“My lord, a missive has just arrived.” Mason bowed low to Uncle Laurence and passed him the letter on a silver salver.

Grace glanced over from her seat huddled beneath the quilt she was working on near the hearth. The wax seal belonged to her father. She fought the desire to run to his side and rip the paper from his hands. Another urge, just as strong as the first, rose in her chest—to run away. He must have heard by now about the Pump Rooms. She ought to have left before now, gone somewhere to the north, or perhaps to Ireland. She should have left the sanctuary of her aunt and uncle’s home well before now—gone somewhere he couldn’t find her.

At least he wasn’t there in person. She still had time. She immediately began plotting her escape, how she would leave them, where she would go. Maybe she could convince Tess to help. No—that was too big a risk. She must do this without anyone knowing.

Uncle Laurence looked at his wife for a moment before he broke the seal and read the letter’s contents. His expression soured and he walked to the fire, tossing the parchment into the flames with a faint growl.

Grace had never seen her uncle in so foul a mood. “Uncle?” Her voice trembled, but she pressed on. “Uncle Laurence, what did Father write?” She couldn’t decide whether her curiosity about the letter’s contents outweighed her desire to pretend the letter did not exist. But she had to learn what he had said. He’d found her, after all. She needed to know his plans. Straightening her posture, she leaned forward to await her uncle’s response.

“Gracie, you are to return immediately to London. His lordship finds your aunt and me remiss in our responsibilities to you—”

Aunt Dorothea bristled at the insult.

“And therefore we shall all go to London where your father can oversee our efforts to protect you from the shame you brought upon yourself.”

Her aunt interrupted, all righteous indignation. “Why, that insolent man. We have been remiss in our responsibilities to Gracie? What of himself? The bloody—”

“Dorothea,” Uncle Laurence chided.

She turned her glare on her husband and scowled. “The bloody man must be well deep in his cups, if he is under the mistaken impression he’s done anything right by our Gracie, ever once in his bloody life. Why, I never!” She moved to Grace’s side and ran a hand over her hair. “And to order us to London! Laurence, he has no authority to order us about.”

“Apparently, we’ve been accused of kidnapping her out from beneath his nose. We’re to face the authorities on these charges.”

The authorities? Kidnapping? Oh dear, what a monstrous mess she’d made. Now she couldn’t run away. She had to do whatever she could to clear the names of her aunt and uncle—the people who had sheltered and protected her, who had shown her love for the first time in her life. She couldn’t repay them by running.

“What? How ridiculous can the man be?” Aunt Dorothea folded her arms over her chest.

Uncle Laurence paced before the hearth. “Despite the absurdity of his claims, we have no alternative. We must take Grace to London.”

“But couldn’t you go and clear these lies on your own? I see no reason for Gracie and me to be subjected to such an ordeal.” Her aunt sat down again and ripped at the threads hanging from her embroidery project with a fierceness she rarely displayed. “Or even better, we could ask the local magistrate to come here to ascertain the truth. The London authorities should have no reason to doubt the magistrate’s word.”

“Whether you and I go or not, Gracie must go. Chatham is still her father, despite our wishes. He is her guardian. He has the right to do with her as he wishes, until she reaches her majority. Would you send her to London alone, then? Should she suffer through her confinement in that prison of a house? Who would care for her, if not the two of us, Dorothea?”

Ferocity radiated from Aunt Dorothea as her husband’s words sunk in.

Love for her aunt and uncle surged through Grace for their loyalty and protectiveness. But she couldn’t suffer the thought of them leaving their home on her account, no matter how necessary they may deem it.

But then her thoughts turned to another matter. “Uncle,” she said timidly, “did my father mention the Earl of Barrow?” She feared the answer.

He reached forward to clasp her hand as he responded. “Yes, I’m afraid he did.”

Several moments passed in silence.

“You’re to marry as soon as the arrangements have been settled.”

Good God. She would marry Lord Barrow. She would be his countess. Grace tried to settle her mind, with little success. It shouldn’t surprise her. She’d known before she left London that would be her fate, should she stay.

But he ravished me.

Grace placed a hand against the slight swell caused by his atrocious deed, the swell that proved the existence of her baby. Of Barrow’s baby.

What kind of father will he be?

Would he force her and her child to stay locked inside his home, much as her father had done for so many years? Would he strike the child? She couldn’t tolerate the thought of any harm coming to her babe, but what could she do to stop it? As an unmarried woman, she had no rights. She would have fewer still once she married.

Her child would never know a father’s love.

She needed to get outside, to clear her mind. She wrapped the quilt about her shoulders for protection against the cold outdoors. There must be a way out of this mess—she need only discover it.

“Gracie, are you quite alright?” her aunt asked, concern obvious in her tone. Grace walked to the door without answering. “Love, where are you going? Laurence, go fetch her pelisse. She’ll surely catch a chill. Oh, lud.”

Grace kept walking, oblivious to her aunt’s distress. She needed fresh air, the wind on her cheeks, and some space to think. A footman stationed in the front hall opened the door before she walked straight through it.

Lost in thought, she wandered down the lane and away from the cottage, unaware of her surroundings and with no destination in mind. The bitter winds tore through her makeshift shawl, but she ignored the bite.

She didn’t want to go back to London. Grace had settled in to her new life in Somerton and had finally found contentment. For the first time since her mother’s death, she had people who cared for her, people for whom she cared. But how could she stay put? Her father was still her guardian, no matter either of their wishes on the matter. He could do with her as he wished.

Obviously, Father had concocted some sort of scheme involving this idea of her kidnapping. If only she could determine how Father would benefit from it, then she could discover a way out. Did Barrow know of their child? And how would Father be able to use that information to his advantage? Oh, blast it, why had she ever told Father about the baby to begin with? She should have simply left. This would all be so much easier if he didn’t know.

She dreaded this impending marriage, but there was no escape. She could try to leave her aunt and uncle, but she doubted they would make such an escape easy for her at this point. And besides, where would she go, and how would she take care of the baby? The only real option she could conceive of—a marriage to Lord Alexander—she had tossed aside.

If only things had been different. She might have agreed to marry him and been much happier than her life now looked to be. Lord Alexander would be a good husband, she had no doubt. If she could open up to him, trust him, their life together would be more than tolerable. He might even come to love her someday.

And he would be a good father. He would never have to know that the child in her womb was not his own—babies often arrived earlier than they were expected.

But Grace had lost that opportunity. She had told him to find someone more suitable.

It had been right for her to do so. She’d done exactly as she ought, even if it wasn’t the best thing for herself. How could she afford the luxury of thinking of herself, at this point? But what of her child? Would the baby not be better loved with Lord Alexander than with Lord Barrow? Alas, the opportunity was lost. She had seen nothing of Lord Alexander since she walked away from him in Bath.

She had walked away from him. She must always remember this. The broken heart she suffered was her own doing. There was nowhere else to place the blame.

Blast, none of this was helping anything. She forced herself to think of her future, the true future awaiting her and not the imagined future she would never experience. Lord Barrow would never make a good husband, nor likely a good father, but she had no choice. If nothing else, marrying him would mean she could keep her child, without toiling away at some job in an unknown place.

It would have to be enough.

She turned back toward the cottage and fought against the bitter wind. Tess would need to start packing again. Grace would help her. That would at least give her something to do, somewhere to focus her thoughts other than on her fears.

Fear could come later.

His breath was ragged as he slammed through the front door of Hardwicke House. Alex had walked home from his visit with Chatham instead of riding in the carriage. The rain had let up, and though it was unseasonably cold for May in London, the temperature didn’t bother him.

He needed to walk off his anger before he returned to his family.

And what a rage he was in. Alex had difficulty remembering a time when he had come so close to losing control so completely. If he hadn’t departed from Chatham House when he did, would have landed himself in prison.

The front door of Hardwicke House crashed to a close behind him, causing paintings and mirrors in the near vicinity to shudder.

Neil Hardwicke, Alex’s younger brother, poked his head around the corner from the breakfast room. His sandy-blond hair with touches of the family red stuck out at ends and his blue eyes were bloodshot. “Keep it down, would you,?” He placed a hand to his temple and rubbed. “A man cannot have any quiet around here,” Neil grumbled under his breath. He squinted against the light pouring through the windows and grimaced.

“I see you’re up before the crack of noon.” Alex gave his brother what he intended to be a playful punch on the shoulder, but instead had a good deal of force and heft behind it. “Sorry. And I see it is after noon, nonetheless.”

He picked up a slice of bacon and popped it in his mouth, then took a seat across from his younger brother—whose plate was filled to spilling over. “Should we have Peter order the fatted calf killed for dinner then?” He gave a pointed look to Neil’s plate in response to the look of confusion he received.

“What in bloody hell are you so chipper about?” Neil stuffed forkfuls of eggs and sausages into his mouth, effectively putting an end to communication beyond grunts, at least for a few minutes.

“Tsk, tsk. Sarcasm is not pretty on you, brother.”

Before Neil could respond, Peter and Gil joined them in the breakfast room. “Good morning, Neil. So kind of you to grace us with your presence. To what do we owe this honor?” Peter then turned to Alex. “And you—will you please refrain in future from closing my front door with so much force I can hear it from the mews? Lord Rotheby and I had just returned, and I thought we must be in Vauxhall for the fireworks display.”

He passed a none-too-subtle glare in the direction of Alex before continuing. “I don’t wish to give my servants more work fixing doors when their time could better be spent in cleaning up after him,” he said, nodding in the direction of Neil, who maintained his previous pace of devouring everything within reach.

Alex sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on your home.”

“I know it.” Peter waited for a moment, allowing him time to consider his actions. “I take this to mean your interview with Chatham did not go as you had hoped?”

“Chatham? Why did you visit with Chatham?” Neil’s mouth gaped open in apparent horror over the revelation, a piece of egg falling to the table.

Peter spared a mind-your-own-matters-we-are-busy-here glance in Neil’s direction before urging Alex, who spared the youngest brother no glance at all, to continue.

“He refused. I don’t have a title. I don’t have any property. Chatham has already promised Grace to Barrow.” He ground out the words, forcing them through his lips. “Barrow is paying for her. He’s buying her like chattel. Chatham might as well have put her up for auction at Tattersall’s, with the way he’s handling this.”

“Did you offer Chatham reasons to reconsider, Alex?” Gil interjected, joining in the conversation for the first time.

“You want to be married?” Neil dropped his fork upon the realization. “And your suit has been rejected by Chatham? Of all the—”

All three of the older men shot Neil a look, and he quieted again.

“I offered to double Barrow’s offer. I offered to pay for her. Good lord, I’m sickened again just from the thought.” He buried his head in his hands for a moment to collect himself. “But that wasn’t the worst of it. He alleges that her aunt and uncle kidnapped her from his home. He’s drawing them up on charges.”

“Preposterous!” Gil’s vigor returned in full force.

Peter rubbed his chin for a moment before he spoke. “That cannot be true, can it?”

He pushed away from the table and strode to the window. “I don’t believe it. Not for a minute. I believe, if anything, she ran away. Frankly, I wouldn’t blame her, after having met the man.” Alex punched the wall, then shook the sting from his fisted hand. “He’s ordered her to return, so she can marry Barrow immediately. I may have lost my chance for her, if I cannot intercept them and rush with her to Gretna Greene. But even still, she’s refused me. I just don’t know what to do.” Her aunt and uncle would assist him in convincing her to accept. Wouldn’t they? “Perhaps I could kidnap her and take her there.”

Neil shook his head with force. “You can’t kidnap her. Not with Chatham already accusing the Kensingtons of having done just that. There has to be another way. Besides, Barrow would be furious. Trust me, you don’t want to anger him if you can avoid it. Keep thinking.”

“But I have to do something. She’s with child.” Bloody hell. Why had he mentioned that? But if he couldn’t tell his family, who could he tell? “I have to protect her, to save her somehow. Damn it, everything keeps getting in the way.”

Several minutes passed with no one speaking. Alex stewed in his anguish, trying to find a way to change the marquess’s mind. He hadn’t intended to fall in love with Grace, but somehow it had happened despite his best intentions. One day he was fine, the next he was head over ears. He needed to know that he could be with her.

Finally, Gil cleared his throat. “There is something I ought to tell you which may be of assistance.” The three younger men faced him, Neil and Alex in confusion, Peter in understanding. “Hmm. How should I begin?” A coughing fit struck him, so they all waited for the earl to recompose himself.

Gil looked straight at Alex. His skin had returned to the greyish pallor after their journey from Bath to London. “I’m dying.” Alex tried to interrupt but stopped upon the emergence of a staying hand from Rotheby. “You already realized that, and don’t pretend otherwise. I’ve been suffering from consumption for more than a year now. The doctors can’t do anything to slow the disease. I don’t have much longer. The business I needed to handle—it had to do with my estates.” Again, Alex started to butt in, and again, Gil raised his hand him. “Most of the estates are entailed and will pass to my grandson. But not all of them.”

Alex questioned his friend with his eyes but stayed silent.

“That’s part of the reason I asked you to visit me. Roundstone Park is not entailed. I purchased it after inheriting the earldom from my father. In my will, it was grouped with all of the rest of my holdings and would fall to Quinton. Until today.

“I changed my will this afternoon. When I die, Roundstone will be yours.” Gil coughed again after his long speech, and Neil passed him a cup of tea. He took a few sips and waited for the spasm to pass. “Talk to Chatham again. Tell him you will soon inherit property. Maybe you can change his mind.”

“I am not so certain it will.” Neil’s sober countenance gave Alex pause. “Chatham doesn’t care about his daughter. Her welfare is not his primary concern. Frankly, if you offered to double Barrow’s offer I’m at a loss as to why he didn’t jump at your offer. Money seems to be his biggest problem, from what I’ve seen of him at White’s. And Barrow is certainly not the type of man anyone of taste would want an association with. Surely Grace’s father—well, I do hope he’s not in line with Barrow. That would not bode well for him, I daresay.”

“But I did propose to double the offer. I would give him more, even, if he would allow me to marry her and then leave us alone.”

Peter had remained silent for most of the conversation, until now. “Then Chatham has some other motive for wanting the alliance with Barrow.” Neil, Alex, and Rotheby turned to him. “I believe the rest of this conversation can wait. Mama will expect us for tea, and then we shall prepare for tonight’s ball. Neil, Mama requested that I remind you she expects your joyful attendance as well.” Neil stifled a groan. Peter sent a gentle smile in the direction of their ailing friend. “I believe she’ll excuse Lord Rotheby, under the circumstances.”

As Peter stood to leave, the others followed suit. Neil and the earl left first, with Neil making a jovial remark about feigning consumption, so Mama would leave him alone and not force him to dance all evening. Peter took hold of Alex’s arm, holding him back.

“Alex, are you certain you don’t love Lady Grace?” He smiled in companionship. “Your reaction to her father’s denial makes me curious.”

“I don’t know anymore.” Did he? Could he love Grace? He knew he wanted what was best for her, what she deserved. And he wanted to protect her. But was that enough for love? He just wasn’t certain.

However, he had a nagging suspicion he was deluding himself.

Peter took his time before he continued. “Tomorrow, you should visit Chatham again. Try to convince him to change his mind, based on the property you will inherit from Lord Rotheby. Perhaps if he sees that you can be a more worthwhile gentleman for him to be aligned with, he will. Allow me to join you. I know you wish to handle all of this on your own, but sometimes, it’s best to let our family assist us.”

“Peter—“

“Don’t ‘Peter’ me. Just allow me to accompany you. I ask no more. I won’t interfere, unless you request my interference.”

Alex frowned before nodding in assent. The Hardwickes stayed together. They always had, and he hoped they always would. If Peter or Neil or Richard were in the same position, he would insist on the same thing. And every single one of them would involve themselves if either of their sisters needed assistance. This didn’t make him any less a man.

“After tea, I have another piece of business I must see to, but I’ll be ready to join everyone for the ball.” Alex needed to see Priscilla and Harry. He had to talk to her, sooner rather than later.

Peter narrowed his eyes at him. “Very well. But don’t be late, or I’ll be forced to take action against you. You will not upset Mama, Alex.”

“I’ll be ready on time. No need to worry about that.”

Side-by-side, they joined the rest of the family for tea. He tried not to think of anything but the coming ball.

But in his mind, a woman with hair of midnight and a pair of ice-blue eyes danced with him. If only he could really dance with her again.

It wasn’t yet dark when he arrived at Priscilla’s house. Vivian ushered him in to the cozy downstairs parlor, where Pris was seated on a sofa beneath a quilt. Harry was nowhere to be found.

“Is he already in bed, then?” Alex moved to give her a brief kiss on the cheek. “I had hoped I’d be able to see him, if only for a moment.”

“It’s better this way. He would be so excited over seeing you, he wouldn’t be able to sleep. I didn’t know to expect you. How are you?” She slid over to make more room for him and patted the seat next to her.

“Not good.” Good God, how could he hash through all of this again?

“Tell me. Let it all out.” She slipped one hand behind his neck and kneaded away his tensions. Priscilla always knew just the right thing to do.

Once he started, the whole story flooded out of him. He lost track of the time as he told her of the woman he loved but couldn’t have—at least not yet.

“So what will you do? If her father won’t grant his permission, how will you take care of her?”

“I haven’t determined that yet. This would all be so much easier if she would agree, at the very least. But taking her out of the country against her will and forcing her to marry me doesn’t seem like the brightest idea. She wouldn’t take that well.” He raked through his hair and stared at nothing. “And even if I do marry her, what of you and Harry? I don’t imagine she would be terribly keen on the idea of setting up a house for you nearby in the country.”

“Your lady doesn’t know of us, then?” Priscilla stiffened, but continued to massage the soreness from his neck. “There’s no need to move us to the country. We can stay here. I believe we could even find someone else to care for us. You needn’t worry.”

“But I do worry. You know I care deeply for you, both of you. Harry—he looks to me as a father.” Alex shook off her hand and walked to the window. “I can’t leave you behind, and I can’t allow you to fend for yourselves.”

“You owe us nothing. Nothing.” Tears filled her eyes. “You’ve done more for us than anyone ever ought to have done, and what’s that gotten you in return? We’ll be fine. Like you said, your new wife wouldn’t take kindly to having us around, I’m certain. We could only cause problems for you in the country. There would be talk. You know there would be talk.”

He punched the wall next to the window. “Who cares about the deuced talk?”

“Lady Grace will care, that’s who. You should, as well, or you aren’t the man I thought you to be.” Priscilla picked her sewing up from the table next to her. She studiously worked at a stitch and ignored him.

“Devil take it,” he muttered under his breath.

“I heard that.” She peeked at him over her notions. “Don’t forget I’m a mother. We hear everything.”

“I apologize. But what would you have me do, Pris? It seems I can’t win. I can neither take you with me, nor leave you behind. So now what?”

“So now you go make this happen. Find a way to marry her. And let me worry about myself and Harry for once.”

“But—”

“But nothing. There’s no more to discuss here.” A determination like he had never before heard from her rang through in her tone.

Alex took a breath. He didn’t know how he should approach this next bit—or even whether he should at all. “There is one other thing—one more piece to this puzzle.” Christ, they hadn’t talked about him in years. He hated to bring back the hurt and pain this would cause, but she needed to know.

“Go on.”

He turned toward her to speak, but hesitated.

“I can handle it. Whatever it is, I can handle it. I’m not as fragile as you’ve always assumed me to be. I won’t break.”

If she had not broken through all she had been through, it must be the truth. He burst forth with it before he could stop himself again. She needed the truth as much as he needed to tell her. “It was Barrow.” Immediately, he wished he could take those three words back.

Tears filled her eyes and ran, unimpeded, in rivulets down her cheeks. “And what will you do about it?” came so softly, he had to strain to hear her words.

“I want to rip the bastard’s head off with my bare hands. I don’t know what to do, Pris. But first you, and now Grace. The bastard should rot for this. He should pay.” The pain in his fist from punching the wall suddenly struck him, and he rubbed his knuckles with his other hand. “I’m sorry for using such language in front of you.”

Priscilla stood gingerly with the aid of the cane next to her and limped to his side. With her free hand, she touched his cheek and then placed a single, chaste kiss in the same place. “You cannot undo what he’s done. And you cannot bear the weight of all of his wrongs. Let it be. He’ll get his due.”

“How can I let it be? Chatham will force Grace to marry the lout.”

“Not if you have anything to say about it. There’s always hope, Alex.”

“Always?” He looked in her eyes, steadfast and unwavering, for comfort.

“Always.”