They both laughed, but Grace felt a need to defend William Voss. ‘Harriet, I was not long in his company, but I found William to be kind, gentlemanly and open in his manner. They are of a height and build, he and Rawden, but the resemblance ends there. William has none of his brother’s darkness.’
That darkness had menaced and excited her in equal measure, but Grace dared not voice her thoughts as she could barely acknowledge it to herself.
‘However will you face the awful Rawden for the rest of your life if William Voss presses his suit?’ teased Harriet, her bright blue eyes wide with mock horror.
‘Well, family dinners will be a chore, I should imagine,’ laughed Grace. She grabbed Harriet’s hand and patted it. ‘And you are being ridiculous, my friend, for William Voss will not press his suit, I am sure of it. He is far above me in rank and circumstance, and I suspect he was just trying to be polite. I mean, why should he favour me?’
‘Why should he not? Goodness, Grace, you must cultivate a higher opinion of yourself.’ Harriet smiled gently. ‘There are many young men of the ton who think you handsome. Including my fiancé, for one, which worries me greatly. Why only the other day he remarked that you have the most….’
‘Fiancé?’ cried Grace.
‘Yes. I am betrothed to the Honourable Gilbert Routledge,’ squealed Harriet.
‘Oh, Harriet. I must congratulate you. Such news!’ cried Grace.
‘I wanted to tell you at the rout, dear friend, but there were so many people, and Mama was hovering all night.’
Grace swallowed her envy, though it stuck in her throat. ‘Tell me. What is he like, this Gilbert?’
‘Oh, Grace, he is the most handsome young man in all of London. An excellent match, for his parents own half of Yorkshire and are extremely lofty. And Gilbert is an excellent wit and popular wherever he goes.’
‘And you like him, Harriet?’
‘Oh, I like him very much. He is so charming and attentive. And now I have a fiancé, I no longer have to endure the endless round of balls and routs and parading that is the season.’
‘And I shall not have you by my side when I still have to,’ said Grace sadly. ‘Your company has been the only saving grace of this summer.’
‘I think you will manage very well now that you have the kindly William Voss running after you,’ said Harriet, squeezing her hand.
Grace sighed. ‘I cannot trust in his regard nor rely on it. And I know nothing of him, with no means of finding out.’
‘Ask him what you want to know when he calls tomorrow.’
‘I cannot, for then he might take it as encouragement, and I barely know if I want to see him again. And besides, young men have a way of telling us what we want to know rather than what we need to know.’
Harriet frowned. ‘Goodness, how cynical you are. I should hate to have your untrusting nature, Grace, though I suppose as you have so seldom met with kindness, you might have trouble recognising it when it comes.’
Grace squirmed at her comment. It was not meant to be hurtful, but its truth made it so, and humiliation heated her cheeks.
Harriet continued, oblivious, as she tended to think only of what mattered to her in the moment rather than what lay ahead or behind. ‘I can help you, Grace. Lydia’s mama knows everyone, and she is coming to dine tonight. I will make discreet enquiries.’
‘Oh, please, do not.’
‘Do not fret. I will find out if this William Voss is a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Await my letter in the morning before you put your trust in him.’ Harriet smiled broadly, lit up by some inner glow. ‘Oh, Grace. I am bursting with happiness. I must let it out. I must tell you all about Gilbert.’
***
True to her word, a letter came from Harriet first thing the following day, which Grace managed to intercept before Withers got his hands on it and gave it to Uncle Charles. She prayed its contents were reliable, for she had suffered several hours of Harriet’s gushing admiration for the Honourable Gilbert Routledge, which had put her own sordid situation into painful relief. Grace had tried to be generous and share her friend’s joy, but it had taken all her will to maintain an indulgent smile.
Grace clutched the letter and ran upstairs, hesitant to open it lest it betray some terrible damning secret of the man who would come calling that very day. If William Voss turned out to be a cad, like Caville Sharp, she could not bear it. She gritted her teeth and tore it open to be confronted by Harriet’s scrawling hand. As she read the letter, Grace could almost hear the breathless excitement in her friend’s voice.
Dearest Friend,
I very much enjoyed our visit yesterday. Please come again soon as I have so much running about my head concerning my wedding. Oh, but I suppose I will have little time for visits as there are endless social obligations between Gilbert's family and my own.
Nevertheless, I have trawled the depths of Lady Granston’s conversation for news of William Voss, and according to that good lady, everyone speaks well of him. However, there is some scandal attached to the family name, which she would not elaborate on. I was loathe to press her on it in case she thought I had a personal interest in the matter.
Now, for the more general information which you requested. William Voss is the youngest son of the Earl of Harston, who owns a sprawling estate in the wilds of Suffolk. He is twenty-one years old, a bright and personable young man with many friends, and he betrays no obvious vices. He lives quietly and decently in London, has received an excellent education, and is set to inherit the estate when his father dies. Is this not singular for a youngest son?
