Chapter Thirty-Seven
Grace cradled a hot chocolate for comfort as she stared at the park, stretching off in the green, misty distance. Autumn was creeping in and stripping the leaves bare, and they fell as she watched, like red, russet and yellow confetti. Had the warmth of Rawden’s regard faded and died, too?
She burned at the injustice of Rawden’s accusation of the night before. He had not come home, though Grace had lain in bed, longing for him and yet dreading his return as the hours ticked by. The morning was getting on, and still, he did not come. It was all so unfair. Yet beyond her sense of outrage lay shame, which any contact with Caville always evoked. And while she did not believe anything that came from that snake’s mouth, his words about Romola had burrowed into her heart and made a bitter home there.
Rawden had lied. He had not thrown over his mistress. She was a fool for believing him. Oh, but was she a greater fool for believing Caville? There was only one way to find out for certain.
Grace called for a carriage, donned her coat and headed for Covent Garden.
***
In the cold morning light, the heat of Rawden’s anger had dissolved into remorse, and Hardy was not about to let him off lightly.
‘Your temper will be the death of us all, Rawden, and it will most certainly kill any regard Grace holds for you. But of course, that won’t matter, for you will probably be dead or in prison for duelling, and she will be a most relieved widow.’
‘I cannot let his insult stand.’
‘Do not do this, Rawden. Caville Sharp is not worth it.’
‘I must. So tell me, will I see you at dawn tomorrow?’ he said.
Hardy shook his head. ‘If you will not be turned from your purpose, then, yes. But I declare this is madness, Rawden. If the law discovers you, the consequences will be dire for both parties, and it will achieve nothing but ruination.’
‘I have no other course,’ said Rawden.
‘And Grace? Are you going to tell her what you are about, seeing as it is because of her so-called dallying with the man that we are in this mess?’
Rawden gave his friend a hard stare, but Hardy was not to be turned.
‘She gave Sharp no encouragement, and you know it, Rawden.’
‘How am I ever to know it for certain?’
‘She is your wife. You should feel in your heart that you can trust her. If I can see what kind of woman Grace is, surely you can, unless you are blind to her virtues? My own father spoke highly of Grace. He told me what happened when he danced with her. ‘Some young blade swooped in and stole her from my arms, mid-dance, like a dashed highwayman.’ That is his account of Sharp’s interference.
‘Does your father know of our troubles?’
‘No, nor shall he. We are most fortunate that it is not already the talk of the ton this morning,’ said Hardy. ‘It would only bring scandal onto my family name.’
‘Of course. And we cannot have that indifferent little fool you chase after thinking anything ill of you, can we?’
‘You will hold your tongue on that subject, Rawden. I warn you.’
‘I am merely pointing out that I am not the only fool for love here, nor the only one of us who is blind.’
‘And you regard treating your wife as a child to be scolded and sent to her room for some imaginary transgression, love, do you?’ shouted Hardy.
Hardy had a way of bluntly dissecting Rawden’s character and not being afraid to speak his mind. His acute observations hurt all the more because they were true.
‘I will not prostrate myself before Grace and become her whipping boy,’ said Rawden. ‘Now, enough of this blather. Will you be there tomorrow at dawn?’
‘You know I will, for I am a fool, and I am in this as much as you.’ Hardy headed to the door, then paused and looked Rawden in the eye. ‘Duels have uncertain outcomes, so for the love of God, Rawden, go home and build bridges with your wife before you fight. Should you fall and.…’
‘I doubt she will have me,’ snapped Rawden.
‘And who is to blame for that, I wonder,’ was Hardy’s parting shot.
***
