Her health had been frail but somehow, Grace was brought into the world. The whispers urging her father to take an illegitimate mistress died. The ones laughing at her mother, quenched. For five years, their little family blossomed. After that, her father stood tall beside her, like an infallible tree guiding her through life.
Only now, he was gone.
Her heart craved his presence, just once more. That one time, she would… what? What could she have possibly done? She had no premonition, other than the persistent dread pounding in her heart. When she saw him off, it was like always, with tears blurring her vision and a prayer on her lips.
“Did you hear me?!” Grace screamed at her ceiling. “Didn’t you hear? Didn’t you hear God? I wanted him back safe!” She shouted, her voice hoarse.
Her maid knocked, but Grace refused to pay mind to her concerned enquiries. She would stay ensconced in her bedchambers, until another messenger arrived. Until the news changed. Until her father’s benevolent voice and warm heart suffused the house with happiness once more.
The maid knocked again. Grace swiped a hand over her face and drew a deep breath. It did nothing to calm her nerves but at least, her heart had stopped thundering. She swallowed a lump gathered in her throat and called, “Come in, Mary.”
She was seated when Mary poked her head in. Trepidation clouded her expression. Everyone treated her like glass ready to break and she couldn’t blame them. She struggled to rein in the storm.
“It is fine,” she said softly.
“I… I could tell the gentlemen that you’re resting. They would not object.”
“No, I have put this off for as long as I can. It is time to face my responsibilities.”
Mary’s eyes clouded and Grace couldn’t bear to look at her. Otherwise, her own tears would come as an unceasing torrential downfall. Mary had come to live with them when she was five, around the same time Grace’s mother had passed. She knew the woman understood her loss more than anyone else. Grace inhaled and placed her palms on the flat surface of the dresser. “I would like a single braid please.”
“Certainly. May I wash your face first?”
Grace gazed at her pale face. Her lips were without color, dark circles surrounded her eyes, her nose was tinged red. The only light in her dark brown eyes came from the lamp, otherwise, they were dull, bloodshot, and lifeless. She was in no mood to face Owen or Ethan. But her father would have wanted her to be strong.
About twenty minutes later, Grace met the men in the main hall. She was draped in a simple black dress, black gloves and a dark veil shielding half her face. Her thick dark hair had been tugged into a single braid down her back.
They rose as she entered. Mr. Williams, her Gaelic teacher, was also present and her eyes warmed as they flickered toward him. Pain reflected in his drooping eyes. Having lost a best friend, the oldest friend he had, made him just as hollow as Grace. He tilted his head, opening his arms to her. Stifling a sob, Grace went to him and hugged him for a shorter time than she liked. Cut short by Owen’s loud cough.
“How are you, my dear?” Mr. Williams asked in a hushed voice.
Grace couldn’t force her lips to rise in a smile. She nodded then looked toward Owen just as a serving girl entered. Owen had one of those faces one forgot very quickly, if not for his nasty attitude, which made him memorable in the longer run. Nasty toward those he considered below his station. Grace supposed it was down to his own lack of confidence.
To the serving girl, he barked, “leave the room. We will call when you are needed.”
She looked to Grace and she gave a slight nod. With a small smile, the girl walked back to the kitchen. Ethan cleared his throat as Grace took the single chair opposite them, which faced the window. It was her father’s favorite. Several nights had been spent within the confines of these cushions, his voice right next to her eyes as he read adventurous stories to her.
Now, she basked in his scent, using that to calm her as Ethan opened his mouth to speak. He was not a bad fellow. Those transparent blue eyes, coal-dark hair and wide shoulders distinguished him among other gentlemen, especially in contrast to Owen's big nose and black eyes. The women swooned in the presence of the tiny mole above Ethan’s upper lips, composing little poems about kissing it away. In addition, he was her father’s most trusted confidant and second-in-command. A position he had risen to in less than three years.
“Have you been well?” Ethan asked.
“I-”
“Of course not, Mr. Smith,” Williams said lightly. He’d always liked Ethan, for reasons best known to him. “I think you should proceed to the agenda of the evening.”
“And I think you should know your place,” Owen pranced to Ethan’s needless defense. It was his primary job, other than being a social nuisance, which included bedding as many women as he could.
“Gentlemen, please.” Grace said, curiosity prickling her ears. “I will call for tea…”
“I would prefer something stronger,” Owen interrupted. Grace rang the little bell by her side and the same serving girl reappeared. She repeated the order and when she left, she asked about this agenda.
“No, I just want to know how you are carrying on, dear,” Ethan said softly. Grace’s eyebrows rose. Never had he spoken to her with such an informal affection. Could it be that with the loss of her father, came the disrespect of his subordinates?
“I am well,” she lied.
Ethan took something wrapped in black cloth by his side. Grace frowned at it, then at him. He cleared his voice and rubbed his palms down his legs. “There is no good way to say this.” He slid out the long object and placed it on the table. Slower than a snail, he unwrapped it. Grace stifled her shock as she gazed upon a sharp blade.
Its blade bore caked, brownish blood. The hilt had the face of a lion carved into it. Her breathing became fast as her lungs sought for fast-diminishing air. She blinked rapidly, fighting with everything in her, to hold back tears.Thatwas her father’s blood. On the weapon that’d taken his life.
