Chapter One
London, 1815
The rattle and squeak of the coach over London’s cobbled streets did little to drown out Charles Howden’s complaints. ‘Dashed hot night to be out. I’m sweating like a hog, and this waistcoat is new. It will be ruined. I’ve a good mind to turn around and go back home.’
Ever vain was Uncle Charles, spiteful too, when the mood took him, and Grace’s hopes of an enjoyable evening began to fade. When they took a corner too sharply, Grace was thrown sideways to slam against his side, and her uncle’s anger swelled. He banged on the carriage roof with his cane.
‘Damn you, man. Slow down before you pitch us into the streets, and I have you horse-whipped for your insolence,’ he bellowed, his voice making Grace’s nerves jangle.
She had to appease him somehow, for his blood was up now. ‘I am sorry you are being inconvenienced on my behalf, Uncle Charles. I know that routs are a chore for you, and I am most grateful that you should attend one on my account.’
‘Aye, they are a chore indeed, all mindless chatter and no dancing to be had, not that one would be minded to on such a hellishly hot evening. But I suppose it is worth suffering if it ends in matrimony, which it had better if you want to hook your own husband rather than have one of my choosing.’ He narrowed his beady eyes. ‘At least you look the part in all your finery, and you’ve a pretty countenance and a pleasing figure working in your favour. Though I doubt the more discerning gentlemen of quality will forgive your woeful lack of a dowry. Goodness knows how I am to get you wed and off my hands.’
Uncle Charles’ barb hurt Grace more than she could acknowledge, and it set her temper rearing up so that she failed to bite her tongue. ‘On that subject, I was told that you would be able to assist me with the provision of a dowry on final settlement of my late father’s estate.’
Uncle Charles sat bolt upright and ramrod stiff, which was a struggle given the swaying of the coach, but his outrage enabled him to manage it. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Father told me on his deathbed, Uncle.’
‘My brother was obviously raving at his end with the fever and such. There was no agreement of any sort on that subject, child, and have I not said that any discussion of said dowry is at an end?’
‘But my father intended it in the spirit of his will, surely. Is it not reasonable that as my only family, you might provide it?’
‘He was not specific about any of it,’ snapped Charles, cutting her off. ‘And a will is supposed to leave one money, not the burden of a child. ‘Make provision for Grace’s future,’ was all your father said, and as we had been estranged for years, I have no obligation to do so. And do not try to guile me into submission, girl. I’ll not hand out a dowry for some young fool of a husband to fritter away. Your duty is to find a man who can provide for you without one. God save me, you are already straining the limits of my charity, what with your dressmaker’s expenses, food and lodging, not to mention all your female fripperies and such.’
Grace looked down at her hands, clenched in despair. ‘Yes, Uncle and I am grateful indeed.’
He tutted and shook his head. ‘Thank God for my good christian charity. I am sainted not to have turned you out on the streets, what with all your complaining, fussing, and woeful lack of gratitude. I’ve a good mind to turn this damned coach about and head for home, Grace.’
How she longed to stand up to the vain, greedy man before her, but Grace could not summon the courage. In the three miserable months since she had lost her father to pneumonia, she had been thrown on the mercy of his middle-aged bachelor brother, Charles Howden, who had shown not one jot of kindness. Instead, he had made it clear at every possible opportunity that she was there on sufferance and a great burden to boot.‘Must my serene bachelor existence be imposed upon so woefully,’ he was wont to declare at every opportunity.
Only the thought of society judging him dishonourable, should he dispose of her, kept a roof over Grace’s head, for Uncle Charles was all about the appearance of honour whilst possessing absolutely none of it. Yet she was totally dependent on the charity of the bloat-faced man before her who now sneered out his latest cruelty.
‘I think I will turn the coach around and find more agreeable sport this evening. I am done with this dance.’
Grace leant forward. ‘Please, Uncle Charles. I am sorry to talk of such matters. I meant no disrespect, and just think on it. We are almost at Lady Blanchard’s, where a refreshing rum punch is waiting for you. And you look very fine indeed in your new waistcoat. Shall you deprive the company of seeing it?’
‘Hmmph,’ he snorted. ‘The company will not be fine enough for my waistcoat and the punch tepid, no doubt.’
‘But how will I ever find a good match so that you may unburden yourself if I do not mix in society?’ said Grace in as reasonable a tone as she could manage. ‘My friend from school, Miss Harriet Spencer, will be there, and she is a delightful young lady with excellent connections.’
Uncle Charles brightened a little. ‘Ah, yes, your well-to-do little friend is a most esteemed young lady.’
‘She often asks after you, Uncle, and is keen to know you better.’
‘As I am keen to know her. Such lofty connections and good breeding,’ he replied.
Charles Howden was ever eager to claw his way one more rung up society’s ladder, being of relatively humble merchant stock just two generations back. He looked sideways at Grace. ‘An earl’s daughter has every advantage, yet she has beauty too.’
‘Yes. Harriet is very fortunate in her family,’ said Grace, wary that her uncle might spot the sarcasm that strayed into her tone. But he did not.
‘Exalted indeed. And being an earl’s daughter, she will no doubt overshadow you, little fool,’ he added. ‘You should cultivate more lowly friends so they do not eclipse your virtues.’
Humiliation burrowed deep into Grace’s heart. Uncle Charles was right. Dear Harriet was the best of friends, but she was also rich, titled, well-loved and boasted excellent prospects and many friends amongst the ton. She was everything Grace was not, so with some trepidation, she braced herself to navigate a difficult evening as the coach rattled onwards to Lady Blanchard’s rout.
Chapter Two
Rawden Voss surveyed his company with barely veiled contempt and made a study of the parade of fools entering one after another. Overdressed women and chinless men. Only one person caught his jaded eye – a fine redheaded lady, young and twitchy, like a filly not yet used to the bridle, or was she more coppery than red? Oh, what did it matter? Curse his brother for dragging him out on an insufferably hot summer night to attend Lady Blanchard’s rout. It was the twilight of the London season and a last, tiresome chance for the ton to indulge its ravenous appetite for gossip, scandal and spite. The event was overstuffed with the pinnacle of society, the titled and wealthy, and those striving to be, all pressed together in the pink and white confection that passed as a kind of modest ballroom at Lady Blanchard’s Chalcot Square summer residence.
