A Lesson in Pride (29 page)

A knock on the door had startled Ginny back from her musings. The door opened and in walked Mr. Frommer.

“Lord Montgomery and Mr. Robert Thomas to see you, my lady.”

Already? Ginny was shocked that Grant had worked so quickly. If she'd learned anything about the past, it was that things happened at a much slower pace.

“Show them in, Mr. Frommer. And please order a tray.”

“Yes, my lady.”

A moment later, the two men entered the room looking solemn. Robert moved forward first, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning away. Grant approached next, taking her hand and kissing the back of her fingers. His eyes were shuttered, but Ginny sensed something else from both men.

“What's going on?” she asked without prelude. If there was something to say, let it be said.

Robert continued to stare out the window, while Grant motioned for her to take her seat. Ginny did and watched as he took the seat next to hers.

“It is about your father, Alysanne.”

Blinking, Ginny asked, “What about him?”

Both men remained silent. She couldn't believe that either of them would worry over her sentimentality because when it came to Nigel, she had none. She watched carefully as Grant glanced over at Robert, who continued to stare out the window.

Finally, she asked, “What? Is he dead?”

When she saw Robert turn abruptly, she knew he was. “He's dead?” she asked in disbelief.

Robert finally came over and took a seat across from her. Still, neither offered any information. What was going on? Could it be that bad?

“What? Why aren't either of you speaking?”

Grant cleared his throat. “Your father was very sick, Alysanne. We took him to an asylum yesterday afternoon.”

“And he died there last night?” she asked, still uncertain why everyone was treating her with kid gloves.

“Yes,” Robert stated in a low, monotone voice.

Figuring that she was supposed to be upset over their news, Ginny turned her head down and stared at her lap. “Oh,” was all she said, hoping it would be enough because she had no feeling at all for Nigel. She cared about as much on his passing as she had on his life.

“Robert, perhaps you could take a turn about the gardens for a few minutes while I speak to your sister.”

Ginny glanced up. What was that all about? She hoped she would get the full story.

“Very well,” Robert said and left the room.

Before Ginny could utter a word, a maid walked in with a tray. Ginny went about pouring a cup of coffee for Grant before resuming her seat. She watched as he added his own sugar and cream. When satisfied, he took a sip and placed the cup on the table in front of him.

“Nigel was very sick yesterday when I found your brother.”

“Yes,” Ginny said with all the enthusiasm of someone who just didn't care.

“He was blind, had issues hearing, prone to fits of violence against anyone, and forgetful.”

Ginny considered his words. She wondered if he was in the last stages of syphilis. No, that wasn't right. Could have been a brain tumor. For once, someone got what he deserved. As uncharitable as her thought was, she couldn't help thinking it. The man had sentenced his own daughter to death - a slow, agonizing death.

“I see,” she stated, again with no feeling.

“You have no issue with his death?” Ginny didn't sense any recrimination from the man, more curiosity.

“I'm sorry, but I don't. He was a terrible person. I had wondered for the past year when he would reappear in my life to make trouble. His death, as sad as it may sound, is somewhat of a relief.”

Grant nodded slowly. “Yes, it is. I had often wondered if he would try to blackmail you or I.”

“So why don't you tell me why you sent Robert away. You haven't said a word that he couldn't have heard as well.”

Grant suddenly appeared uncomfortable. “We were taking him to an asylum, Alysanne. Have you any idea what those places are like?”

Nodding, she said, “Yes.”

“He did not die of his disease. Another patient killed him shortly after his arrival.”

Whoa! It was the first reaction Grant could draw from her. Not that she felt sorry for Nigel, but that the establishment had allowed such a thing. Nigel got what he deserved, but what about the next poor fellow?

“Damn. What did they offer as an explanation?” Ginny asked out of curiosity.

“They offered little. Your brother and I had a difficult time extracting even that from them. It is all rather suspicious. They offer to take patients in exchange for the use of their bodies upon death.”

“I doubt the authorities would involve themselves over a charity case. You think they killed him?”

“Perhaps. Or they arranged for him to be placed with someone who would do it for them.”

Again, Ginny cared little about Nigel, but was disgusted for the poor individual who didn't deserve to die because they were physically or mentally ill.

“I don't know what to say,” Ginny answered honestly. “He was a bad man, but I wouldn't want such a fate to fall on everyone.”

“Some good came out of it, though,” Grant stated cryptically, reaching for his cup and taking a sip.

“Oh, and what is that?”

“I have decided that I am not willing to live the way I have for so long.”

Now this was a topic that Ginny could appreciate. After what had happened with Lord Hood, she thought that her only chance of moving on lay with the man sitting next to her. Even with Alysanne still absent from her mind, she wanted Grant. She remembered every moment from their one night together. For a romance novel, there had been very little romance.

“I'm glad to hear it. What will you do?” Striving for bored, Ginny sounded breathless.

“I will marry Persephone. I will make the most of my marriage with her. I will work for her father in some capacity. Mostly, I will not depend on others any longer.”

Her heart dropped suddenly to her feet. He meant to marry Persephone after all. Why not? It wasn't as though the situation had changed really. If he didn't, Malcolm was unlikely to give him a job. They would still have nothing.

Sensing that he was waiting for her to say something, Ginny responded, “That's great, Grant. I know you will make something of yourself.”

His hand reached up and cupped her cheek. “What else can I do?”

She smiled softly. “Nothing. There is nothing else you can do.”

With his hand still on her cheek, he moved closer to her on the couch. His head dipped down and he kissed her. It wasn't much of a kiss, more friendly and comforting than anything else. Still, it brought an unwelcome tear to her eye.

Pulling back and turning her head, she asked, “Have you set a date?”

She heard his sigh. “Yes. May 9th. The announcement was made weeks ago and the banns were read.”

“Will you be married in London?” Ginny hoped he would say no. She hoped he would tell her that they were to travel somewhere far and she wouldn't be expected to come. The story was slipping away from her and she was powerless to stop it.

“Yes. My father refuses to travel during the Season.”

Dammit! Closing her eyes, Ginny tried to picture a time during this whole damn story when something had gone right for her. Taking a deep breath, she opened her eyes and sucked it up.

“I will try to be happy for you, Grant. Truly I will.”

He gave her a short nod, cleared his throat, and said, “I went to see Malcolm this morning with Robert. A position has been arranged for him. Your brother will stay with me until he has received a few paychecks and can consider finding his own place to live.”

It was exactly what Ginny needed to hear to clear out the maudlin thoughts. How dare he take over? Hadn't he pooh-poohed her idea?

“You brought Robert to see Malcolm?”

“Yes. After returning to the asylum and learning Nigel's fate, I thought it a good idea to get Robert set up. He needs to move forward or he may just end up like your father.”

Okay, that was a good point, but it still chafed her something awful. “Fine,” was all she said.

“Alysanne, Robert knows it was your idea. He is very appreciative that anyone is willing to give him an opportunity.”

Ginny nodded, but remained silent. She should be happy that everyone else was getting their happy ending. She should be freaking ecstatic. She, of course, wasn't. While everyone else moved on, she would be stuck in the same damn place. Only she would have to suffer it in someone else's body. The enormity of her situation came crashing down around her head.

“Would you see yourself and Robert out?” she heard herself asking. “I am not feeling well. I think I'll go lay down.”

She didn't wait for his reply. Instead, she rose and quickly left the room. She had been in some crazy situations. She had battled pirates in the Caribbean and rescued damsels in distress in the wilds of Wyoming. She had lived the lives of seven women. As scary, thrilling, exhausting as it had been, she never once was this frightened. Even when she was drugged and out of her mind, she was never this terrified. What if she never got home? What if she was stuck being Alysanne until her inevitable passing? All because the man she was meant to be with couldn't afford to marry her. What was she going to do now?

********

Grant sat in his study thinking about Alysanne. Her face had been haunted as she'd run from the room. Thinking to run after her, Grant had been stopped first by the butler, then by Robert. By that time, he knew it was no use. On more than one occasion, he had entered a woman's private domain, but he wouldn't do that to Alysanne.

So, instead, he took Robert home. There would be no funeral for his father, as the only one who would attend was Robert. There was no body, because it was claimed by the asylum. As sad as that was, it was the best for everyone.

Robert settled in fine into Grant's guestroom, a room that as far as Grant could remember had never been used. He would start his new position the following week. Malcolm had insisted Robert take a little time off to mourn his father since he would have no time for anything when he started working for Malcolm.

It pleased Grant to see the young man excited about the proposition. As he would be working for one of Malcolm's shipyards, Robert had been spending his days reading about shipbuilding. Though he wouldn't be a laborer, Robert wanted to learn as much about the process as possible.

Meanwhile, Malcolm had been holding Grant at arm's length. When Grant had broached the topic of learning some trade, his future father-in-law had been less than ecstatic at the idea.

“You will have no need to work. Not with my daughter's dowry,” he had stated in his gruff voice.

“Yes, sir, that is true. I find that I want to, though. I want to ensure that I will never have to depend on anyone again.”

“I did not work all these years to have my grandchildren have to labor with common folk. I want to set a new standard for my family, Lord Grant, and you are the key to that.”

Backing off to give the older man some time to reconsider, Grant was not deterred. If Malcolm would not answer his plea, someone would. He might consider investing Persephone's dowry in the market or opening his own business. Whatever it was, he would do something to take care of his own family.

As he read the morning paper, he heard a loud pounding on his front door. Instead of rising to see what was the matter, Grant waited for his manservant to investigate. Without preamble, his father entered his study looking harried and cross.

What could this be about? Grant wondered as he rose from his chair to greet his father. When Bedford remained silent, Grant became uneasy. His father was rarely at a loss for words.

“What is it?” Grant inquired with no emotion.

“Your brother is dead,” Bedford responded without emotion.

Grant felt like he'd been punched in the gut. “What? When?”

“Both he and Alexandra were killed when their carriage crashed outside of London. Your brother was escorting his wife to Westbury for her confinement. That is all I know at the moment.”

With his legs turning to jelly, Grant sat down hard on the chair he previously vacated. His brother, Reginald, was dead. They had never been close, with almost ten years difference in their ages. He was off to school by the time Grant could walk. They'd had very different lives. Reginald as the heir and Grant as the back-up. With Reginald gone, that meant only one thing.

“The girls?” Grant asked, referring to Reginald's daughters.

“They had been sent ahead. They are, as far as I know, just fine.”

“Alexandra. The baby?”

“Gone.”

“Dear God.”

Bedford gave his son a hard look. “God had nothing to do with this. If such a creature existed, he would have spared my son.”

Grant almost laughed. Even in the face of terrible family tragedy, the old man still believed unequivocally in his own superiority. The familiarity actually gave him comfort.

“You know, of course, what this means,” Bedford stated, as he walked to Grant's sidebar and poured himself a generous measure of whiskey.