“We are ever so pleased to have you here.” Mrs. Marilla replied, then clapped her hands gently. “All is ready, my lord. And I informed cook of your arrival and refreshments will be served whenever you wish. Is there anything else that I may do to serve?”
Grace turned to the viscount, watching as he gave an approving grin. “No, all is in order as usual. Between you and Mrs. Keyes, my life is well organized. We’ll take tea in the red parlor in a half hour.”
The housekeeper nodded. “Would you care for me to show you to your rooms, Miss Grace?”
Grace cast a quick glance to her guardians, then back to the housekeeper. “Yes, please.”
“This way.” Mrs. Marilla gestured to the stairs and led the way up to the second floor. Grace cast a glance below to the viscount and his wife, but they were clasping hands as the viscount tugged Samantha into a side room. Grace blushed and turned her gaze away. The viscount and Samantha hadn’t been married so long that she was immune to their obvious affection, but she had become less embarrassed by it. Rather, she saw it as a grand example of how love should be. It was clear from their obvious affection that they were very much in love, and it was endearing to behold. Such thoughts made her focus shift to the future ahead of her, because love could be just over the horizon for her as well.
Just as she started to think about it, the housekeeper paused by a large maple door. “These are your rooms. I had Regina prepare them and if you need anything at all, she is your personal maid and will take care of any needful thing. And as always, you may ask me for assistance at any time. We are so happy to have you here, Miss Grace.”
Grace thanked her, and then softly turned the brass handle to the room that would begin her adventure.
Yes. She resolved to think of the next step in life as an adventure. It was far less daunting to think of it in such a context. After all, much of her life had been one adventure after another; this was simply a different variety of adventure.
Light spilled onto the polished wood floor from the windows opposite the doorway, and Grace paused a moment to acquaint herself with the room. It was decidedly feminine with the delicate canopy bed and its floral coverlet against one wall. Beside the bed was a side table that held a clear crystal vase of yellow tulips. As her eyes scanned further, she saw an expanse of green just beyond the window, and it called to her. Putting one foot in front of another, she walked to the window and pushed back the sheer curtains obstructing her view. The view was across the street directly in front of the house, overlooking a narrow strip of trees and grass that was the middle ground between another row of houses. A robin flew from a high branch and swooped down to the grass below, and then it was startled by a squirrel that rushed by. The robin took flight into the hazy gray sky.
Grace released a breath, and then turned to survey the rest of her room. Beside the window was a writing desk, and along the same wall was the fireplace with two snug chairs framing the warm flickering flames. A looking glass and vanity completed the room before her gaze returned to the door. It suited her well, as she had every expectation that this room would be the perfect retreat when necessary.
And she was certain that at times, a retreat would be very necessary. Samantha had explained that they would be engaging in several social gatherings upon their arrival, and there was no reason to expect that their social calendar would do anything but continue to fill up. There was one aspect that had them all concerned.
The Duke of Chatterwoood.
In short, the duke was Samantha’s father. But, because Grace had had the blessing of a wonderful father, she was disinclined to give the title of father to the man who had sired Samantha and her sister, Lady Liliah Heightfield. The duke was a cruel, tyrannical man whose oppressive nature had sent his daughters into hiding.
But they were returning to London.
Married, and as such, under the protection of their husbands, but none of them trusted the duke.
His pride had been mortally wounded. And Grace had heard on more than one occasion that the viscount didn’t expect the duke to allow such a slight to go unpunished.
Grace had tried to use this possibility as justification to stay in Scotland.
But they, the viscount, Samantha, or Lord and Lady Heightfield, would not hear of such a thing.
They thought of it as cowardly, and in truth, they had nothing to hide. But they would take extra care and be vigilant. So the decision was made . . . and here she found herself.
In London.
She took a seat by the low-burning fire and sighed.
For better or worse, she was going to make a debut.
And she was far more inclined that it would be for worse.
