He would persuade her to have him. She might think she was committed to this other fellow, but her body told him differently. She would not have kissed him with such innocent yearning if she were in love with someone else.
“You know, you never told me why you came out looking for me,” he said. He sent her a sidelong glance. “I suppose it wasn’t to drag me into the shrubbery?”
He was rewarded—she stopped. She was almost emitting sparks when she turned to face him. Regretfully, they were now in view of the terrace, so he could not do anything more than admire the sight she presented.
“It was not, you clod pole! I came to ask you about my aunt and Papa. Do you know why there is such enmity between our families?”
Perhaps it was fortunate Grace’s back was to the house. She didn’t see her aunt and his uncle slip out the ballroom door. Her aunt didn’t see them either, but Alex did. He paused momentarily and then guided Lady Oxbury in the opposite direction. They disappeared behind an overgrown tree.
“Enmity?” He almost laughed. He’d guess hostility was not the motivation urging those two into the foliage. Good for old Alex.
“Yes. Aunt Kate had such a strong reaction when she saw your uncle, she had to withdraw to the ladies’ retiring room to regain her composure. Do you know what the connection is between them?”
He could guess what the connection was about to be. “I believe my uncle asked your aunt to marry him the last time she was in London.”
Lady Grace gasped. “No! Aunt Kate never mentioned such a thing.”
“Uncle Alex never mentioned it, either, until your aunt entered the ballroom this evening.” Odd. Why hadn’t Alex told him before? They’d certainly got drunk together enough times over the years. And they’d been discussing matrimony—his need for a wife and heir—frequently since he’d inherited the title. It would have been natural to bring up a blighted marriage proposal over a bottle of port.
Had Alex suffered a broken heart? Now that he considered the matter, it was odd his uncle had never married. Alex wasn’t the sort to enjoy casual liaisons—and he was certainly well past his salad days. True, he didn’t have a title to pass on, but he did have his own estate—had had it for years. He should have had a wife and children as well.
Grace’s aunt had married Lord Oxbury…
Dash it, if Lady Oxbury had been cruel to Alex…well, he might have to have a private word with her on that subject.
Lady Grace was shaking her head and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. It quite sent thoughts of Lady Oxbury and Alex from his head.
“How could that be the reason Papa holds all Wiltons in aversion? A marriage proposal is not an insult—unless your uncle is as busy in the bushes as you are.” Grace shot him a most pointed look.
He was willing to bet Uncle Alex was being very busy in the bushes at the moment.
“But an offer would have addressed any question of scandal.” Grace frowned. “Are you certain your uncle did actually offer?”
“Oh, yes. And your father turned him down. He hated Wiltons long before Alex asked for your aunt’s hand.”
“Why? Though if your relatives are all as annoying as you, I quite understand it.”
“Very funny. Did your father never tell you about Lady Harriet, the daughter of the Marquis of Wordham?”
She frowned. “No. Who is she?”
“Was. Who was she.” He smiled slightly. “She was my mother.”
Grace’s expression changed in a blink. The frown vanished; her eyes and mouth softened. She touched his arm lightly. “I’m sorry.”
An odd warmth spread through his chest. Stupid. Grace’s compassion was misplaced. He’d had Grandmamma. She’d probably spent more time with him than his mother would have. By all accounts, both his parents had been headstrong and wild, setting things whirling and tumbling like a windstorm, leaving everyone else to clean up the debris.
He didn’t have Grandmamma any longer, of course. Riverview was empty now.
But it wouldn’t be empty when he married Grace. They would fill it with their children—with their sons and daughters. It would be far livelier then than it had ever been when he was a child.
Grace had to accept him…and reject the man in the country.
He pushed aside the guilt that threaded through his gut at that thought. He needn’t feel guilt. Grace didn’t love the fellow.
And was this how his father had reasoned when he’d planned his elopement, stealing Lady Harriet from Standen?
God, no! He was nothing like Luke Wilton.
Grace was frowning again. “Why would Papa have told me about your mother?”
“Ah…” He would consider any parallels—and there were none—between his father and himself later. He was alone in the garden with a beautiful woman, even if he was only giving her a history lesson now. “Because thirty-one—well, thirty-two years ago, to be precise—my mother jilted your father to run off to Gretna with the notorious Luke Wilton.”
Chapter 4
“I should look for Grace.” Kate sounded more than a little hesitant, as if her heart was not in that particular search. Good. Alex had other plans for their brief time together.
It was markedly cooler outside. A scattering of couples dotted the terrace, but Lady Grace was not among them. Alex glanced off to the left and saw her with David in the garden. Should he tell Kate?
“I take it this is Lady Grace’s first Season?”
Kate sighed. “Yes. She is a bit old for a debutante—well, more than a bit—she’s twenty-five. My brother was planning to marry her off to a neighbor, but his butler’s cousin works in the Oxbury dairy and she told my housekeeper who told me. I couldn’t…I thought I should bring Grace to Town.”
“I see.” Twenty-five? The girl could manage on her own. As could David. Alex had warned him not to hunt that ground, but if David chose to ignore his sage uncle’s advice, so be it. David wouldn’t harm Lady Grace. And Alex had his own concerns to attend to.
He placed Kate’s hand on his arm. Ah! She smelled of lavender just as she had all those years ago, when he was young and believed the future was full of promise, not guilt and regret.
Her fingers trembled slightly, but she didn’t withdraw.
He smiled. Perhaps the future was full of promise. He certainly hadn’t felt this hopeful in a long, long time—since he’d last entered this garden with Kate.
He guided her down the terrace steps and off to the right, toward the little bower they’d found that first Season. Was it still there? It wouldn’t be surprising if it weren’t. Twenty-three years was a long time. The duke—the previous or current titleholder—might well have decided to re-landscape, turning their retreat into a patch of pansies. Or nature’s vagrancies could have made it a barren spot of dirt and twigs and dead leaves.
No, his luck held—the alcove was as verdant as he recalled. “Do you remember this place?”
“Yes.” Kate’s voice wavered ever so slightly. “Of course I do.”
Of course she did. Regret darkened his soul again.
She had been only seventeen—but he had been only twenty-two. A man, yes, but hardly more than a boy. He had still believed honor would prevail and love would conquer all.
He’d been a fool, but what else could he have been? He’d been so damn young.
He should have been like his brother,