Page 38 of The Trouble with a Dare

Her eyes gleamed with mischief, like moonlight breaking through the clouds, making his breath catch in his throat.

“I’d be pleased to,” he said, staring at her in wonder.

She turned back to the fox and stroked a finger down its back. Though she had bent her head, he felt she was smiling, and the knowledge warmed him.

“I’d best get washed up for dinner, or Mrs Gladwish will be after us,” he said reluctantly.

She nodded and, though he wanted to stay in her company and watch her brush out her hair and ready herself with her combs and her pins, he forced himself to leave the room. That was not his right yet… but it would be, he promised himself.

Before too long, it would be.

Chapter 13

Monsieur Le Comte,

Do not think I have forgiven you for beating me so soundly at both cards and chess. I am determined to improve my skills so I may beat you in return one fine day and then I shall laugh. Ha! I wonder you could concentrate with almost the entirety of the other—female— guests making sheep’s eyes at you all evening.

All except Mrs Davies, that lovely widow who ignored you so studiously, which leads me to suspect she is your latest paramour. Did I guess correctly? If so, do have a care. The last I heard she was under the protection of Lord Askelby. He is not a man to cross, my friend, and would make a formidable enemy. Perhaps choose another inamorata who is less likely to lead to bloodshed. You are too young and pretty to die.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Evie Knight (daughter of Lady Helena and Mr Gabriel Knight) to Louis César de Montluc, the Comte de Villen.

15th of September 1839, Thistley House Farm, Sussex.

Grace turned the handsome embossed invitation in her hands and bit her lip. It was a conundrum. On the one hand, she very much wanted to attend Florence’s first dinner party. Many of her friends would be there, and she longed to see them. Sterling, however, might not be so happy about it. Whilst she did not doubt he would take her with every outwards show of pleasure, she did not wish for him to be uncomfortable. Though he had become friends of a sort with Bainbridge, there would not be any strong beer to ease the way through any awkwardness with the other guests. Worse, she wished nothing to risk undoing the progress they had made. Though that progress felt increasingly like two steps forward and one step back.

Sterling was as kind and attentive as always, more so even, so careful was he to ensure her happiness. Too careful. He kept a respectful distance and never so much as touched her hand and she ought not be so wretchedly frustrated by the fact, but she was. The memory of his kiss, of the feel of his strong arms and hard body haunted her, and she found herself reliving the memory over and again. Thank heavens the baby made her so exhausted, for she slept like the dead, falling asleep long before he came to their room. If she woke in the night, she feared what she might do to discover his big, warm body sleeping so close beside her. Would she give into temptation and touch him? Could she incite the same passion in him as he had in her, and not allow him to stop this time, not allow him to retreat to that respectful distance, but bring him as close to her as he could be? The idea made her hot and impatient and was surely proof of a lewdness in her that no respectable young woman ought to have.

How she wished her mother was near. Though broaching such a subject would be painful indeed, she knew her mama loved her and would not judge her too harshly, even if she were horribly shocked. But her parents were not due to visit yet and so she must struggle with this wicked part of her nature and keep it hidden as best she could.

Still, the invitation must be dealt with, one way or another. They must attend, she decided, for she would not upset Florence for the world, and perhaps with Henry and Bainbridge to ease the way, Sterling would not find it such an ordeal. She would sweeten the pill however and show him she knew she was asking something of him. So, she hurried to the kitchen where Mrs Gladwish was presiding and ordering her girls about.

“Might I impose on you and ask for a place to work, Mrs Gladwish?” she asked, noting the housekeeper’s look of astonishment.

“Why, madam, just tell me what it is you’ve a fancy for and I’ll prepare it in a trice,” the woman said, wiping floury hands on a cloth.

Grace shook her head. “If you don’t mind, I should like to make these myself. I do know how. My mother is an excellent cook, and she taught me.”

“Your mama cooks?” Mrs Gladwish said sceptically.

Grace bit back a smile. “Indeed. She had need to, for her family fell on hard times and they could afford no staff. She looked after my aunt when she was dying, too, and had the care of her, and the shopping and cooking. If she had not met Papa and the two of them had not fallen in love, her life would have been very different.”

Mrs Gladwish frowned, looking at her with interest. “Well, what do you need?”

“Flour, butter, eggs and sugar, currants and cinnamon, please. Oh, and a bit of milk.”

“Well, you heard the missus,” she said, chivvying up Ethel, who’d the misfortune to come into her line of sight first. “Run and get what she needs.”

Grace smiled and thanked the girl as she returned with the ingredients and set to work.

Sterling nodded as he listened to his bailiff, Mr Reed, as they decided if the time was right to begin this year’s planting.

“It were a good crop last year, would have been better if we’d not lost two acres to wire worm.”

“Twenty bushels an acre,” Sterling murmured with a nod of agreement.

“Aye, that’s it,” the fellow said, packing his pipe with fresh tobacco as he spoke. “The turnips we put in on Fleet Field look fine. That subsoil turns up mellow now. Four years since we dug them drainage ditches and subsoil ploughed, reckon?”

He looked at Sterling, who nodded again. “It is.”