Page 3 of His Awful Grace

Mark crossed his arms. “Let me in, fetch me a seat, and I shall wait for her return. I’m not leaving a card for my ownwife.” He took a breath, belatedly realizing he probably shouldn’t harangue servants. “Please.”

The man’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m First Lieutenant Glenfall, husband of Mrs. Ellen Hanson Glenfall.” The rank felt odd to say, especially now he’d left the Navy. Mark drew up to his full height, perhaps an inch taller than the butler. “I shall await my wife inside.” His official rank was First Lieutenant, but because he’d captained a ship by himself, he could also be called Captain.

The butler’s jaw worked, as though thinking through this unexpected problem, but he nodded and opened the door. “Come in, sir.”

Mark nodded in return and stepped into the hall. He blinked, glancing around the sumptuous foyer with bright green wall paint, white marble floor, and porcelain busts of ancestors sitting on tables and displays along the corners. All exactly how he remembered.

“Right this way, sir.” The butler held out his hand for Mark’s hat and gloves. Mark hastily shed them and followed the prickly man to a door on the left. The drawing room, he remembered belatedly as the dark wooden door swung open to navy-blue pinstriped wallpaper and mauve-upholstered furniture. A bold decor choice, but his mother-in-law made it work.

Mark stepped past the upper servant and into the room. Several landscape portraits and photographs lined the walls, and the broad bay windows behind him overlooked the busy street.

The butler hesitated in the doorway, brows drawn together in disapproval. “I’ll send for tea.”

“Thank you.” Tea in London was so much better than tea on his old ship. He’d only been ashore for three weeks, but he didn’t think he’d ever grow used to fresh food again. “Oh, and is my wife actually out, or is she upstairs?”

The man paused, half-turned. “She’s out,” he said stiffly, and walked away.

Mark frowned. He hadn’t expected the butler to like the question, but the tone was...odd. He sat and made himself comfortable, sighing in frustration. In the eight years since he’d left, only a couple of letters had been exchanged. This was not how he’d imagined reacquainting himself with his wife.

First of all, he’d hoped not to see her again at all. Mark couldn’t stand her giggle, and if he had to listen to her prattle on about fripperies again he might shoot someone. She’d embarrassed him enough already.

Secondly, he hadn’t thought he’d bring bad news. His older brother, the Baron of Cottesloe, had suffered a riding accident and would never father children. It was now Mark’s duty to provide heirs for the title—hence his reason for being here now.

His knee bounced, betraying his nerves. He glared at his leg, forcing it to still.It’s just Ellen. She’s not exactly intimidating.But then a memory of her sobbing and yelling at him, hanging over the threshold of their front door, bubbled up from half-forgotten mists.I never want to see you again,she’d spat. Mark grimaced. She was a flighty socialite. She’d surely moved on by now?

Joining the Navy had been an impulsive decision made from fear and embarrassment. But it had probably been for the best. He’d matured, and the space had also given Ellen the freedom to do...whatever she did, without either of them making the other miserable. She’d apparently agreed with the estrangement, based on her lack of correspondence. Now, thankfully, her anger and his embarrassment had settled into the cool indifference so common among Society marriages.

As the large grandfather clock in the corner rang out, a maid came in bearing a silver tea tray. The plump girl with warm brown skin set it on the low table before him, then poured it into a china teacup with painted pink roses.

“Sugar, sir?” Her broad London accent broke the silence.

“Two, please.” Mark watched her. “How long will Mrs. Glenfall be?”

She jerked at the question, nearly sloshing tea from his cup. “Oh, I don’t know, sir.” She sounded breathless. She didn’t like his questions, either.

“When does she normally return?” Surely house calls only lasted a few hours, and it was already mid afternoon.

The maid set the full cup and saucer on the table in front of him within easy reach. “Oh, it depends on where she is, I suppose.” She hurried from the room before he could question her further.

He gritted his teeth. For three weeks he’d helped his older brother, Matthew, and their mother, such as sacking Matthew’s nurse when they discovered her drunk while on duty. He’d had no time to return to his greatest passion, Greek scholarship. He’d also dodged questions from his family about Ellen.

His mother had been theworst,bombarding him with questions about reconciliation with Ellen. Mark had kept putting her off. Then the baroness admitted the news he’d left the Navy was about to slip—and it would set Society tongues wagging. If the gossip reached Ellen before he did, it would only make her less likely to welcome his advances. So he went.

Mark needed to sire an heir, and to do that, he’d have to woo her back, at least enough to hold her nose and do her duty.

So much to do. Mark ignored his shiver of apprehension, sipping the hot drink. He’d been an officer in Her Majesty’s Navy. He’d breathed, eaten, and slept duty for years.It will be fine,he told himself.Stiff upper lip, and it will sort itself.If only he could pass the responsibility of marriage and heirs to his younger brothers. But none of them were options.

He’d have to install her in his home, despite reservations. Mark huffed a laugh at himself. He should never have married Ellen; they were too young and foolish to know better. But because Society marriages were about building financial partnerships, not love, no one had stopped them.

If his father had denied the match, he wouldn’t have been stuck withEllenforever.

If Mark hadn't been so greedy for wealth and status at age twenty, thinking he’d only ever be one of the younger sons, he wouldn’t be stuck with Ellenforever.

If she hadn’t been an utter embarrassment, he wouldn’t bestuckwith her forever.

If Matthew hadn’t been injured, Mark would still be sailing the Atlantic.