Page 3 of The Trouble with a Dare

“Tell us,” he commanded.

“Papa,” she said, her throat thick with anxiety. “I am so very s-sorry. You will be so disappointed in me.”

“Never,” her father said, a thread of anger behind the word. “Never that. Now tell us and we will make it better, whatever it is.”

She looked up into the stern face of the man who had always made it better. Whenever she had fallen and grazed her knee, whenever some fair-weather friend had hurt her feelings, or her brother had finally had enough of her and retaliated until she cried… even when she had been the naughty one, Papa had always picked her up, always made it better, never mind whether she deserved it. Not this time, whispered a voice in her head. Not this time.

“I’m g-going to have a baby.”

“Oh no,” her mother whispered. “Oh… Oh, my love, my Grace.”

Her mother pulled her into her arms and held her tight. Grace clung to her, but could not tear her eyes from her father. He was pale, his stance rigid, as though he’d been carved from stone. Grace waited for his reaction.

“Are you certain?” her mother asked, a desperate note to the question. “Perhaps you are mistaken—”

“There’s no mistake, Mama,” Grace replied dully, wishing with her whole heart it was only that.

“Who?” Papa asked, sounding far too calm.

Grace shook her head. “It does not matter now. He will not marry me and… and I would not have him if he offered.”

“Grace,” he began, his voice thick with concern.

“No. I’m so sorry, Papa.”

Her father closed his eyes, but not before she’d seen the anguish there. He took a deep breath and then held out his arms to her. Grace gave a sob and got to her feet, running into them as she had done as a little girl. She buried her face against his chest and wept as her father’s powerful arms closed about her.

“We’ll protect you,” he promised her, his voice unsteady. “We’ll go away. No one will know—”

“No,” Grace said, pulling back to look up into his familiar face, seeing his determination to do whatever it took to protect her. “No, Papa. It’s…. It is all arranged. I am going to be married.”

Grace felt a gentle hand on her cheek and turned to see her mother standing beside them.

“You said the father would not….”

Grace’s smile was uncertain. “He won’t, but… but someone else will.”

It took some time to explain everything, mostly because Grace found it so hard not to cry, but her parents were as patient and understanding as she had known they would be. It had never been fear of retribution or their anger that had stopped her from confessing, but that they would be so upset for her. They would worry for her and, if she were not perfectly happy, it would break their hearts and that would make her utterly wretched. Papa tried to persuade her to confess who the father was, but Grace refused. Why, she was not entirely sure. Not to protect him, for she certainly had no feelings for him now and would rather the world see him for the devil he was. Perhaps it was to protect her parents from having to see the man in society and know there was nothing they could do. Perhaps it was for her own pride, so they would never know she’d been shallow enough to be dazzled by a handsome face and figure.

“But what do you know of this Oak fellow, Grace?” her father asked, bringing her back to the conversation.

She turned to look at him, seeing his brow creased with worry.

“I know he has offered me a lifeline, Papa,” she said simply. “He will give me a future, a home, a name for my baby. He has promised he will accept it as his own child, and that he will never hurt either of us.”

“What is he like, though?” Mama asked. Grace looked down to where her mother’s hands clasped one of hers, holding it protectively, as if she could shield her daughter from pain, if she only held on tight enough. “What kind of man is he?”

Grace gave a little laugh. “I… I hardly know. He dresses and sounds like a gentleman—well, most of the time—but he does not have an easy manner. He looks rather fierce and does not seem comfortable in company. Mr Oak is not wealthy, but I believe he is comfortably off and has a fine house, and a prosperous farm. Mr Stanhope regards him well, I believe. They are friends as well as neighbours.”

Neither of her parents seemed greatly reassured by this explanation.

“He has been very kind to me,” Grace ventured, which was true. For, though his manner was brusque, and he was brutally forthright, he had been kind in his way.

Her father responded to a knock at the door and the butler appeared.

“There is a Mr Oak here to see you, Lord Rothborn.”

“Show him in, please,” Mama said, before her father could respond.