“Grace.” Subtly, as the dance ended at last, Henry squeezed her fingers in his. “I believe you.” She knew the shadier side of society far better than he ever had, or ever would, most likely. And still it changed nothing. “I still have to try,” he said. “I made a promise to your uncle that I would keep you safe.” And he had made the same promise to himself the very moment he had helped her climb through the window of his uncle’s townhouse the first time he’d involved her in his little intrigue.
Her nails curled into the wool of his coat as he tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow to escort her back to her family. “I could—”
“No, you could not.”
“But if you fail—”
“That was always a risk, and it is mine to take.” But not hers. Never hers. “I would rather lose my good name, my title, my fortune, and everything else I own than to put you in danger for even a moment.” He paused there at the edge of the dance floor, drawing her to a stop beside him. In the momentary chaos of people swarming through the room seeking their next partners, it would have been impossible to be overheard. “None of this is worth your life or your safety,” he said. “So you are going to promise me that you will let me handle this nasty bit of business on my own. All right?”
For just a moment, her lips pursed and her chin trembled in what promised to be a quarrelsome manner. But at the last she seemed to recall where they were, that any hint of hostility or belligerence might prove unwise. “All right,” she sighed dejectedly, her shoulders sinking with the words. “If I must.”
“Good,” Henry said tightly, as a new knot of anxiety formed in his stomach.
She had made the right sounds. Cast her gaze away from his as if in resentful submission. Lowered her head and let a slight pout of injured pride slide across those full, sweet lips.
But her nose had twitched. And he knew she’d lied.
Chapter Sixteen
Contingencies.
Grace sipped from her tea cup, reaching casually for another sugar biscuit as conversation wafted around her. She’d developed rather a lot of contingencies in her life. Little safeguards against any manner of things. Hidden pockets and pouches sewn or otherwise secured into her gowns. A few coins tucked away in places other than her reticule in the event that a proficient cutpurse got one over on her. Hatpins with points deliberately sharpened in the event she needed a weapon swiftly.
Henry would have no such contingency when he went to meet with Cooper. He had hung the whole of his fortunes on the faintest prayer of success, and she knew—she knew he would fail.
“More tea?”
Grace startled at the question. “Oh, no, thank you,” she said to Alicia, who sat at her right side. “I’ve got—” She glanced down into her cup. “An empty cup, it seems,” she said with a wry twist of her lips.
“Bone dry at least three minutes now,” Alicia said softly, with a kind smile. “I had wondered if you would notice you’d been sipping air eventually.”
Probably she wouldn’t have done. She’d been woolgathering. And worrying. Excessively.
Henry was going to fail, and she could not let that happen. Tonight was his last hope, his last prayer to obtain the evidence before his wretched uncle could. Desperate times were upon them, and desperate times made desperate men. So much could go wrong. And Henry might be tempted to do something risky, something foolhardy—something he wasn’t in the least prepared for.
Butshewas. So tonight, she would be hiscontingency. Now she only needed one of her own.
Alicia poured Grace a fresh cup of tea. “You have such a lively home,” she said as she selected a tiny tea cake and placed it upon her plate. “I must confess, I find it unusually refreshing that the children are permitted to attend tea.”
Grace swallowed down a little laugh. “Generous of you,” she said, “when one considers Sherry’s poor behavior last time you attended.” Poor, dear Alicia had been the victim of little Sherborne’s wretched aim with his peashooter at the last tea, though she had been a terribly good sport about it.
“Oh, he meant nothing by it,” Alicia said, waving away the criticism. “And he is a dear little boy, besides.”
“When he wishes to be,” Grace said. “They’re all half angel, half devil—and the trouble is in sorting out which half has come out, and when.”
Alicia gave a light laugh, smiling fondly over the rim of her tea cup. “I think they are delightful,” she said, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Even when they’re ill-behaved. Children are just such a pleasure, don’t you think?”
“Most of the time,” Grace allowed, just as a dried pea struck her forehead and plinked down into her tea cup. “Most of it,” she reiterated sweetly, through gritted teeth. “Except for now.”
Alicia smothered a snicker behind the tips of her fingers.
“Flora,” Thomas chided, extending his hand across the table, his fingers flexing. “You know the rules. No weapons at the table; not after the last time.”
“Aw, Papa.” With a disconsolate sigh, Flora handed the peashooter across the table. Tea was not amongst her favorite activities. The family tended to linger over them, and little Flora had about as much patience for sitting at a table for a prolonged amount of time as did her mother, Mercy, who was already proving restive.
“The peashooter will be back in her hands before nightfall,” Grace said to Alicia. “There hasn’t been a hiding place invented which Flora cannot find.”
“Good,” Alicia said,sotto voce, from behind the rim of her tea cup. “Children should be allowed a little mischief from time to time.” A soft hum of a sigh trickled from her lips. “Do you know,” she said reflectively, “I cannot recall my nephew ever having a proclivity for such childish mischief. It seems a shame, doesn’t it?”
