A Lesson in Pride (13 page)

He'd met the girl by chance at the Summerfield rout. She was the prettiest girl on his list, with golden-blonde hair and stunning green eyes. Persephone had a desirable figure, which he hoped meant that she would produce the next generation quickly and efficiently. It wasn't that he had no desire to bed the girl, but lately Grant had only desired one woman. A woman who was impossibly out of his reach.

The past week he'd pursued the girl with ferocity. They went on rides in the park. He'd taken tea with her insufferable parents. He invited her family to the theater. As Grant's potential new wife, her family had seen an increase in invitations to the best affairs, where he would dance only two dances with the girl to keep things proper.

There hadn't been a day over the past week where he hadn't seen the girl. That was how he began referring to her in his mind: the girl. She was just eighteen, but had obviously blossomed early. His father, who Grant bumped into at White's, had commented on his choice.

“Common girls tend to bloom early and plentifully. It is the reason so many gentleman use them for pleasure.”

Grant had nodded, but otherwise ignored his father. Everyone had his place in the world, his father was fond of reminding him. Commoners were the source of comfort for the aristocracy. They cooked their meals, they cleaned their homes, and most of all, they opened their legs. Bedford was such an ass.

After another week, Grant would be able to propose. His father had given him a family heirloom to give to her. As it was, the whole mess had cost him nothing. His father's lawyer would draw up the marriage contracts. His father's bankers would pay for the ceremony and breakfast. The Hortons would pay for a honeymoon. All Grant had to do was propose and show up to the ceremony. Afterwards, he would be a ridiculously rich man with a pretty wife. All's well that ends well.

So why did he lament his life so much? He never wanted the title, but he had never wanted to work for his pay either. If only his father had been a different person. If only he'd been more generous with both his sons. If only. Shaking his head, Grant would have punched himself if he thought it would disengage him from his dreary mood.

He had to let Alysanne know his plans. For some reason, Grant wanted her to understand. He was terrified that she would be disappointed in him. Another sip of his whiskey told him that his maudlin behavior was unwarranted. Men of his class had to care for themselves and this was the most expedient way to go about it. Alysanne knew that more than anyone else. Her own father had used her to achieve the same end, though Grant would not meet the same end as Nigel.

Rising from his chair, Grant made his way to prepare for the evening's entertainments. He was to attend the Copeland Ball, knowing that his intended would be there as well. There was little doubt that Alysanne would attend. He would get her alone and discuss his plans. She would understand and support him in his effort.

He would not lose her as a friend. The only real friend he had.

Chapter 17

Determined not to let Alysanne rule her mind any longer, Ginny put on her brave face and escorted her stepdaughters to the Copeland Ball. The grand, old mansion, located on the best street in Mayfair, was lit up for the occasion. Expensive, large carriages dropped off the crème de la crème of society.

Ginny felt a calm take over. She hoped it was Alysanne giving up for the night. It had been so long since she was able to just have fun. She had decided to dance with some gentlemen, drink some champagne, and see that her stepdaughters met some nice men. It was the least she could do for herself.

As the night wore on, she did exactly as she'd hoped she would, never once spotting Grant in the crowd. And quite the crowd it was. The man could have been ten steps away from her and she probably wouldn't have noticed. Her stepdaughters were engaged for every dance and Ginny had taken to the floor several times with safe, older men. The last thing she wanted was to encourage some young buck into thinking she was available for quick snuggle in the coatroom.

Toward the end of the evening, a strong hand grabbed her arm and began to lead her out the terrace doors. Looking up in alarm, Ginny saw Grant's familiar face and relaxed. The two made their way to the crowded balcony and found a quiet spot.

“How are you, Grant? You look tired.” Ginny noticed that he also appeared a little gaunt, like he'd been sick. That might explain why she hadn't seen him for a week.

“I am...” Stopping himself, Grant suddenly forgot the entire speech that he'd practiced all night. He had seen Alysanne dancing, but had otherwise avoided her. Miss Horton had come and gone, as her mother was not feeling well. They had danced, but only once.

“You are... happy, sad, confused, hungry, ill. I can come up with more choices if none of those fit.”

Her smile made him brave. “I am to be married.”

Ginny's first thought was, “Why is the floor dropping from under my feet?” Followed closely by, “Does anyone have a spot of cyanide?”

Shaking her head to clear Alysanne out for just a few seconds, Ginny smiled. “I guess that is no surprise. Which girl did you pick?” There, she got out two sentences and didn't throw up on his shoes. Way to go, Ginny!

“Miss Persephone Horton. Her father is richer than all the royal family put together. He is also very protective of his daughter and would never wish her to livethe life of a pauper, as he had in his youth.”

Choking back her bile, Ginny aimed for a contemplative look. “Well, that is good for you. You will never have to work a day in your life.” She winked to soften her insulting statement. As much as Ginny knew that they would still end up together, she had to let him know that it wouldn't be sooner because he didn't want to sully his manicured hands.

“I daresay I deserve that,” he uttered in response, offering no defense to something that had none. “At this point, it seems ridiculous to try and make something out of myself.”

“I have little room to talk.” Ginny was honest about not being much better. Her choices were less, but they still existed. Her biggest worry was making sure that her five unmarried stepdaughters were secure before she did anything truly reckless.

“It matters little, Alysanne. I still wish us to be friends.”

It was what Ginny would want to hear, but she knew it wouldn't satisfy Alysanne. She could just imagine the gruesome thoughts that would invade her mind that evening. She already imagined the girl crying inconsolably in her head.

“Of course we can still be friends. I meant what I said to you a year ago. Why do you think I would abandon you now?”

Grant opened his mouth to be perfectly honest, but stopped short. Did he really want to point out her obvious crush on him? Would he be a cad and embarrass her so? Of course not, so he closed his mouth and shook his head. It bought him a moment to come up with something else.

“I would not have you losing respect for me. I am not proud of having to marry for money.”

“Considering your father, it's not as though you have a choice.”

Grant chuckled, but said nothing else. Instead, he stared out at the dark garden of the Copeland home. It was a beautiful home and he hoped that he would own one himself soon. From what he'd learned about Malcolm Horton, he was all about appearances.

“I should be going back in,” Ginny said, thinking that leaving her stepdaughters was not the best of ideas.

“Please allow me to escort you,” Grant said, holding out his arm in a grand gesture.

Ginny took it, almost frightened of what Alysanne might do next. Would she become hysterical in front of an entire ballroom full of people? Or worse? Ginny was in no mood to imagine what worse could be.

Chapter 18

Charlotte Drake had lived a sheltered life. Her father had banished her to the country, only visiting occasionally. Not that she ever minded. She was, at heart, a country girl, and would love to meet a man who shared her desire for peace and quiet.

The man of her dreams must also have the means to care for any of her sisters who might not get married. It was a burden she'd carried with her since she was a small girl. Her second eldest sister, Felicity, was married and living in Scotland. She never corresponded with any of her sisters. It was as if once she'd escaped, she never wanted to revisit the life she'd had under Drake's rule. Then there was Vivianne. Not that Charlotte would ever enjoy another's misery, it was said that her eldest sister had no offers of marriage in her three seasons. It finally came down to Drake paying off Mr. Lester, an old and deaf man.

Needless to say, even though Vivianne was in a position to help her siblings, she would most likely not do so. The woman spewed venom much like their dead father had for most of his life. On the few occasions that Vivianne had visited them in the country, she had been bitter and unpleasant. Thankfully, like their father, her visits were few and brief.

After Charlotte's stepmother had died, she realized that no one would care if she and her sisters lived or died. It was up to her to be a constant presence for her sisters. She had lived up to that ideal so far and had no reason to stop.

Now, she had to find a man who would understand her need to live near her sisters. In her fantasies, he would come to love her sisters as she did, desiring to care and protect them. When their time came, he would help them to find quality men that they could fall in love with and have families of their own.

In her dreams, this man was tall, with light-colored hair and sparkling blue eyes. He never spoke a cross word and worked hard. Perhaps he would have a large family. If his mother still lived, she would be kind and take Charlotte under her wing. Treat her as a daughter of her own, showing her all the skills she'd need to make her husband happy. The perfection of it all made her sigh out loud as she danced with a man who would never fit her bill.

When her partner returned her to her stepmother's side, he bowed awkwardly and moved away. She didn't think he spoke above three sentences to her during the entire set. He was so shy, Charlotte couldn't even remember his name. Instead of wasting time trying to remember, she looked down at her dance card to see whom she was to dance with next.

Before she could ascertain the name scribbled on her card, the man approached her. Looking up, she knew instantly that he would never appeal to her either. The man was tall, to be sure, but he was dark haired, with an olive complexion. She guessed that he had some French or Italian blood in his veins, which would never do. The last thing she wanted was a man of great passions. Unless those passions tended toward reading, it simply would never work.

“Good evening, Miss Drake.”

His voice was a deep baritone, sending strange shivers along her spine. He had a strong face, but his eyes were brown. How could she ever love a brown-eyed man? He was so far from her imaginary lover, but he was also on her dance card. She could barely remember him signing it, as she'd been inundated from the moment she and her sister walked into the ballroom.

For the life of her, she couldn't remember his name either. How embarrassing to have to ask him again. They must have been introduced or she would never have allowed him to sign her card. Before she could utter a word, Alysanne saved her.

“Good evening,” Alysanne said with a kind smile on her face. “I don't believe we've been introduced.” Holding out her hand, the tall gentleman grabbed it and bowed over it.

“Good evening, miss. My name is Braydon Pierce.”

“How do you do, Mr. Pierce? I am Alysanne Drake, and this is my stepdaughter Charlotte.”

“Miss Drake and I were introduced earlier. I get the feeling that I got lost in the crowd of men vying for her attention.”

Upon hearing this, Charlotte hoped to erase his doubts. “Oh, my, no, Mr. Pierce. I admit to being overwhelmed this evening, but I do remember our introduction.”

Braydon knew he shouldn't tease her, especially since she was the prettiest girl in the room, and he had been patiently biding his time until their dance, but he found he couldn't resist. “So you remember our conversation?”

Stumbling, Charlotte answered, “Of course.”

“Most ladies think very little of my choice in occupations. I would be interested to know what you think, Miss Drake.”

He watched her face closely as she struggled to remember what he did for a living. It was a strange occurrence that he was even attending such an event. Though born a gentleman, he was hardly as high up in the ranks to warrant an invitation to such a lofty party. He was here only on the kindness of his benefactor, Viscount Westly.

“Well... I am not entirely...”

When he saw her flush with embarrassment, he set to make things right. Turning back to Alysanne, he stated, “I am an agriculturalist, Miss Drake. I am currently working for Lord Westly. Otherwise, I teach at the university.”

Ginny looked from Mr. Pierce to her stepdaughter and saw that the girl was mortified. In an effort to give her stepdaughter more time to compose herself, Ginny went about setting the man straight.

“Mr. Pierce, I am Lady Essex, the dowager countess. I was married to Miss Drake's father for a short time last year.”

Now it was Braydon's turn to look mortified. He'd spent most of his life in the country, only leaving his father's estate to go to school himself. He'd spent most of his time with his nose in books, never paying much attention to DeBrett's Peerage or the gossip of who married whom. Instead, he was more interested in making crops grow better despite the weather and preventing large crop losses to disease or insects.