‘She was clever and was at Admiral Nelson’s right hand, which is no small feat. She raised herself up the ranks of society to a most elevated position. And Caville Sharp is as good a man as any. He is rich and can provide you with an excellent situation. I suggest you reflect on your reluctance, for he is coming to visit when his temper has calmed, and you will be compliant, remorseful and sweetness personified when he does. If you refuse his offer, I will put you out on the street.’
‘You would not dare. What would the ton think of you?’ said Grace.
‘Oh, they will pay no heed. Like me, the cream of the ton is heading for Brighton for the season’s end, and they will not concern themselves over my poor relations. I will have my way, Grace, or you must find a situation to support yourself.’
‘Caville Sharp is disgusting. God forbid that I should have to suffer the pawing of men as though I were a pet of theirs, with no free will of my own.’
Charles Howden frowned. ‘Then you will end on the street, Grace, or shivering as a governess in some godforsaken mansion in the north with a couple of brats clinging to your skirts. I leave for Brighton at month’s end with Peregrine, to enjoy the most fashionable of society, and I do not intend to drag a sour-faced, ungrateful chit like you in my wake.’
‘Please, Uncle Charles. Do not sell me into degradation.’
‘Why not? Who was your mother, eh? My brother never did anything so shameful as to marry beneath him. The woman had no fortune, no connections, nothing.’
‘My parents loved each other fiercely, and I shall have the same.’
Charles Howden’s face twisted into a sneer, and he leant across the table, brandishing a butter knife in her direction. ‘Here’s the thing. That genteel poverty your parents lived in would not have been so genteel were it not for my generosity?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Who do you think bought your father’s many daubings over the years. I threw money away on paintings that were worthless just to keep the wolf from your door and stop our family name from sinking further into the social mire.’
‘You bought his paintings?’
‘Yes. Who else would? And it was not me who squandered your dowry on drink and melancholy as the creditors piled up. It was your father. So forget his sainted memory, which is nought but an illusion. Grace, you have nothing to recommend you save your innocence and good looks, so you need to return my kindness by accepting Caville. That is an end to the matter.’
‘Please, Uncle. I beg you.’
Uncle Charles ignored Grace and continued stuffing crumpets into his face as if they had merely been discussing the weather and not selling her virginity to a lecher.
A knock came at the door, and her uncle’s butler, Withers, entered.
‘What is it?’ barked Uncle Charles.
‘A gentleman caller, Sir.’
Charles frowned. ‘At this hour? In the midst of my breakfast?’
‘He is asking after Miss Howden, most eagerly, Sir.’
A smirk spread across Uncle Charles’ face. ‘Egad. It seems your reluctance has sparked Caville’s ardour, and he is keener than you deserve.’
Withers held his hand up. ‘Sir, it is….’
Uncle Charles cut him off. ‘What are you standing there blathering about, Withers? Send him up at once. Hurry along. Make haste.’
How could Caville show his face after his behaviour? She could not bear it. Grace’s swallowed hard and braced herself to do battle with the odious Mr. Sharp, but it was not her lecherous suitor who came into the parlour, but a stranger.
He was youngish, about her age, with a boyish and pleasant face and unruly brown hair, and he was carrying the most enormous bouquet of flowers she had ever seen. With a sinking feeling, she recognised him from Lady Blanchard’s rout.
He gave a little bow to Uncle Charles. ‘A thousand pardons for the intrusion,’ he said nervously. ‘I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Howden at Lady Blanchard’s rout two evenings ago, and I was wondering if I might be permitted to call on her today.’
‘And who might you be, Sir?’ barked Uncle Charles.
‘I am Viscount William Fitzroy Voss, Mr. Howden,’ he said, bowing with a little click of his heels. ‘It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
‘Viscount, you say?’ Uncle William wiped away a smear of butter at the corner of his mouth with his napkin.
‘Indeed, Sir. You might have heard of my father, the Earl of Harston.’
