Grace gasped. ‘Heather, how could you?! You sly monkey!’ The thought of her younger sister playing matchmaker was utterly mortifying. She promptly scolded Heather for interfering. After gaining her promise to not interfere again, Grace related the content of his letter.
Hours passed, and they were still debating.
‘I do not see why we should not stay here. After all, he is giving you the deed,’ Heather argued.
Grace sighed. ‘It does not sit well with me. I feel awkward staying here.’
Heather scoffed. ‘Look, Gracy, you helped him tremendously—he owes you.’
‘How so? Because of me, the late Duke was poisoned,’ Grace said bitterly.
‘You must not blame yourself for that,’ Heather countered. ‘How could you have foreseen any of this? If you had not helped him, that Averton fellow would have ruined the duchy and destroyed the family’s good name. He might have even let the Duke take the fall for the smuggling operation. If authorities traced anything back, who do you think they would blame? Now they have a chance to expose the truth. And do not forget—Averton already killed the Duke’s elder brother. Who knows how many more he would have eliminated?’
Mrs Merriweather nodded sagely. ‘I daresay this is what we had hoped Mr Charles would do, but instead, he sold the Manor. Perhaps it is karma. And besides, we would not want to offend the Duke. He is still sponsoring Miss Heather’s Season. If we refuse to stay, he might take offence.’
Thus, outnumbered and outvoted, Grace reluctantly agreed to remain at Skye Manor for now, and the ladies prepared to travel to London. But once the Season ended and Heather had secured a suitable husband, Grace was determined to return to her cottage and embrace a quiet, peaceful life.
Despite everything, she could not abandon the investigation. She owed it to Melissa and the other missing girls. The thought of the Duke returning to London—plunging himself into danger—unsettled her more than she cared to admit. Hell would freeze over before she allowed harm to come to him. Still, in London, she would keep their association strictly professional. If he could be mercenary, then so could she. She would remain cool, detached—to protect what remained of her shattered heart.
With great reluctance, she forced herself to write to Charles, though the very thought of seeking his help left a bitter taste in her mouth. His reply was as disappointing as it was infuriating.
Cousin,
I was surprised to hear from you, but even more disappointed that you still refuse to accept your place as a mixed-heritage female. You embarrass yourself by trying to force your way into the business of men.
You should focus on your femininity and behave as a lady for your sister’s sake.
Please do not write to me again. I have no further interest in hearing from you.
Sincerely, etc.
Grace had expected his cutting remarks on her femininity, but she had hoped he would at least answer her questions. It seemed she would have to confront him in London—something she dreaded.
THEY WERE USHERED INTOthe morning room of the Duke of Armitage’s London residence and greeted by his sister, Lady Elizabeth Pickering. As expected, everything was built on a grand scale, and Grace and Heather felt like country bumpkins. Large chandeliers—bigger than Grace’s entire morning room—hung overhead, luxurious Turkish carpets softened their steps, and elegant ornaments were placed strategically throughout the space. The townhouse was magnificent, unlike anything Grace had ever seen.
She reminded herself that they were not here to compete with the rich and titled but to enjoy a London Season and secure a husband for Heather. She would not be intimidated by the grandeur surrounding them. Squaring her shoulders, she greeted Lady Elizabeth.
‘Well, it is lovely to meet you at last, Miss Skye. We have heard so much about you, and none of the praise has been exaggerated, I see,’ Lady Elizabeth said warmly. Grace noted with a pang that she bore a strong resemblance to the Duke.
‘You are both most welcome. And this must be the famous Mrs M?’
Grace dipped into a perfect curtsy, and Heather and Mrs Merriweather followed suit.
‘Thank you for having us,’ Grace replied.
At the back of the room, another lady sat quietly—tall, elegant, and beautiful. Lady Jane, daughter of the Duke of Summers. The fiancée. Grace had hoped—quite unfairly—that she would be... less perfect.
Lady Elizabeth and Lady Jane insisted on showing them to their rooms.
It only got worse when Lady Jane spoke. She was all politeness and kindness. ‘We are delighted to have more female company. I look forward to getting better acquainted, Miss Skye and Miss Heather. Elizabeth and I will be escorting you to all the Season’s entertainments—I simply cannot wait!’ She smiled warmly.
With a sinking heart, Grace accepted Lady Jane’s exuberance and inwardly dreaded the weeks ahead, knowing she would be forced to spend time with the Duke’s fiancée.
‘I hope you do not mind being called by your Christian name?’ Lady Elizabeth asked. ‘We do not stand on ceremony here.’
Grace liked her immediately. She had a kind face and an easy manner.
‘Oh yes, please call me Jane,’ chimed in Lady Jane.
