‘You are kind and good, Harriet, but I am nought but a country bumpkin to them.’
‘You are nothing of the sort to me, dear friend,’ said Harriet, taking her arm. ‘Let us enjoy this excellent buffet and the punch. Perhaps a glass will cheer us both.’
Grace surveyed a plate of little cakes studded with currants, sweating off a fragrance of orange flower in the heat, and felt her stomach turn. Harriet brought a glass of punch to her perfect rosebud mouth and sipped like a kitten lapping at a bowl of milk. Grace took in Harriet’s angelic looks - primrose hair, a heart-shaped face and pale blue eyes. Though not possessed of any great intelligence – she had struggled in vain to master French and Latin at school, and as to making her additions and subtractions, it was a lost cause – Grace envied her friend, for Harriet did not need to excel. Harriet’s doll-like beauty alone would have been enough to recommend her to the ton, but her family were also titled and wealthy, which meant that Harriet possessed every advantage.
‘Where has your uncle gone?’ her friend asked.
Now, that was a distinct disadvantage right there.‘He abandoned me for the rum punch as soon as possible and has not returned. I am not sorry for it, Harriet.’
‘And did you talk to him about your father’s will?’
Grace signed. ‘Yes, for the umpteenth time, with no success. I am doomed to destitution unless I can find a husband this season to ‘take me on,’ as he indelicately puts it.’
‘But this season is almost at an end.’
‘Indeed. I will have no eager suitors vying for my hand, unlike you. With no dowry to speak of, I must reconcile myself to life as a companion to an invalid, or a governess. It is not that I particularly want a suitor or to get married, but there is no other way for women to make their way in this world, is there?’
‘Oh, I shouldn’t know about that and…’ Harriet trailed off, her attention taken by a handsome young man who gave her a curt nod from across the room. ‘I am sure something will come along soon,’ she said distractedly.
A guarded expression crossed Harriet’s face, and suddenly, Grace knew precisely what Harriet would say next, and it would involve the eager suitor making his way through the throng. Grace suddenly felt overcome with the exhaustion of her life - smiling, being polite, cheerful and obedient, bearing her uncle’s cruelty. Already, his largesse was wearing thin and a withering, loveless spinsterhood of solitude and drudgery stretched before her. And Lady Blanchard’s rout was an insufferable furnace of an affair.
She had eagerly anticipated seeing Harriet again after weeks of being apart, while Harriet had indulged in a whirl of invitations, spinning out of the mundane little twosome they had been at school. Now, her friend, who had everything she did not, just seemed to highlight the hopelessness of her own situation. Grace simply did not have it in her to gush at her friend’s happiness amid her own misery. It might be selfish, but she had to escape.
‘I need some air, Harriet. You should return to your friends, for I am poor company tonight. Is there a cool spot I can find somewhere?’
‘I recall a quaint little conservatory at the back of the house. Ask one of the servants the way. Are you sure you are not unwell?’
‘I am well. I will get just a little air and return, and then I will insist on hearing all your news.’
Grace rushed off just in time to see the horrid Lydia and her friends bearing down on Harriet and surrounding her in a maelstrom of fans. The young man veered off with Harriet’s gaze following him.
With a sigh of relief, Grace followed the faint breeze from the back of the room. Escape must lie that way.
***
Harriet was right, and the house boasted a small conservatory of intricate wrought iron. The honeysuckle clinging to its side yielded a cloying scent to the heat. It was almost overwhelming, so Grace stepped through the open French doors and into the garden.
No one had ventured outside yet, though surely they would as the evening wore on. Who could not, for it was a balm, like drinking cool water after a long walk on a summer’s day?
Grace looked back at the house. Blazing torches lit along the veranda sent pools of light out into the cloudy dark, and a chorus of insects called to the night. Grace was suddenly a little giddy from the punch and giggled into her hand at the absurdity of the evening. She walked out onto the lawn, hitched up her skirt and took off her shoes and stockings, wiggling her toes in the deliciously cool grass. She walked to the limit of the light, wishing to leave behind all the self-important, spiteful company and just be free under the stars. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, tilting her head to the sky. Ah, peace at last.
Out of the darkness came a deep, mocking voice.
‘What pretty little feet you have.’
Chapter Four
Grace leapt back. ‘Who goes there?’
A man emerged from the shadow of some bushes - tall, dark, and in the flicker of the torches, she could just make out the shine of a scar marring his face. Her heart leapt to her throat. It was none other than the man they had been mocking - the terrifying Rawden Voss.
‘You seemed to have stumbled into some bad company, Miss. The eligible men are back there,’ he drawled, pointing back to where candlelight gushed amber through the open doors. His face bore the same expression as earlier – anger married to boredom.
‘You startled me. What are you doing out here?’ Her words burst out in a rush before she realised that she was being terribly rude.
He looked down at her bare feet and smirked. ‘I could ask you the same, Miss, or is it Mrs? I sincerely hope it is not the latter, or my poor heart will break.’
His smirk annoyed her, for Rawden Voss seemed to be laughing at her. ‘I am unmarried, not that it is any business of yours,’ she said, feeling ridiculous.
