Page 28 of The Trouble with a Dare

“She’s been very kind, too,” Grace said, feeling a swell of pleasure and pride as she relaxed with her friends in her own drawing room.

Though she was a little concerned that they had not seen the men for hours, they had not heard sounds of riot or pandemonium, so she hoped all was well. Besides, she was too happy to worry overly with Arabella and Florence here. She had feared the simple pleasure of their company would be lost to her when she had discovered herself with child, but Sterling had given it back to her and she wanted to enjoy it to the full now she knew it for the gift it was.

They had admired her home and exclaimed over all her plans for it before they had all kicked off their shoes and curled up on the chairs to talk. Grace explained about the garden, about Sterling’s generosity, and his mother’s animosity, not to mention the new understanding she had with her husband.

Florence looked extremely curious. “So, he is truly courting you? How can that be when you live in the same house and share a bed at night?” Her friend flushed and carried on hurriedly. “I beg your pardon. I ought not to pry. I just assumed that you shared a bed, but you need not….”

Grace laughed, not as embarrassed as she might have expected, for these two women were among her closest friends and she loved and trusted them, plus she rather wanted their advice, both being married now too. “It’s fine, Flo, and yes, we do, but Sterling is very mindful of my feelings. If we did not share a bed, the servants would talk and it would get back to his mother and… oh, you can imagine the gossip. But he does not wish to make me uncomfortable, seeing as we are practically strangers, so he does not come to bed until after I am asleep and leaves before I wake.”

Both Florence and Arabella stared at her, blinking. Grace frowned, uncertain what the problem was.

“Oh, the poor, poor man,” Arabella said, pressing a hand to her heart. “It is dreadfully romantic, and he…. Oh, the lamb.”

Grace stared between them, perplexed.

Florence cleared her throat, asking delicately. “So… So you don’t even know he’s there, he… he has not touched you at all or even… asked to?”

She shook her head.

“Heroic,” Arabella said in awed tones.

Florence nodded gravely. “To think, he has this beautiful creature lying beside him in nothing but her nightrail, like—”

“Aphrodite,” Arabella cut in.

Another nod from Florence. “Yes, exactly. In bed with Aphrodite, and the man does not so much as touch your hand. I doubt he’s had a wink of sleep since the day you married. He must be worn to a thread.”

Arabella sighed and reached for another scone. “Utter torment.”

Grace flushed as she realised what they were implying. Though she was clearly far from innocent—or else she’d not be here at all—it had never occurred to her to believe her husband might suffer torment from her nearness. Though she was aware that she was a pretty girl, her family had never placed much emphasis on her looks, always prizing her achievements, wit, and talents far higher. Perhaps that was why the first handsome man she had met had turned her head so easily by apparently falling for her beauty at first glance. It had made her feel strangely powerful, a beguiling sensation that she swore she would never trust again. Since she had long since realised her lover’s every word had been a lie, she had assumed the words about her apparent beauty were false too. Yet when she had asked Sterling why he would offer for her, he had said it was because he desired her—or at least he had implied it. So why had she never considered that the poor man might be wracked with unfulfilled desire for her? That she might make him miserable by not offering to… to ease his discomfort. Oh, Lord.

“Oh, darling, now we’ve made you uncomfortable,” Arabella fretted, setting down her empty plate and reaching to take Grace’s hand. “Please, don’t pay us any mind. Your husband is clearly a very honourable man, and he is doing right by you. Don’t, I pray, go being anxious, for I am certain that really would worry him. He is giving you time to know each other, to grow to like and perhaps even love one another. That is a gift. Do not throw it back in his face.”

Grace considered this, and then considered what she knew of Arabella and her husband’s courtship, which had been non-existent as Bainbridge had trapped Arabella into marriage.

“But… But you said Bainbridge would not let you delay your wedding night, for he said you would only become increasingly anxious. And you said you were grateful to him for not allowing you to wait, for he was right, and… and it was lovely. You did say that, Arabella,” Grace pressed.

Arabella frowned, her nose wrinkling as she considered. “Oh, drat me and my big mouth. I wish I’d said nothing at all, for now I don’t know how to advise you. It was different for Bainbridge and me, though, Grace, for….”

She broke off and Grace realised what it was she would not say.

“You were innocent,” Grace said, experiencing a flush of shame as they all knew she was not.

“Oh, no,” Arabella cried, her expression horrified. “That is, I was a virgin, yes, but I suspect I was not so very much more innocent than you, darling. You were manipulated, and if ever I discover who the wretch was—”

Grace held up her hand as her throat grew tight and her chest hurt. She would not speak of him.

Arabella let out an unsteady breath. “Well, in any case, that is not the only reason it was different for me.” Her friend flushed a little and picked up her teacup, studying the contents with apparent fascination. Without looking up, she said diffidently, “We could not keep our hands off each other.”

Florence giggled and Arabella bit her lip, glancing up at them before giving a little laugh.

“Oh,” Grace said, considering this, considering the sweet, chaste kiss Sterling had given her and the heat that had bloomed deep in her belly.

Before they could discuss it any further, a distant sound reached their ears and they stilled to listen.

“Is that… singing?” Florence asked.

The sound was getting louder and closer to the house.