Chapter Eleven
“He’s a bloody fool.”
Grace sipped her tea quietly as Viscount Kilpatrick sat back on the sofa with a disgruntled expression.
“Perhaps it’s for the best?” Samantha asked delicately as she set her teacup down on the coffee table.
“I’ve never met a man so bent on self-punishment. As if his father didn’t give him enough of it growing up.” Heathcliff wiped a hand down his face. “Of all the places in all the world, he returns to his prison.”
Samantha’s brow pinched and she laid a soft hand on her husband’s shoulder. “Could it be that he needs to face his demons rather than run from them?”
The viscount blinked, then bit his lip as if considering her words. “That may be, but not alone.”
“With whom?” Samantha asked. “It’s been five years, that’s not an overmuch amount of time, but it is significant enough to gain perspective.”
“True, but I doubt he’s gained said perspective.”
“That may be the case, but he may gain it upon his return,” Samantha replied.
Grace held her peace, listening with attentiveness to the conversation. Ever since Lord Sterling had sent the missive on his departure to the viscount, this had been a common conversation. She was pleased to have the viscount and Samantha feel the liberty to have such an open discussion in her company, and it continued to feed her curiosity concerning the quandary that was Lord Sterling.
“Enough. If we don’t hear from him in a month’s time, I’ll send word.”
“Word of?” Samantha asked, a small smile teasing her lips. “Will you demand he come back to London?”
“Yes. I’d be so bold as to mention as such. But I find it highly unlikely he will remain gone that long. We shall see.” He sighed, as if using the deep breath to conclude the conversation, and then turned to Grace. “Well, do you think we shall have as many callers today as we have had the past few days? It seems as if you have a loyal following amongst the eligible men.” He gave her an approving smile.
“It would seem as if my luck is holding fast . . . for the moment.” She dipped a shoulder.
“When we attend the Rinehardt ball this evening, I dare say you won’t sit out even a single dance,” Samantha asserted, a knowing smile peeking over her teacup as she sipped.
“Perhaps. But it is dreadfully hard to get to know the character of these men from a single dance or from one afternoon’s conversation.”
“What do you wish to know? Tell me your favorites and I’ll dispatch John to find out the necessary information on the gentlemen in question.” Heathcliff leaned forward, a determined gleam in his eye.
“I thank you, but so far I have no favorites. But when I do I’ll certainly take you up on your kind offer.”
“Remember this, Miss Grace. It is alwayswhoyou know,” the viscount said significantly.
“I’ll try to remember that,” Grace replied.
“It’s almost time for our at-home hours. Do you wish to change before you hold court?” Samantha asked, teasing Grace with her words.
Grace grinned in reply. Samantha was enjoying the success of her former charge, and it was gratifying to Grace to know she had met and even perhaps exceeded her expectations. “What do you suggest?”
Samantha tipped her chin thoughtfully as she stood. “Your green day dress should do nicely. It will complement your eyes.”
“Done,” Grace replied, standing as well to take her leave and change.
It was less than an hour later that Grace was in a different parlor, speaking with no less than three gentlemen who had come to call upon her.
They were witty, kind, and even handsome.
Yet, if pressed, she could hardly remember their names.
Because amongst all things, they were forgettable. None of them sparked her curiosity, and in turn, didn’t spark her fancy.
It was the same that evening at the Rinehardt ball. Just as Samantha predicted, her dance card was quite full and she entertained several gentlemen in conversation between dances. Lord Reinhardt’s son was amongst their ranks, and he seemed the most promising, but again she didn’t feel as though her tender feelings were engaged.
