look to bend the rules in such a way when there are already dangers to my reputation that could impede my securing a placement.”
“From where I stand and from what I have observed of you,” Carrington said, “I don’t see anything of concern. What has you in such a hurry to find employment?” he asked. There seemed to be an edge of disbelief that her circumstances were as dire as she had painted them. “Do you not have family that can support you? Or your late husband’s family? Surely you must have something or someone you can fall back on while you take time to consider your future.”
“No,” Grace said, her cheeks flushed. “I must find work as soon as possible.” As embarrassing as the situation was, she knew she would have to fully explain things for him to understand, weary as she felt at the prospect.
“I’m afraid there was no agreed-upon widow’s portion when my marriage contract was drawn up, and I will need to support myself moving forward.” She saw his disbelief at her neglect, but continued. “My father died when I was eighteen, only a few weeks shy of when I was set to make my come out to society. I missed the season, as I was in mourning. And as the only surviving child in my family, the title and estate were passed to my cousin, Edwin.” She swallowed hard; it was difficult to recall that time. She loved her father dearly, and his passing left her without any immediate family and feeling desperately alone.
“My cousin allowed me to stay in our family home for that first year while I mourned and had nowhere else to go, but as soon as the period of mourning was over, he no longer wished to be responsible for me. Rather than allowing me to come out the next year and find a husband on my own terms, he quickly and quietly arranged for my marriage to Camden so he would not need to financially support a season.” She heard Carrington give a derisive grunt.
Sensing the duke’s agitation, she said truthfully, “Edwin was never cruel to me, but he also did not care for me. He simply saw me as a burden and no longer wanted to have any responsibility for me. It seems that lack of care extended to the marriage negotiations, and he did not take the time to look over the contract, meaning he did not ensure my welfare should I lose my husband.”
Grace was now bright red and in utter disbelief over the secrets she revealed to this man. She had no idea what had come over her, not even sharing as much with Moira. It was mortifying to admit being an afterthought to those who should care for you. But there was something about the duke’s kind eyes and the way he listened that made the words pour out. She felt drawn to him, intuitively sensing that she and her confidences were safe.
“That is simply unconscionable,” Carrington said through gritted teeth. Genuinely angry on her behalf, Grace had watched his shoulders grow stiffer as she shared her story. She was touched by his obvious concern. “What about your husband’s family, can they not keep you on in the family home?” he asked, trying to find a glimmer of hope.
