Uncle Laurence’s carriage rolled to a stop before Chatham House late that afternoon. The house was as gloomy as ever, with cracked paint on the hanging shutters and the gardens overgrown with weeds and brush. Grace had no desire to step through the door.

She moved cautiously along the cobbled path with its broken stones, her aunt and uncle by her side. Uncle Laurence rapped against the dingy door. They waited for Father’s old butler to answer.

How odd it was, to wait outside the house where she had grown up as though she were a guest. But Grace had come to think of New Hill Cottage as home now, and would prefer to keep things that way. Chatham House would never provide her with the warmth and love she had come to know—even to crave—in Somerton. It couldn’t, after all, give what it didn’t have.

But she would survive.

After several minutes passed, the butler arrived and opened the door for them. “Good evening. May I help you?” He looked down at them across a long nose, showing no recognition of Grace.

Uncle Laurence passed him his calling card. “We’re here to see Lord Chatham. He’s requested our presence. Please inform him of our arrival.”

The butler appeared surprised and refused to take the calling card from Uncle Laurence’s hand. “His lordship is away from home.” The man moved back a step and took the door as though he would shut it in their faces.

Uncle Laurence stopped his motion by placing his forearm firmly against the dusty panel. “When do you expect his return?” He attempted to move inside the house.

The elderly butler blocked his entry. “I could not say.” His tone implied he wouldn’t say even if he could.

“Might we come inside and have a spot of tea while we wait? Our journey has been long, and the ladies would like to relax.” Uncle Laurence spoke with an authority in his voice, more giving a command than a request. Grace imagined he was unaccustomed to being treated in such a manner by a mere servant, no matter who the servant’s employer may be.

Her father’s butler continued to stare with insolence at their small party. “You may not. I do not know when Lord Chatham will return, and I cannot allow you entry until he informs me that he wishes to see you.” The aging man took a full step backward through the doorway and returned to the sanctuary of the house. “Good day to you all.” He shut the door in their faces, and the lock bolted into place.

“Well, I never,” Aunt Dorothea said with a huff.

Grace should be insulted by the servant’s impudence, but a wave of elation washed over her instead. The fates had seen fit to grant her at least this tiny reprieve.

“Come along Dorothea, Gracie.” Uncle Laurence led them back to his waiting carriage and waved off the footman. “We’ll stay on Curzon Street and enquire after Chatham’s whereabouts. And if we haven’t found him in a reasonable time, then we’ll return to Somerton.”

“This is quite boorish of him, to order Gracie to return to London and then not even be at home. And that butler! To shut the door in our faces, without even offering us some refreshment. We ought not to bother with the trouble of finding the man. She’s better off with us. We should just return home and take care of her, like we have been.”

“Nevertheless, my dear, Chatham is Gracie’s father and guardian. We don’t have the protection of the authorities on our side. We must do as he asks. Especially if he has already spoken to them about his accusations against us.”

“Well, how long must we wait for him? Two days ought to be more than enough time to find him, I should think. And if he hadn’t turned up by then, we’ll take her back home where she belongs.”

Uncle Laurence sighed. “I cannot promise you we’ll leave again in two days. There’s much we don’t know, Dorothea.” Uncle Laurence rapped against the wall to signal the driver they were settled and ready to leave. The carriage moved forward with a creak and a groan.

Grace’s aunt turned away from him with a loud “Hmph.” She stared out the window, making a point of not looking at her husband.

The next day could not arrive soon enough, as far as Alex was concerned.

When they had arrived at Hardwicke House after the Yardley Court ball, Peter had insisted on allowing Chatham some privacy and time alone. He sent everyone else away, saying they could discuss everything in the morning. How he expected Alex to leave the man be for such a long period of time, when so many questions were left unanswered, he’d never determine.

Morning seemed like an eternity away.

Alex tossed and turned in his bed. He wanted to speak with Chatham again, to ask him again for permission to marry Grace. How could he rest without knowing Grace would finally, truly be his? He was almost there. But not quite.

By the time the sun began its ascent, Alex hadn’t slept a wink. He tossed back the bedcovers and pounced from the bed. He didn’t bother to dress before leaving his chamber and heading to the breakfast room. Peter had better be there already, if he knew what was best for him. In his hurry to start the day, he nearly flew past the footman who stood before the door to the breakfast room. The doors clanged open and he stalked inside.

To find nothing. A few servants worked to set the table, but no one else was present.

Alex was tempted to hunt down the marquess himself and get things started without Peter. But he didn’t know which guest room Chatham would be in, and more likely than not, Peter would have forbidden the servants to inform him or anyone else. Damn the man and his sense of decency and propriety. He would have to hunt through Hardwicke House one room at a time to find the damned man.

Since he couldn’t accost the marquess, Alex decided he may as well begin with his brother. The footman outside the door to the ducal chamber tried to block his progress, but Alex’s determination won. He forced his way inside and slammed the door behind him.

“What in the name of Christ are you doing, Alex?” Peter asked. “The sun isn’t even fully in the sky and you’re pounding your way into my chamber. My private chamber, I might remind you.”

Alex swept open the curtains and allowed the rising sun to blind Peter, who pulled a pillow from behind his head and placed it over his eyes.

“It is morning. We need to speak with Chatham.” Why was the world moving so damnably slow today, just when he wanted life to move at its normal, entirely-too-fast pace?

“I doubt he’s out of bed yet either.” Peter’s voice was muffled somewhat by the pillow. “Let the man get some sleep. I spoke with him briefly last night before I retired. He’s not gone anywhere, I assure you. It can wait.”

“It can’t wait. I can’t wait. Get up.”

Alex pulled the blankets from the bed with one hand, and grabbed hold of Peter’s ankle with the other, giving a hard yank. Peter fell from the bed and landed on his derrière with a loud thwack, the pillow still firm against his eyes.

“You arse.” Peter reached out with one leg and knocked Alex to the floor.

“Ow!” Alex rubbed his elbow where it had smacked hard against the Parquet. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“You did.”

“Apologies. But will you please get up so we can begin the day?”

Peter glared in response. After long moments, he stood and neatly replaced the pillow and blankets on the bed. He tucked and fluffed and did any number of other tasks that were unnecessary for a man to perform himself when he had more servants at his beck and call than he ought to know what to do with. “Go and eat your breakfast. I’ll be along in due time. I have more important matters to see to than your impatience.”

Placing his pillows on the bed just so was more important than Alex’s future? Than the fate of his future bride? Than seeing to it that Chatham answered to everything that needed an answer? Alex mumbled under his breath something similar to I’ll shove my breakfast down your throat, which earned him another ducal glare, but he stood and moved toward the door.

“And Alex?” Peter asked, looking over his shoulder. “Don’t wake anyone else in this manner or I’ll have your hide. Everything will be handled today in an orderly manner. Chatham is now a guest in my home. You would do well to remember that.”

Alex nodded in lieu of a response and returned to the breakfast room. After his lack of sleep, and then a raucous morning with Peter, he was ravenous. However hungry he may be, though, nothing could quell his desire to speak with Grace’s father. He needed to know. He must hear the words.

He pushed down the urge to search the whole bloody house for the only man who could calm his nerves, then he sat at the breakfast table with a heaping plate of food. Alex could wait. He could bide his time. After all, with Barrow essentially out of the picture, Chatham must see the benefits of an alliance with the Hardwicke family.

Alex couldn’t conceive how the marquess would refuse his suit now.

A messenger knocked at the door to their hotel room as Grace settled down to luncheon with her aunt and uncle. Uncle Laurence answered the door. “My lord, Chatham was seen last night at the ball at Yardley Court,” the messenger said. “He’s not returned home since.”

“Is there any news of where he might be?”

“None, my lord.” The messenger shifted from one foot to the other and scanned the room over again.

“Who was he seen with at the ball?”

“Lord Barrow. Possibly some others. My source was not clear on that matter.”

Grace’s stomach dropped. Her father was speaking with Barrow last night. Barrow was back in the country.

In London.

Here.

Her teacup rattled against the saucer in her hands, so she placed them on the table before her. Aunt Dorothea looked at her inquisitively, so she tried to resume her calm, serene demeanor.

Uncle Laurence cleared his throat. “I need more information. Find out if he left with Barrow, and force your source to tell you who else the marquess may have spoken with at the ball. It’s imperative.” He passed some coins into the man’s hands, then closed the door. Her uncle moved back into the parlor and resumed his seat. “Well, we should know more soon.”

“Laurence, I…” Aunt Dorothea said, her usual garrulous constancy missing. “Should we not return to Somerton? Lord Chatham can come there to collect Gracie, if he wishes to keep a closer eye on her. There’s no reason we ought to be here now, waiting on the man to appear. If he can’t face us himself with his accusations, surely he realizes he has no footing with them.” She blanched, and her voice verged on desperation.

“I’m sorry dear. I know this is difficult for you. But we’ve traveled here, and so we’ll wait.” He squeezed her hand. “Give the man a chance. Perhaps he’s changed.”

Grace turned her head away so they wouldn’t see her reaction. She brushed away the single tear that fell from her eye. No, Father hadn’t changed. If he met last night with Barrow, Grace would soon be married. But not to Lord Alexander.

Alex was fit to be tied.

The entire morning had passed, and still Peter allowed the marquess to remain locked away in his chamber. Nothing could be solved without at least conversing with the man, so why hesitate?

His family sat around him in the dining room, preparing for luncheon. Derek and Sir Jonas had also joined the family, as they often did while in London, and Gil had even ventured out from the privacy of his chamber for some company. Gil sat next to Sir Jonas, and they were having a quiet discussion amongst themselves. Conversation sprinkled about the room, with delighted mirth emanating from his sisters as Sophie filled Char in on all the details from the ball the previous evening.

And Alex seethed. Heat rose from his head until it had to be visible to the rest of his family, with little trails of steam trailing upward to the ceiling.

“Lord Leith created quite the little bit of gossip last night when he danced three sets will Miss Faulkner,” Sophie gushed to Char, whose eyes widened to saucers. “She swears to me that he’s practically a brother to her and there’s nothing there, so there’s no reason for anyone to talk. But I’m not so sure…”

“She’s already well on the shelf, so I don’t know why anyone would gossip about her anyway,” Charlotte said. “She’s far longer in the tooth than you.”

“Charlotte,” Mama warned with narrowed eyes.

“It’s true,” Charlotte muttered.

Sophie raised a brow. “Miss Faulkner and Lord Leith dancing three sets in a night is no more scandalous than it would be for me and Lord Sinclaire to dance three sets in a night.”

Derek hastily looked away from her, feigning interest in a gilded rococo plasterwork design on the far wall.

“Does that mean this has happened?” Alex growled. Derek may well be his closest friend, but he wouldn’t stand for such behavior with his sister.

“It doesn’t matter one whit if it has,” Sophie replied and kicked Alex beneath the table.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed, glaring.

“Let her go,” Peter said. “Don’t take your anger out on your sister. For that matter, it’s high time you quit your brood.”

“Quit my brood,” Alex ground out. “I’ll quit brooding when there’s good reason to quit. Not before.”

Derek stifled a laugh, but then quickly sobered.

“And what do you find so funny?” Alex’s belligerence threatened to explode. “Maybe you should leave.”

“Alex!” Sophie said. “Lord Sinclaire is practically family. You ought not to treat him so.”

“Why not? You just kicked me beneath the table. And apparently he’s been dragging your reputation through the mud while I’ve been away. I haven’t laid a hand on the insolent bastard, although if he does not remove the grin from his face in the next moment or two I’ll see to it he has no reason to smile.”

Mama raised her hand for peace. “Children, if you do not start behaving as the adults you seem to believe you are, I’ll send you all to the nursery and let Mrs. Pratt deal with the lot of you.” She turned to their guests. “I apologize. It seems my offspring have forgotten their manners.”

As the footmen entered to serve luncheon, Chatham came through the opposite door. “I apologize for my tardy arrival, Your Grace.” He executed a miniscule bow first to Mama and then to Peter.

Peter stood to greet him. “There’s no need for an apology. Please, join us.” He indicated a chair between Derek and the dowager. Silence prevailed as Chatham joined the table. The sibling squabbles disappeared as though forgotten.

A twitch formed behind Alex’s eye. He filled his plate and tried to eat, but his appetite had fled. He should wait to speak with Chatham. It would be an improper conversation to have with his entire family present. And if negotiations turned south, he didn’t want Mama or his sisters to hear the foul language which might spew from his lips. They deserved his respect.

He didn’t heed his own advice. “Lord Chatham,” he said, “I understand why you rejected my suit toward your daughter yesterday, but would you not agree circumstances have changed in my favor?”

He could kick himself.

He needn’t bother. Sophie took care of that for him. He winced in pain. She hit the exact same spot as earlier. He leveled another glare at her across the table, and her eyes issued a threat of more violence.

Chatham chewed and swallowed, then took a drink before speaking. “How so? You are aren’t suddenly titled. You have no property. How are you more suitable today?”

“I referred to the situation with Lord Barrow more than to my own position. Surely a connection to the Hardwicke family, to the Duke of Somerton, would prove desirable. Besides, any further association with Barrow would only open you up to investigation as well.”

“Bah. I’ll find some other man for her. She’s a prize, you know. Nonetheless—” He stopped himself and looked around for a moment. “I apologize, there are ladies present. I assume you know to what I refer and I don’t need to speak the words out loud.” He took another bite of his pheasant and didn’t bother to swallow before he continued. “There’s no reason for me to entertain your pursuit.”

Gil tried to speak but coughed instead. Once the fit subsided, he said, “Lord Chatham, you might wish to reconsider.” He paused to catch his breath. “Lord Alexander will not be without property for much longer. He’ll inherit my estate in Somerton upon my death.” Another bout of coughing overtook him. He held a handkerchief to his mouth, which came away bloody when the coughs ceased. “As you can see, that won’t be too far in the future. One of your complaints against Lord Alexander is now baseless.”

Chatham passed Alex a squinty-eyed look. “He has no title. And he won’t also inherit a title in addition to your property when you pass, will he?” The marquess laughed at his crude joke, but soon sobered.

Alex’s heart sunk to his toes. He had been sure Chatham would acquiesce after the situation last night. But he hadn’t given the man enough credit for cruelty. He turned away in dejection and wished he could leave the room. Why had he ever brought the subject up in front of his family and friends? This was his problem, not theirs.

Peter interrupted his thoughts. “Lord Chatham, I would ask you to reconsider your decision.” His voice was soft, controlled. Cold.

Alex’s head jerked around. He couldn’t sit idly by, yet again, and allow his eldest brother to rush in and save the day. Peter spoke over him before he could say as much.

“Under the current circumstances, wouldn’t it be wise to align yourself with a family the Regent respects and trusts? Suspicion of treason is not a matter to take lightly.” Peter stroked his chin with his right hand. “He hasn’t brought you in for questioning yet, but that could change. Your character is already in question based on your prior associations with Barrow and your desire for a connection with him. Otherwise, the Regent would not have requested that I keep an eye on you.” He leaned forward and stared straight into Chatham’s eyes. “A marriage between your daughter and my brother might actually save you.”

Chatham slammed his glass against the table, sloshing the liquid over the sides and onto the pristine cloth. “But he has no title!”

Alex shoved his chair away from the table. “So a title means more than your reputation? Your freedom?” He paced through the room. “More than Grace’s reputation or happiness?”

“And you think you can make my daughter happy, is that it? You think you know better than I do what is best for her?”

“Yes, I do. You’ve ignored her for far too long.”

“I have done the best I could for her.” His chin quivered. “When the scandal broke out, I ordered her to stay put in her chamber, so she wouldn’t have to face society in her shame. But then her aunt and uncle came along and stole her right out from under my nose, stole her from my house!”

“If the Kensingtons took her from you as you claim,” Peter interjected, his voice steely, “then why did you not make such an accusation last night before the gentlemen from Bow Street? I asked them about it when I met with them yesterday afternoon. They have received no such report. It would have been a perfect opportunity to level your charge. Of course, one would think such a charge ought to have been reported long ago.”

“Why, well…er, they were occupied with dealing with the traitor!”

“And you have not reported it before now because…?”

“Because I had hoped to bribe them to return her through a ransom from Barrow, if you must know. He was going to pay for her return, since she carried his child. Now I have no idea how I’ll convince them to return her without bringing in the authorities. I had hoped to keep it all quiet, so they would not suffer more than necessary.”

Alex burned to rip the bastard’s head from his shoulders. “They never kidnapped her, and you know it. And she has been far better off in their care than she would ever be with you, or with Barrow.”

“Better with the Kensingtons, has she been? Then how, pray tell, did you get your greedy paws on her? What sort of chaperones have they been for her? But what more could I expect from the whore, than she would throw herself at the first young buck who caught her eye?”

Alex flew across the room and grabbed Chatham by the throat, pulling him up from his seat. “You will not call Grace a whore in my presence.” His words were controlled, even if his actions were not. “And you will apologize immediately to my mother and sisters for using such foul language in their presence.”

Chatham gasped for air, and his face turned a dangerous shade of blue.

He wanted to break the man’s neck. He wanted to hear the bones snap beneath his hands.

Derek placed a hand on Alex’s arm and gave a firm tug. “Let him go. He can’t apologize if you refuse to let him breathe. Let go.”

He loosened his grip and backed away. The marquess placed his own hands where Alex’s had just been and rubbed while he tried to catch his breath, falling to the floor in his efforts to do so.

Alex looked around the room at his family and friends and winced at the expressions he saw: shock, sadness, a touch of fear. And pity.

He couldn’t handle the pity.

Alex took one more look at Chatham where he was crumpled on the floor, still rubbing against his neck. Then he left.

He needed air.

He needed to cool off and look at the situation with fresh eyes.

He needed to get foxed. No…

He needed Grace.