Mrs. Finchley led Grace down the stairwell and turned into a broad hall. Off to the right, a large doorway opened into a spacious drawing room decorated in soft primrose with accents of a deep green. The late afternoon sun poured in through a wall consisting almost entirely of thatched windows, with the patterns creating a latticework shadow across the room. Handmade quilts and embroidered pillows draped the furnishings, the same as in the rest of the house. A fire burned quietly in the hearth, snaps and pops of sparking wood only occasionally disrupting the general silence.

“Sir Laurence and Lady Kensington, your niece, Lady Grace Abernathy.” Mrs. Finchley executed a curtsy left the room upon a wave from her employer.

Grace tried not to let her nerves show as she perused her relatives—relatives she had not seen since she was a very young girl, and whom she remembered little, if any. Relatives who might set her out, should she not come up to scratch. As if she knew what they would consider up to scratch anyway. This was all terribly daunting.

Sir Laurence had obviously been quite handsome in his day and still maintained much of his youthful glow. He had filled out a touch about the middle, but his face held an easy smile and warm brown eyes to match the brown hair mixed with grey.

Lady Kensington could still pass as one of the most beautiful ladies of the ton. Her fair skin and black hair matched Grace’s, though hers had begun to turn silver just at the temples. She stood with an elegance that spoke to her position, though her attire was certainly more comfortable than fashionable. Still, there could be no doubt this was a woman born to privilege.

Grace paused, unsure what she ought to do next. Her circumstances to this point had proven far from what she expected. Should she curtsy to her aunt and uncle? Walk across the room and take their hands? Hug them? Burst forth with her thanks at their allowing her to stay, even if only for one night? Her mind raced.

They didn’t even know why she was there to begin with, so she should likely start with the reason for her visit. But how? Oh, goodness. She truly ought to have thought this all through a bit more before she just up and left her father’s house. But she could not have stayed there any longer. Not one more moment.

She would simply have to become more decisive. Starting immediately.

All of her planning proved pointless, however. Grace’s aunt remained seated and silent for several moments. But then she stood and virtually flew across the room to pull Grace into a tight embrace, complete with tears and sniffles.

“Oh, Gracie! Sweetheart. We are so, so glad you are here. Your Uncle Laurence and I have missed you terribly. Oh goodness, you were only a little girl the last time we saw you.”

Lady Kensington finally released her and unabashedly wiped away the wetness she left behind on Grace’s cheeks. The older woman grabbed her by the hand and pulled her across the room to sit on a sofa. Grace had no choice but to follow, dignity be damned.

“I’ve no idea what circumstances have changed so you can be here for a visit with us, but we are thrilled. Thrilled! Lud, Laurence, she looks just like Margaret.”

Grace’s head lifted at the mention of her mother. She barely remembered the woman, but a few pleasant memories remained—singing, playing games, being rocked and tucked into bed.

“Margaret had those same eyes,” Lady Kensington continued softly. “I always envied your mother her eyes, dear. Mine are just a horrid, dull brown. It was truly unfair for one sister to have the most perfect shade of eyes in the world, and the other to receive eyes so dull. Oh well, I promise to enjoy yours.” Lady Kensington patted her on the cheek and brushed at her hair until a few wisps came loose from their knot. “So beautiful…”

The effusive welcome threatened to turn farcical. If Grace’s aunt did not allow her a moment to regain her bearings, she could surely not be held accountable for her actions. Could she? Oh dear. The entire situation was becoming inexplicably ludicrous.

“Dorothea, would you give Gracie a moment to breathe? I wager you have not taken a breath yourself in a good five minutes.” Sir Laurence took a seat on the other side of Grace and pulled her in for a brief hug.

“She is not always like this, you know Grace. It is just she has been so excited since we got your letter informing us of your visit. Your Aunt Dorothea will become a normal woman after a day or two, once the newness of having you here wears off. Then she will merely talk your ear off during most hours of the day, all the while making you dizzy with moving about nonstop. You will become accustomed to it. I certainly have. Of course, I’ve had a good number of years to learn to love your aunt’s quirks.” He chuckled and touched her gently on the back of her hand.

Mrs. Finchley entered again, carrying the tea service. She placed it on the table before them and left once again, just as unobtrusively as she had come.

“Dorothea, can you manage to pour, or are you too flustered?” Sir Laurence gave his wife a wicked grin, proving the facetious spirit in which he delivered his query.

Lady Kensington frowned at him but served the tea anyway.

“Grace, have you settled in?” Sir Laurence asked. “I hope the chamber is to your liking. We have some larger suites, but we thought you might appreciate the coziness of the one we chose. It is bright and cheerful in the mornings.”

Cheerful in the mornings would be very much appreciated, indeed. Grace hadn’t felt cheerful in far too long. But that must mean they were prepared for her to stay for more than only one night. Would that change if they learned the truth?

“Yes, my lord, the room is lovely. It will be more than adequate.”

She accepted the cup of tea and plate of sandwiches, scones, and cakes, trying desperately to be dignified in all of her speech and responses. Perhaps she could make herself acceptable to them yet.

Her aunt and uncle would surely not be pleased with her if she spoke out of turn or said something inappropriate. Grace focused her attentions on her manners, trying to eat slowly and neatly. Having eaten little for the last few days though, she was ravenous. Soon, she was shoveling food into her mouth in a most unbecoming manner, decorum tossed aside in favor of satisfying the beast inside her stomach that threatened to eat her alive if she did not provide it with ample sustenance in short order.

“Go on, go on, my dear,” her uncle said. “Eat up. You must be famished. And just to be clear, there will be none of that ‘Sir Laurence’ or ‘Lady Kensington’ business. You should call me Uncle Laurence or just Uncle. The same will go for your aunt. She is either Aunt Dorothea or simply Aunt. We are not so terribly formal around here.”

She glanced up sheepishly from the task of filling her stomach as her aunt nodded in vigorous agreement with her husband. This would mean even more adjustment.

At her father’s house, she rarely even called him Father. He expected her to call him ‘my lord’ more often than not—and always in front of servants or guests.

Aunt Dorothea refilled Grace’s teacup before giving her another helping of scones. “I do not imagine you had much to eat on your journey, did you dear? You seem fair gutfounded. That is quite all right. Have as much as you like now, and there will be plenty more at supper. I’ll be sure Cook prepares a feast. We’ll not have you go hungry. No ma’am, not in my house, you will not be hungry. The abomination of the thought!”

Aunt Dorothea seemed to have calmed, now showing immense interest in seeing to each of Grace’s comforts. What a truly odd sensation, being looked after. Not uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, actually. But very, very different. She mustn’t become too accustomed to such treatment. It would only make it more difficult when she must eventually take her leave of their generosity.

Uncle Laurence settled into a nearby armchair and tucked into his scone. “Do you think Tess will work out for you as a lady’s maid? She has never served in any position, really, but she grew up in our home. She has been with us since she was just a wee tot, still in leading strings. I would like to find her a position here at New Hill Cottage, where she can stay with her aunt.”

Grace’s eyes widened again. They cared enough to provide her with a personal servant for not only the duration of her stay, but possibly as a permanent position? Oh dear. She had not expected this—not any of this. It was all quite more than she had been prepared to accept. Everything had started to look up for her, literally out of nowhere.

Yet she could virtually see a mountain of debts she would soon owe to her aunt and uncle piling up before her, with no real way to return the favor of their kindness. She’d have to find a way to make herself useful, if she were to stay for very long. They could not simply give and give and give her more, without her doing something for them in return. But what?

She’d figure that out soon enough, she supposed. “Yes, Uncle. I am certain Tess will be wonderful for the position. I have never had a lady’s maid before, so she and I can learn how things should be done together.”

“You have what?” Aunt Dorothea dropped her napkin to her lap. “Never had a lady’s maid? Laurence, did you hear that? Goodness child, your father is a marquess! Could he not part with enough of his precious coin to hire someone to care for your needs?”

“No, ma’am. Father did not employ very many servants. He thought his money better spent elsewhere.”

She flushed at the memory of just exactly how her father found better use for his funds. Grace did not feel it pertinent to share the precise manner in which he spent his money. He may not be a kind man, but he was still her father. Not knowing her Aunt and Uncle Kensington very well, she had no idea how they would handle such information.

They could very well be some of the biggest gossips in society. If so, word could spread all over London that her father was a drunkard who loved to gamble and whore. Granted, word could already be all over London about that—and it would be true—but it was not Grace’s doing.

She needed to keep her location secret. No one could discover her, unless absolutely necessary.

Of course, letting such information about Father slip might allow Grace a means to gauge the Kensingtons’ possible reaction to the fact that she had run away from him. Goodness, how could they have allowed her to stay in their home for even this long without demanding an explanation for her arrival?

Uncle Laurence set about calming his wife again, patting the back of her hand and muttering something about “things will be different for Grace while she is with us.”

Grace returned her focus to the food before her. After a third helping of sandwiches and the like, she finally started to feel some relief in her stomach. She slowed her eating and returned her attention to the conversation of her relatives.

When they reached a lull, Grace took the opportunity to satisfy her burning curiosity. “Might I enquire what artist painted all of the pieces here? They seem to be of the local area. Is it someone who lives nearby?”

Aunt Dorothea brimmed with pride. She glanced over to Uncle Laurence, then spewed forth when he did not respond within about three seconds, “Why, your uncle is the artist!”

Grace covered her surprise by taking a sip of tea. Uncle Laurence good-naturedly allowed his wife to gush about him until she had spent the full frisson of her emotions and moved on to the next subject.

“Laurence is a wonderful painter,” Aunt Dorothea continued, “though I have never yet convinced him to do my portrait.” She feigned a pout in his direction.

“I will not have you filling the girl’s head with fabrications. I can paint a landscape with the best of them, but I am no portrait artist.” He glanced at Grace, and told her as though he were confessing to a cardinal sin, “I cannot quite seem to get the details in a face right—the lines and angles are all wrong. Portraits are some artists’ specialties, but not mine. I shall stick to my landscapes, even if she badgers me to my grave about doing her portrait.”

Grace didn’t manage to suppress a grin at the huff her aunt expelled.

It seemed staying with the Kensingtons would turn out to be all right after all. They were genuinely kind and considerate, and appeared to enjoy teasing each other. For once in her life, Grace might live in pleasant surroundings—at least for a time.

Though, one could never tell when one might be turned out. If only she had known them better through the rest of her life, she might know better how to interpret their moods.

Once more, Grace gathered her courage and prepared herself to be disappointed, even though it had become apparent they would deny her nothing within their power. Still, asking for things she wanted went against her nature. It was rather uncomfortable to break free from the mold into which her father had her so firmly planted. Nevertheless, she barreled through. “Uncle Laurence, might I join you sometime on a painting excursion? I brought a few oils and brushes with me. I would love to see more of the area.”

He beamed at her. “Of course you can, Grace. We’ll head out early next week if you can wait so long. I’ve wanted to go over to the Cary River and paint for a while, if that sounds like a good destination to you.”

She nodded. All it had taken was for her to ask for what she wanted in order for it to be granted. Life here would certainly be rather different from life with Father.

Maybe, just maybe, she would not be forced to leave them, at least for a time. Perhaps they would allow her to stay at least long enough to form a new plan.

Uncle Laurence patted the back of her hand. “Your mother told us you were becoming a little artist when you were only three or four years old. It seems your father did not break you of that, at least.” He winked at her over his cup.

Could they know? Did the Kensingtons realize what her father had been like all that time? What her life had been like? It seemed unreal she could be granted such a reprieve as to stay with people who cared for her, who wouldn’t keep her locked in her chamber, and who would allow her to get out in nature and experience some of the joys of life.

“Oh, wonderful!” Aunt Dorothea said. “I’ll come with you, and we can make a picnic of it. Gracie…oh dear, I hope you don’t mind that I call you Gracie, being a grown woman and all now.” She frowned and brushed a stray hair back into place. “It is what we called you when you were just a little girl you know, and old habits are difficult to curb my dear. I am not much for painting, myself, or drawing for that matter. But I’ll bring a touch of embroidery with me and it will keep me busy while the two of you deal with your canvases. I’ll just keep to myself and won’t be a bother to anyone.”

Aunt Dorothea prattled on, and Grace and Uncle Laurence allowed her to do so. Grace no longer knew what her aunt was talking about—it didn’t really matter. The non-stop chatter comforted her. Finally, she could breathe again.

She spent some more time swimming about in her thoughts while her aunt talked. Perhaps she could stay with the Kensingtons—if Father never found her, of course. And if they would forgive her for coming to them in such a condition, and if they dared to risk the ostracism of what it would mean, and—

“—and we shall travel to Roundstone Park tomorrow afternoon to visit and take tea with Lord Rotheby, Grace.”

Grace jolted into the present. She ought to have been paying closer attention. Lord Rotheby? Oh, dear.

“I hope you will not mind paying a social call so soon after you’ve arrived,” her aunt rushed on, “but we accepted his invitation before we knew you would come to stay with us, sweetheart. The earl really is a dear old man, and will not mind in the least if we bring you along.”

A visit for tea with an earl? Oh no. Father might find out, if word traveled to Town. Surely, as a peer, Lord Rotheby must know her father. She had to think quickly.

“I’m terribly sorry, Aunt, but I don’t think Father would approve of my visiting with anyone in town while I’m here.” She searched her mind for a good reason he might have for such a disapproval. Drat! “He…er, well, he wishes to keep me away from all society until I can be properly introduced.”

Please let them not have heard she had a come-out last Season, however paltry the affair turned out to be, with only attending a single ball before the Duke of Walsingham and her father came to their agreement.

Aunt Dorothea looked horrified. “Oh, lud! Your father can—”

“Dorothea,” Uncle Laurence cut in. “Watch yourself. Chatham is still Grace’s father, despite how you and I may feel about the man.” Uncle Laurence turned to Grace and held her gaze. “Grace, your father obviously sent you to stay with us, and therefore he chose to trust your aunt and me with your care. As such, some decisions we make for your well-being may not line up precisely with what his decisions might have been under the same circumstances. Are you all right with that?” He paused and allowed her time to react.

She merely nodded in assent. If word somehow did travel to London, hopefully she would have enough time to escape again. Father would not force her to marry Barrow.

But, oh, how she wished her aunt had said whatever she had planned to say before Uncle Laurence had interrupted her. Surely it would have been wicked. Grace desperately wanted to be wicked, just for a moment. But if she could not be, perhaps she could just listen in while her aunt was.

“Excellent. Your aunt and I do not agree that hiding you from society is in your best interest. We feel it would be propitious for you to interact with other people of high caliber. Still, we won’t force you to come if you don’t find the idea pleasing. Is that agreeable to you? Would you like to join us?”

Again, Grace nodded. How could she refuse, when they were allowing her a place to stay? And on top of it all, the Kensingtons had required no explanation as to why she’d come, at least as of yet. Of course, the likelihood Father would find out was rather slim, but she still sat in awe of her decision.

Even more than awe, she felt something more—was it courage? She marveled at her own boldness. For the first time, Grace had taken just the tiniest bit of control over her own life.

She felt wonderful.