Chapter Thirteen
On the same day in London, the Morning Post reported that the Duke of Blackmore, only recently returned from Trafalgar due to severe injuries sustained during the battle, would, for the first time be resident at his London town house until the end of the Season. Also in attendance would be his wife, her grace the Duchess of Blackmore who would be making her formal bow to society at a ball to be given by the Marquis of Blanchford in honour of recently returned naval heroes. The paper finished by noting that the Duchess of Blackstone’s official introduction to society at such an event was fitting indeed.
London’s ton digested the news with varying degrees of excitement. Nicholas Sinclair had not, to anyone’s knowledge, been present in society since he was a boy. The rumours were rife concerning everything from the injuries he’d sustained, to why he had married so hastily on returning to England.
The most popular theory was that the Duke had sustained horrific injuries to his face and figure which had left him completely hideous and therefore unsuitable as marriage material for any highborn lady. This of course was the reason he had chosen to marry a local clergyman’s daughter.
Drawing rooms across London were filled with matchmaking mammas and their daughters speculating with shuddering delight as to just how repugnant the Duke would turn out to be. And whether his new Duchess was merely plain or similarly afflicted by some kind of disfigurement.
Predictably there were no polite regrets for the upcoming Marquis of Blanchford’s ball for naval heroes.
∞∞∞
Of course, Grace had no idea of the gossip travelling like wildfire throughout London’s Beau Monde. Had she known, she wouldn’t have been so certain that her recent misdemeanours would not eventually reach the ears of the fashionable elite.
Instead she'd woken in the arms of her husband who had made love to her for the second time in a most satisfying manner. To Grace, Nicholas’ confession in the early hours had been akin to declaring his love for her. In her naivete she believed that nothing could come between them; that no gossip could touch them.
Nicholas on the other hand had only informed his wife of the facts. He had yet to communicate the root cause of his nightmares. The true reason he woke up sweating and sobbing night after night and was so terrified of opening his heart or of allowing anyone to get too close.
The actual cause was his complete and utter anguish that he’d failed to save his only son.
∞∞∞
The Duke and Duchess of Blackmore’s coach arrived at their townhouse in Grosvenor Square late in the evening. Thus, they were only observed by a few of the square’s servants running late night errands. Nicholas stepped down first, taking care to find his footing before reaching for Grace’s hand.
He remained silent as they moved up the stairs together, the door opening at precisely the moment they reached the top step.
Stepping inside the home he had not seen since his youth, Nicholas immediately experienced the cold distant feeling that had accompanied his previous visits after his mother had died.
He became aware that Grace was clutching his arm as she looked around. “Tis lovely Nicholas,” she offered in a small voice, “A bit dark but no less charming.”
“Welcome home your grace, my name is Bailey.” If anything, the butler was older than Huntley, and smiling at him, Grace was actually worried he would keel over at any second. She glanced over at Nicholas and released his arm. She couldn’t help but notice her husband’s earlier relaxed manner had taken flight. Instead she was standing next to a cold stranger. She frowned, feeling her heart sink. The Duke stripped off his coat and handed it to the elderly butler before turning to look down at her.
“It is yours to do with as you like,” he said carelessly.
For whatever reason Grace realized her husband had no love for this house. Before she could make another comment, they were joined by tall thin woman who offered a quick curtsy along with a wide smile, immediately setting Grace at ease.
“Welcome your grace. I’m Mrs Jenks, your housekeeper.”
Nicholas nodded. “Could you prepare a cold repast in the small drawing room. We have not eaten since lunch.” Mrs Jenks nodded and made to show her mistress the way.
“Has my valet arrived?”
“He is attending to your rooms your grace,” Mrs Jenks informed him. Then she paused before continuing hesitantly. “You are probably aware your grace that we are particularly under serviced. The old Duke… your father… did not wish to keep on more than a token number as he only very rarely ventured up to London in his latter years.”
Nicholas nodded again. “It’s my intention to rectify the deficiency as soon as possible. I will require a full complement of servants to be retained at all times. The first of which will be a lady’s maid to attend my wife. We will discuss requirements tomorrow in my study.”
Mrs Jenks smiled again, clearly relieved. “If you would be good enough to follow me your grace.”
Grace smiled gratefully at the housekeeper and followed her up the stairs. The only light came from the candles flickered in the sconces on the walls, emphasising the gloomy atmosphere. The small drawing room however was much more welcoming. It was decorated in varying shades of pale green which had clearly seen a feminine touch.
“This was my mother’s favourite room.” She turned as Nicholas walked through the door behind her. Grace nodded and looked around her in delight. “Your mother plainly had beautiful taste. Please don’t think me rude Nicholas, but if the rest of the house were decorated as this, it would be extremely pleasing.”
“My mother never got the chance to redecorate the rest of the house before she died, and my father had no time for fripperies. To him this was simply somewhere to stay when he had business in London.”
Grace frowned, seating herself on
