“Gracie, sweetheart, I think we should go into Bath tomorrow and have some new gowns made for you.” Aunt Dorothea’s attempt at tact fell heavy on the air. “With your condition…well, you’ll be starting to fill out around the middle before much longer, and your clothes will not fit you properly anymore. We must have a seamstress work on some garments more appropriate for your situation.”

It was already mid-morning, and Grace had been unable to head downstairs for breakfast. Her stomach upset had assailed her far more strongly than usual, and she remained stuck in her chamber.

She groaned aloud as another wave of nausea passed over her. “Aunt Dorothea, new gowns cost money that I can’t afford. Why don’t we let out the ones I already own?”

Could they be let out enough to sustain her through the pregnancy? She had her doubts, but that approach seemed a better alternative than going without or wearing too-small gowns. Maybe she could use similar fabrics and combine them, if they wouldn’t expand far enough to cover her about the middle.

Her aunt scowled over at her. “Oh, poppycock! Do you really think your uncle and I expect you to pay for such things yourself? Goodness, Gracie. If not for the fact your father would have spent it all on his gambling and lightskirts, we would have sent money all along for your education and expenses. Why, if I had known you had no lady’s maid, I would have hired one and paid her discreetly so he couldn’t steal that money as well. We will buy you some appropriate attire while you stay with us. Why, I never.”

Aunt Dorothea puttered around the room, straightening things in no need of straightening, likely just to have something to do. “We’ll travel into Bath tomorrow, and that, my dear, is that. Tess, sweetheart, you will need to pack a small trunk for your mistress.”

The young maid stepped out from the shadows of the corner. “Yes, my lady. I’ll take care of it, ma’am.”

“We’ll be gone for a week. Please pack her trunk this evening. And one for yourself, if you please. We’ll require your services, I would imagine. One cannot sit in a hotel room and not be seen while in Bath, you know.”

Aunt Dorothea turned to Grace on the bed. “Dear, I do hope you feel more the thing tomorrow. It will take us nearly the full day to travel. I should hate for you to be ill in the carriage. Nothing is more miserable, I can assure you.” She patted the back of Grace’s hand and smoothed the hair over her brow before she left the room.

Grace sighed to herself. There could be no avoiding it, once her aunt’s mind was set on something. Brooding would accomplish nothing.

“Well, Tess, shall we start packing?” She descended from bed to select some gowns for the journey.

What would her aunt toss into her path next? Surely she would have to give up the foolish idea of finding a match for Grace soon. It wouldn’t be much longer before her condition started to reveal itself, and then no gentleman would consider her, nonetheless.

Gil looked uncomfortable as he prepared to speak to Alex across the table while they ate luncheon. His face contorted a few times, and he twice attempted to speak only to stop himself short before anything more than an “ah” or “mph” came out. He shook his head each time he stopped.

“Spit it out, old man.” Alex softened the rebuke with a fiendish grin. “We’ll be here all night if you keep it up at this pace.”

The earl took another bite before he tried again. “I need to take a trip, and I want you to come with me.” He rushed on when Alex tried to interrupt with an argument. “Not a long trip. Just to Bath, for a few days. I want to take the waters there, and see if I can clear up this cough of mine. I have some business to attend to.”

Alex’s jaw dropped. Traveling, with the state of Gil’s health, was a ghastly idea. Preposterous, even. And did the waters really do anyone any good? He had more than a few doubts about that. So why go through with the trip? It could only serve to complicate matters which needed no aid in complication. Gil would do much better to stay at home where his friends and doctors could see after him.

But Gil pressed on. “I’m going, Alex. With or without you. You can’t stop me. I would appreciate it if you choose to join me, but you will not change my mind. I leave for Bath in the morning.”

With that, Gil pushed away from the table and stalked from the room. Alex wouldn’t be able to stand it if he allowed Gil to go to Bath alone and something happened to him. He supposed he only had one choice.

He was going to Bath.

Grace had felt fine when they departed from Somerton, but soon the nausea started again. She got by as long as her eyes remained closed.

Somehow, seeing everything in the carriage bounce and dance about caused her stomach to lurch. Keeping her eyes closed turned out to be a good trick in more than just that manner, as her aunt and uncle took it as a sign she was in no mood for conversation, and they left her to her own thoughts.

As the carriage rocked back and forth toward Bath, she let her mind drift to the painting excursion along the Cary River. She’d merely hoped to enjoy the day with her aunt and uncle and get in a spot of painting. The experience always relaxed her, as she put her vision onto the canvas. But this time had been different.

Painting the scene on the river became a cathartic experience. Grace had so many pent up emotions—hurt, anger, and sadness directed toward her father—and a good deal pointed at Lord Barrow as well. All of it had rushed out of her and made its way into the painting.

She had captured the vitality of the running water and the soul of the flowers that grew across the bank. But she also rendered the clouds as dark and menacing—they threatened to destroy all the vitality stretching along the river bed. None of it had been a conscious decision on her part. She had simply started to paint, and then lost herself in the moment. Her brushes had taken on a life of their own and willed her hands to guide them in a certain manner. They had reveled in victory when she acquiesced.

What an experience it had become, to give in to the moment. She felt so alive and energized when she finished with the painting—and so much of the hurt she kept locked inside was left in the clouds of the artwork.

When they arrived home at the cottage, she had selected a spot on the wall in her chamber where she would hang the painting once it was framed. She wanted to see it every day and remember.

Grace relived the moment she completed her painting—the full breath, the sense of accomplishment, and then turning to discover Lord Alexander staring at her.

She had no idea he had been watching her as she worked. He might have been there for only a moment or for hours, and she would have been none the wiser. But there he stood, with a look of utter surprise and awe.

Neither had said a word. In fact, she had said nothing to him the entire day. She didn’t intend to be rude, but what should she say to him? Their previous encounter had ended with that kiss—that glorious, sinful kiss. What did a lady talk about with a gentleman after such an experience? She hoped he would initiate future conversation, so she wouldn’t have to decide—if they ever had another conversation.

Even though she knew it was wrong of her, and for his own sake she should end their connection, Grace was desperate to see him, to hear his voice—to touch him again. She had spent many a night thinking of him before she fell to sleep and later chastised herself for wishing for the impossible. Sometimes, his woodsy scent assaulted her nostrils and she woke, only to realize the open windows had pulled the scent in from outside.

Aunt Dorothea had not helped matters any, with her countless unsubtle hints toward the man. The last thing Grace needed was for Lord Alexander to desire an attachment with her. It was the last thing he needed, too.

She could never marry him. Since she still hadn’t attained her majority, such a decision would fall to Father. And asking for his permission was simply out of the question.

For a brief moment, she entertained the notion of letting Lord Alexander know the truth of her situation. It could convince him to avoid her. However, her luck often ran the other direction, and he might instead increase his attentions. That wouldn’t do.

But how could she conceal the spread of her belly? Maybe he would no longer be in Somerton when it started to happen, so the point would become moot.

If her luck turned, he would be called back to Town on urgent family business or something of the sort. Anything, as long as he left so she wouldn’t have to face him and the unwelcome feelings she experienced in his presence.

The nerve of her aunt, giving him an open invitation to New Hill! But what could Grace do about it? She relied on the Kensingtons’ charity at this point, and saw no end to the situation for a good deal of time to come. They had every right to invite whomever they desired to visit at their home, and she had none to deny them. All the same, she wished her aunt would stop interfering in a relationship Grace wished would disappear.

But instead of disappearing, he had accepted the offer and shown up on their door—and the visit had ended in the most dreadfully embarrassing manner she could imagine.

It was not that she disliked Lord Alexander—far from it, actually. Grace was far too attracted to the man for her own good. From his behavior, he seemed fascinated with her as well, which could not serve either of them.

He deserved better than the risk of heartache from becoming too close to her. Nor did he deserve to be leg-shackled to a woman already ruined by another, no matter how it had come about. Lord Alexander deserved an untarnished woman, or at the very least one not bearing another man’s child. Grace wished she could find some way to avoid him, but her control over matters slipped further and further from her grasp each day.

After a long day in the carriage with her eyes closed, she finally dared to open them. Thankfully, the nausea had passed.

They drew close to the city. More homes and shops lined the streets now than early in their journey. Thank goodness. She had a desperate need to stand and stretch her legs, and soon.

Traveling in her uncle’s carriage was far more pleasant than the journey from London to Somerton on the stagecoach, however. Here, she was not constantly jostled about by the other travelers, and there had been no discussions of gout or poodles.

Uncle Laurence had arranged for them to stay at the Crescent Court Hotel on the Parade. As they arrived in town, people were out and about on the streets, shopping and taking the air. Barnes pulled their carriage up to the hotel and helped them to climb down to the street.

Uncle Laurence headed to the lobby to check in to their rooms as various porters and other workers unloaded their trunks and carried them inside. Grace and Aunt Dorothea followed along at their leisure, after a gander around town. While Bath was not new to her aunt, Grace had never been there before, so she took a moment to study ancient Romanesque structures, so like the ones she’d studied while she had been holed away in her chamber at Chatham House.

When they entered the hotel, Uncle Laurence met them in the lobby. “We have two adjoining rooms with a shared parlor area. Come along. They’ve already moved our belongings in for us.” He led the way through wide, ornately decorated hallways and opened the door to their suites. “Do you think this will do, my dears?”

The room was pristine, with not even the tiniest item out of place. A large chandelier hung from the center of the ceiling, and candlelight danced over the floor and walls. Brocade drapes lined the windows, and the most opulent of silks upholstered the furnishings. While not gaudy, the room was certainly much grander than anything Grace had experienced with her father, and more ostentatious by far than anything she’d encountered in Somerton.

The grandeur of it all overwhelmed her.

Aunt Dorothea swiftly adjusted to their surroundings. “Yes, this room will be perfect. I believe we’ll be quite comfortable here, wouldn’t you agree, Gracie? Of course, you do. How could you not enjoy such finery?”

She puttered around as usual, unpacking things and finding them homes for the course of their weeklong stay in Bath, apparently unable to wait for a servant to do the job. “Shall we order tea sent up? I think it would be a lovely idea. And Gracie, you must get plenty of rest this evening. We’ll stay in tonight, but tomorrow morning we must be seen at the Pump Room, you know.”

Actually, Grace knew nothing of the sort, but she nodded for her aunt’s benefit.

Why must they engage in social events here? Couldn’t they simply do their shopping and return to Somerton? Many of Bath’s residents must also be part of the London social circles. Word could too easily reach Father. He’d find her in no time.

Oh, why could they not have stayed in Somerton?

Aunt Dorothea winked at her. “I cannot have you becoming too tired or sickly in the morning, dear. Laurence, you’ll of course join us at the Pump Rooms. After performing our social duty in the morning, we’ll return here for luncheon, and then Gracie, you and I will begin our shopping. Oh, Laurence! You will allow us to use the carriage, won’t you? I should hate to find ourselves caught out in the rain, and if we make a number of purchases, we’ll need a way to return them to the hotel. You are such a dear man, you know.” She patted the back of her husband’s hand with affection. As usual, she plodded along with her solitary conversation without waiting for an answer to any of her myriad questions.

Grace sighed. After the journey to Bath, she desired nothing less than to be seen anywhere in the morning or to shop in the afternoon. But what could be done about it?

The shopping excursion was Aunt Dorothea’s entire purpose for making the trip. Grace resigned herself to humor her aunt and prayed no one would recognize her or know of her father.