Grace had been with the Kensingtons for the better part of a fortnight and was much happier now than we she arrived, even though she still hadn’t told them the reason for her rather abrupt arrival. She had started to confide in them more about her life, often while working on needlework with Aunt Dorothea or digging in the gardens with Uncle Laurence.

Mr. Finchley, the gardener, had gone into fits the first time he caught the two digging together, but Uncle Laurence had calmly explained to him that he would have to accept their interference in his job. Since then, Mr. Finchley watched from a distance with a frown, but kept his opinions to himself.

Grace still listened more than she talked, and thought more than she listened, but her laughter had somehow become a frequent occurrence at New Hill Cottage. More and more often, she even caught herself smiling—something she had done only infrequently for years.

Sometimes at night, she still woke with nightmares. They served as a reminder her of her reason for being there. Not that she could forget if she tried.

Nearly two months had passed since Grace last saw her courses, and now she was experiencing several of the other joys of being with child—if one could call them that. Occasionally she would lose her breakfast, and the smell of fish turned her stomach in an instant. Afternoon walks with Uncle Laurence quickly tired her. She frequently retired to her bedchamber for a nap, sometimes even missing afternoon tea due to her growing fatigue.

Only two days previously, she had fallen asleep while working on some needlework with Aunt Dorothea. She didn’t wake until she pricked herself with a needle.

Fortunately, there were still no visible signs of her condition. Here, Grace was able to live a somewhat normal life with the Kensingtons. She rejoiced in their kindness, but she must tell them of her condition, and soon. They had to be growing suspicious of something being out of the ordinary, simply due to how easily she tired.

Sir Laurence and Lady Kensington had accepted Grace as though she were their own daughter. They had never had their own children, and seemed thrilled to pretend—at least for the time being—that she belonged with them.

Grace was all too happy to go ahead and pretend alongside them. Of course, she could only stay with them for a time, so tried to brace herself against the heartache of impending separation by not growing too close. It would only hurt worse when she was forced to leave.

She had so much more freedom in Somerton than she had ever experienced with her father. While she was with the Kensingtons, she could forget for a time that she would be forced into a marriage with whichever gentleman her father could convince to marry her—assuming he ever located her. She let herself imagine she could stay with the Kensingtons forever, that they could be a happy family without the threat of her father’s retribution.

She still shivered at the thought of a life with Lord Barrow. It was best to hope she would never have to return to London.

Her daydreams were filled with images of raising her child with her aunt and uncle at her side, allowing the tot to run wild through the gardens at New Hill. Some days, she dreamed of a man alongside her—a tall man with auburn hair, laughing and playing with her child.

But dreams were not reality. They could never be.

Even so, today would be favorable. Grace was going to paint the English countryside on the banks of the Cary River. She would put the tempest of her feelings onto canvas in swirls and streaks of color and texture in a way only she could do. Grace would never be considered the finest artist in England, but she did have a knack with her brushes.

She had a spring in her step when she joined her aunt and uncle for breakfast. The sky was overcast, but the wind was calm. It should be a perfect day for their picnic by the river.

She and Uncle Laurence planned to take their paints, canvases, and easels. Aunt Dorothea, in the process of embroidering a pillow to put in the morning parlor, planned to work on a spot of needlework. She said she could think of no better place to work on it than in the out of doors, as long as the weather cooperated.

“Good morning, Gracie,” Uncle Laurence said. “You seem chipper today.” He looked up from his papers when she joined them at the breakfast table.

Grace grinned across at him. “Good morning, Uncle. Is anything interesting in your papers today?”

It took several days for the papers to reach them in Somerton, so by now the news he was reading was close to a week old. The lack of timeliness never stopped him from poring through them each morning.

He flicked the paper and looked over it at her. “Why, I would say so. It seems the Duke of Walsingham is engaged to a Miss Barbara Flynn. Young Miss Flynn was not pleased at the prospect of becoming his duchess, it would appear, as she took a dive from a second floor balcony at the engagement party given by her father. She suffered an injury to her arm in the fall, but her father assures all she will be quite fit to say her vows in a fortnight’s time.”

Grace’s heart plummeted to the floor. The poor girl! “My pity goes out to Miss Flynn, then. I am thankful I didn’t have to make such a choice.” Of course, she had been forced to make other choices. She turned back to her breakfast and tried not to think about how much the path of her life had changed of late.

Uncle Laurence leaned across the table and whispered to her, “I suppose there are some small favors granted to us in life.” He patted her on the top of her hand and resumed reading his papers.

She hated herself for not revealing her ruin to them before now. The Kensingtons had been more than kind to her, with not a single question asked about anything. They had simply accepted her. Grace took another bite and steeled herself to divulge her secret.

No time like the present.

“Uncle, Aunt. There is…there’s something I must tell you. Well, several somethings, actually.”

Uncle Laurence set his newspaper down on the table and gave her his undivided attention while Aunt Dorothea reached across the table to grasp her hand. “Go on, dear,” her aunt said. “You can tell us anything, you know.”

Grace took a breath and rushed out with it before she could think better of it. “I have run away from Father.” Their disgust and anger were sure to come at any moment. She squeezed her eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to see their reaction.

“Yes,” said Uncle Laurence. “Your aunt and I had surmised as much, Gracie. Why, your father cut off all contact with us years ago. He certainly couldn’t know you were here with us now. I don’t imagine he would have allowed you to visit it. What we have not discovered for ourselves is why you felt the need to do something so rash.”

They would hear her out? Shock set in that they weren’t turning her from their door immediately. She had difficulty finding her words. “I…he—the earl, that is” Goodness, where should she start?

“It is all right, sweetheart,” her aunt said. “Take your time. Your uncle always tells me it is best to begin at the beginning. I do often have difficulty finding where the beginning might be, myself, but I am certain he’s right.”

“The beginning?” Grace took a sip from her cup of morning chocolate to stall for a bit more time. Where had it all started? “Well, you see—I’ve been ravished.”

“Gracious heavens. Laurence, you must find the scoundrel and challenge him at once. Who did this to you, Gracie? We shall not stand for it, by gad. He will come to justice!” Aunt Dorothea rose from her seat and paced through the room. “I tell you, Laurence, I knew something horrible had happened to our Gracie, and that man—her father—he’s done nothing about it, has he? Of course he hasn’t. The vile, despicable—” Tears sprung to her aunt’s eyes.

“Dorothea, let the girl continue her story.” Uncle Laurence looked to Grace with understanding eyes. “She has not yet finished. Have you Gracie?”

She stared down at her hands folded on her lap. “No, Uncle. I—well…”

“Who was he, Gracie? Tell us the blackguard’s name and your uncle will challenge the deuced coward like your father should have done.”

A look from Uncle Laurence silenced her aunt again. “Dueling, my dear, is illegal, as you well know. His name is not important at this precise moment. Go on, sweetheart. Your aunt will not interrupt you again.”

If only she would. Those interruptions allowed her to put off the telling, even if only for a moment or two. “I’m…with child.” A single tear fell down her cheek, followed by a virtual flood. Her aunt was at her side in an instant, pulling her close.

“And is that why you left, Grace?” Uncle Laurence moved closer to where she sat.

She nodded, unable to form words as she succumbed to a bout of hiccups. Once they slowed, she tried to continue. “Father…he—w—when I told him, hic—he was so angry. He wants me to marry the man—”

“Oh no, you most certainly will not marry that man! I will never hear of it. The nerve of your father!”

Uncle Laurence placed a calming hand on his wife’s shoulder to quiet her. “Go on, Grace.”

“And if…if he will not have me, then I am to—to—to give the child away to a family in need of more hands and marry whoever else he can arrange for.”

Aunt Dorothea burst from her position to pace through the breakfast room. “What? I am appalled. Appalled!”

“So I came here to you,” Grace continued. She had to get through it all or she’d never finish. “I didn’t know where else to go. I’ll leave if you want me to. You have been more than kind to allow me to stay as long as you have. I don’t want to be a burden on you—”

“A burden? A burden! Laurence, the child thinks she is a burden on us. Goodness, Gracie, if you try to leave, I’ll be furious with you. Why, wherever would you go? You cannot do this alone, dear. I’ll not hear of it.”

Uncle Laurence nodded. “Your aunt is right. You must stay with us. Why, how would a woman in your situation get by? No, your leaving is out of the question.”

“But what if Father finds out where I am?” He would be irate if he knew they had willfully defied him. Murderous, even.

“Let me worry about that. I can handle your father.” Uncle Laurence’s eyes held a grim expression quite unlike his usual calm demeanor.

“And the baby?” How would they explain her situation to their neighbors? Oh, no, she couldn’t stay through her confinement. It would bring her shame upon them.

“The baby? Why, Gracie, your baby must stay where you stay. I’ll quite enjoy having a little one about, I daresay.” Aunt Dorothea puttered around the room, picking up objects from one position and moving them to another, in a random fashion. “Laurence, the next time we travel to Bath, I must purchase some yarn. I’ll need to begin knitting for the little one. Lud, do you think your child will have your eyes? I do hope so. Such pretty eyes. So unlike my boring, brown eyes. I always envied your mother those eyes, have I told you that? Why, I declare, they are the most fascinating shade. I could never tire of looking at them—and if I can stare at them in the face of a babe, oh, I’ll simply be in heaven…”

Her chatter droned on, but Grace could no longer concentrate on it. Her thoughts lay in only one direction. She could stay. And she could keep her child.

Everything would be all right. She finished her breakfast and prepared for the day ahead—a day of painting at the river with her aunt and uncle.

Gil’s coughing fit wracked his body as he and Alex rode. They were headed through the countryside to inspect the land by the creek and the Cary River. Rotheby’s land only covered the area surrounding the creek, but he kept emphasizing to Alex the importance of making certain things ran in a smooth manner all along the river.

His continued illness left Alex more than unsettled. It had gone on through the entire course of his visit, without even the slightest hint of improvement. Gil had coughing spells, tired easily, always complained of the cold, and had a sickly pallor to his skin. There was an easy answer as to why the illness lingered, but Alex didn’t want to accept it.

Gil was dying.

Now the reason for his invitation was clear. The earl must want a friend with him during this time. He’d never said as much, but why else would he have summoned Alex to his side? And why Alex, when it would make more sense to send for his grandson. Quinton was Gil’s heir, after all. Though, admittedly, their relationship had been rather shaky. Maybe Quinton wasn’t the best to have around at such a time, after all.

Alex admired the earl. He would even go so far as to say he loved the man. Because of that love, he intended to do all he could to make certain Rotheby was content during their time together, however long it may be.

So, when Gil wanted to go for a ride, they rode. If Gil wanted to visit a friend or a tenant, they visited. When Gil wanted to tell stories of Alex’s childhood, or even of his own childhood, Alex listened with his utmost attention. Hence the reason for their current ride, even if Alex couldn’t understand why the earl was teaching Alex all of these things and not his heir.

Once Gil’s coughs subsided, Alex turned in his saddle to face him. “Are you doing all right, Gil? We can head back to Roundstone any time you’re ready.”

He didn’t want to seem overly protective—but it was a tricky business, in a time like this. He’d witnessed his father’s sudden death from apoplexy a few years back. Alex didn’t want his time with Gil to be shortened any more than necessary.

The earl glared at him from beneath the brim of his hat. “I most certainly am not ready yet, whippersnapper. Mind yourself.”

As usual, the older man was all bark with no bite. Alex laughed.

They rode down the bank of the river in silence for a distance, enjoying the warmth of the air despite the lack of sunshine. A group of picnickers were up ahead of them on the embankment. As they drew closer to the party, Alex could make them out finally: Sir Laurence, with his wife and Lady Grace.

Alex hadn’t seen any of them since the day at Roundstone when he had kissed Lady Grace in the gardens and made a complete arse of himself. Not only had he not seen them, but he was glad for that fact.

Well, at least glad he hadn’t seen Lady Grace. In less than an hour’s time that day, he’d been forced to apologize to the woman three full times. He had no desire to reprise such a performance.

Although Alex hadn’t seen her in person in close to a fortnight, he continued to see her in his dreams. But where initially her eyes haunted him with their bleak emptiness, they now woke him with their fire. There had been heat in her blue ice when he kissed her. She couldn’t deny it, and he wouldn’t dream of it. He couldn’t blot the memory from his mind—but he couldn’t act on it, either. He should be trying to guard her virtue, not destroy it.

Nonetheless, he had told himself all along he had no intention of becoming entangled with a female. Any more contact with Lady Grace beyond simple, polite conversation would most certainly qualify as an entanglement. There were already more than enough entanglements waiting for his return in London.

It would be best for them both if they avoided each other in the future. Judging by all indications from her, Lady Grace would be more than amicable with that solution. Why, she hardly said a word to him on their previous encounter. He had gone on and on about his brothers and sisters—his whole life—and she barely strung together more than five words at a time.

She could have no objection to him staying clear of her company.

Today though, it appeared he must make an exception to this new rule of avoidance. He and Gil had come within calling distance, and Sir Laurence lifted a hand in greeting.

“Gil! And Lord Alexander, as well. What a pleasant surprise. We were just sitting down to luncheon.” With a smile, he glanced through the basket Lady Kensington and Lady Grace were busy unpacking. “As usual, Mrs. Finchley has packed far more food than an army could down after going hungry for a week. Would you care to join us?”

Sir Laurence walked to the two horses and held out a hand to aid Gil in dismounting, not waiting for a response. Apparently, a ‘yes’ was assumed. He led the earl to the blanket spread beneath an oak tree and assisted him in gaining a seat while Alex saw to the horses. He tried not to curse out loud about his rotten luck.

He put on a cheerful face before joining the others beneath the heavy cover of branches, hoping to hide his brooding. “Ladies, Sir Laurence.” Alex nodded to each in turn. “It’s kind of you to share your meal with us. We’ve been riding for a good spell now and I, for one, am famished.”

He sat next to Gil—and as far away from Lady Grace as he could manage without seeming altogether a cad, yet again.

The group ate and talked and laughed. Everyone took part in the conversation this time, including Lady Grace. She seemed much more vibrant than she had on their first meeting (other than those few rare moments when she had let down her guard) and not nearly as shy.

She looked stunning, sitting on the quilted blanket beneath a cloudy sky. Her smile reached all the way up to her eyes—to the point they sparkled like diamonds.

But she did her best to ignore his presence.

She spoke with Lord Rotheby, telling him of the painting she and her uncle planned to perform after their meal. She enquired after his health. She even asked his permission to someday visit and paint in his flower gardens, if he was so inclined to allow her intrusion. She talked and teased with her aunt and uncle. But she never spared Alex a glance, nor included him in her conversation.

Still, he could not keep his eyes from her. Even before, with the sadness blanketed over her features, Lady Grace was an absolute vision. With it removed, she honestly stole his breath.

He tried to focus on the conversation, but had little success. Alex even attempted to become cross or upset about her obvious exclusion of him from her part of the conversation, but couldn’t muster the emotions. He refused to feign them. He’d keep his dignity, even if it killed him.

All he could think about was her heat when he pulled her close, the light scent of something floral and sweet on her skin, and the passion in her eyes just after he kissed her.

“Lord Alexander?” Lady Kensington frowned over at him for a moment. “Lord Alexander?”

He snapped to the present with a jolt. “I am so sorry, ma’am. I was woolgathering. You were saying?” Blast, if he hadn’t been living in his own world for a great good while.

She patted his arm and gave him an indulgent smile. “I understand, sir. Our Gracie is certainly something to look at, is she not?”

Sir Laurence cleared his throat in an obvious warning to his wife. She sent a glare in his direction as she continued her new conversation with Alex.

“I was merely wondering if you had finished or if you wanted another sandwich. We certainly have more than enough, but you’ve hardly touched yours and everyone else has finished. Aren’t they to your liking? Anyway, feel free to help yourself to more if you wish.”

She cleared their luncheon away as she continued to speak, leaving a plate of cucumber sandwiches out where he could reach them. “I believe Laurence and Gracie are set to work with their paints for a bit now, and it seems your Lord Rotheby is prepared to take a bit of a nap. I think it is best if he just stays here to do so, rather than attempt to ride all the way back to Roundstone. How lucky we are, I planned ahead and brought a few extra blankets and such with me. I’ve been working on my quilting and embroidery, you know, and one can just never tell how much one will finish in a day!”

As Lady Kensington rambled, her niece stood and assembled easels and painting supplies for herself and her uncle, placing oils by her own canvas and watercolors by Sir Laurence’s.

The baronet helped Gil settle in a secluded spot under a nearby willow tree. Lady Kensington was right about Gil being too tired to make the return before succumbing to sleep. He stumbled as he walked with Sir Laurence. Alex supposed that meant he would have to spend even more time in the presence of the minx while she ignored him.

Deuced infuriating, that.

He ate and Lady Kensington droned on and on, about subjects he had neither the desire nor the intention of following. Alex nodded and occasionally raised an eyebrow, which seemed enough to keep the lady generally appeased. He didn’t think she really cared if he paid attention—it seemed to be more an issue of her own comfort. He doubted she was capable of sitting in silence for longer than a few seconds without sleeping, and he wondered if she was even capable of it at that point. She may be one who talked in her sleep.

While they sat, Lady Kensington worked on her embroidery and kept up a constant stream of chatter. He gazed at the river passing them by, but his thoughts kept returning to the two people who had been so consistently on his mind since his arrival in Somerton—Gil and Lady Grace.

After a while, he realized the garrulous buzzing of Lady Kensington’s incessant speech had—miraculously—ceased. A quick glance in her direction revealed that she, too, was asleep. Now he couldn’t even pretend to carry on a conversation with her, but must find some other way of passing the time until Gil had rested enough to carry on with their jaunt. So, he watched the two painters at their craft.

Sir Laurence was clearly a studied landscape artist. His piece looked almost identical to the scene before them, down to the smallest details like the rocks on the opposite side of the river bank. From an artistic standpoint, his work was perfect, while not necessarily inspiring. The painting was beautiful, but it lacked a certain finesse to take the piece from very good to great.

Lady Grace, however, was a true artist in Alex’s mind. Her painting was night-and-day different from that of her uncle. She brushed her oils in broad, sweeping strokes and bold flashes of color. While it was clear she had painted the same scene as her uncle, her piece something contained more. There was a mood in the painting. It conveyed emotion. The sky was not merely overcast, but dark and ominous, as it threatened to chase the bold colors from the scene.

He was, in a word, flabbergasted by what he saw coming to life on her canvas.

Her brushes swooshed and swayed across the surface, with every flick of her wrist creating some new facet to convert the overall impression. As she worked, Lady Grace’s eyes gleamed. A series of emotions ran across her face and bled through the brushes into her painting. Alex was in awe.

After what could have been minutes or hours, she stopped. She took two steps back and looked deeply at her piece for a moment, then turned around to face him. Lady Grace beamed at him and allowed him to share in her moment of glory.

The expression on her face at that moment, he never could have predicted—she looked regal, imminently satisfied, and fully at peace. All of the emotions that had been working through her were somehow transferred to the canvas and left behind, at least for that moment.

If he had not seen it himself, Alex would never have believed such an intense work could have come from inside this tiny, perpetually fearful woman. Well, if not for the fact she still took deep breaths from her exertions, had splatters of paint covering her from head to foot, and had her hair flowing freely after having escaped from her pins.

She was breathtaking. Perfection.

“Good heavens, Gracie, you are a sight!” Lady Kensington said, coming up behind Alex. Her shout of dismay woke Gil as well, and he started to put himself to rights while Lady Kensington fussed over her niece.

Rotheby walked over to Alex and silently observed the scene while Sir Laurence continued as he was, ignoring the tumult his wife created with her dither. The baronet must experience such things on a regular basis to display no outward reaction to her.

Alex allowed himself a brief chuckle. Their marriage must have been quite interesting, all these years. Sir Laurence obviously knew how to handle his wife flawlessly.

“Shall we gather our horses and head back to Roundstone, old chap?” Gil asked. “I think I am ready to call this one a day.” He looked slightly refreshed after his nap, but Alex was not convinced he was recovered—certainly not fully.

“I am ready any time you are. I’ll ready the horses while you give Lady Kensington our thanks.”

Alex didn’t want to think he was avoiding Lady Grace by readying their mounts—nor by taking his time about it. So far, he had made it through this encounter with her without being forced into offering his apologies for a single action. He’d like to keep it that way, if possible.

Once he had untied the horses, he led them to the group and waited for a lull in the conversation. “We are much obliged to you for sharing your luncheon with us, Lady Kensington.”

She smiled graciously toward him before her expression turned a touch more devious. Oh, blast. What was she planning now? The woman had far too mischievous a gleam in her eye for his comfort—it made him think of the same look coming from Mama.

“Lord Alexander, join us for a meal any time you’re in need of one, or even when you’re not in need of one. Please, bring Lord Rotheby to visit at New Hill Cottage sometime.”

Lady Grace chortled under her breath, but Alex caught it out of the corner of his eye.

“You both have a standing invitation,” Lady Kensington. “Just drop in when you’re in the area.” The older woman could not have wiped the glee from her eyes if she tried. Just what he needed. Because, of course, the area was Somerton in general.

He didn’t care to take her up on the offer at any time in the near future. But Gil would enjoy such a visit, and Alex wanted to make his friend happy. “I am sure we’ll hold you to your offer sometime soon, won’t we?”

The earl nodded vigorously.

Alex nodded to the group. “Well, we must be on our way. Sir Laurence, Lady Kensington.” He took a long look at the woman who so fascinated him before he continued. “Lady Grace. It has been a pleasure, as always. I think Lord Rotheby has had enough for one day, haven’t you, old man?”

“Bah! Whippersnappers. You think you know everything.” Gil frowned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They walked away and gained their mounts. “Besides, I have already had a nap today. You, however, haven’t. I’d wager I’m more up for a ride than you at this point.”

It was good to see some of the old fire in his friend. “Are you up for a race, then? Now that our horses have had a graze and rest, they’re raring to be let loose.”

Gil’s eyes twinkled at the prospect.

“I’ll even let you have a head start,” Alex said. “Sampson will beat Peregrine easily. Go on, then!” He waited a few moments before spurring Sampson into a gallop.

Racing through the countryside, Alex felt alive. He had spent the day being ignored by a woman he intended to avoid, but yet the very woman who consumed him. Then he had agreed to stop in on her relatives at some point in the near future. Lord only knew why he would have done such a thing. But the fact remained, it was done. Bloody hell, what had he been thinking?

He’d have to honor that commitment, for Gil’s sake if for nothing else. Deuce take it all, now he’d have to spend even more time with the chit. And if today was any indication, she would continue to do everything in her power to pretend he didn’t exist.

That irritated him to no end.

Sampson quickly caught Peregrine from behind. Alex dug in with his heels, encouraging his horse to run harder. “Watch out, old man! We’re coming for you.”

Sampson was within a head’s distance of catching the other horse as they pulled into Roundstone Park’s arched lane. By the halfway point through the trees, Sampson was almost dead even with Gil’s mount. Alex pulled back, allowing Gil to take the win just as they pulled into the stables—doing his best to hide his actions. “Good race, old man. You beat me there at the end.”

Gil’s eyes narrowed. They dismounted and handed their reins to the waiting groom. “Yes, well. We’ll have to try this again sometime soon. With no head starts next time! I like my wins to be fair.” They walked side-by-side back to the manor house, a comfortable companionship between them.

How many more days like this would he have with his friend?