Since this observation touched on Grace’s very fears, she forbore to mention it again, and swallowing her anxiety, applied herself diligently to absorbing the rules of comportment and propriety drilled into her on a daily basis by Miss Beaumont.
She met with Nicholas every evening for dinner which by the same necessity consisted of only the two of them. For Grace the time they spent together was bittersweet. While she craved her husband’s company, it was difficult to hold any kind of conversation when they were seated at opposite ends of the dining table. She found herself longing for the sunny breakfast room back at Blackmore.
She was unsure of the Duke’s plans once her official come-out was over. Would he wish to stay longer in London? While it would be nice to finally have the opportunity to give and receive calls, to sample the delights of Vauxhall Gardens, or simply promenade in Hyde Park, Grace couldn’t help but feel an imposter. She would never be all the crack. Apart from anything else, she was far too clumsy. The most she could hope for was that she didn’t embarrass her husband, and the longer she stayed in London, the more likely that event would be.
In truth she hankered after the rolling hills of Devonshire with the distant smell of the sea and the almost constant cawing of seagulls. At her very heart, she was a country girl and she knew deep down inside that was all she would ever be, no matter what title she wore.
Lost in her thoughts, it was a while before Grace became aware that Nicholas was speaking to her and she hurriedly put down her spoon, misjudging the angle of her bowl in her haste and watching with dismay as it tumbled to the floor. Colour flooded her face as Bailey laboriously bent down to retrieve the silverware, dabbing carefully at the resulting stain on the floor.
Looking down the table at her husband, she anxiously clenched and unclenched her hands in her lap, waiting for his censure. Instead he lay down his napkin, rose from his place and walked down the table towards her. Perhaps he intends to beat me she thought a trifle hysterically as she watched his tall form move gracefully towards her. He reminded her of a panther, and despite her apprehension, she couldn’t help but admire his physique.
To her surprise, instead of chiding her when he finally stood next to her chair, Nicholas held out his hand. Grace eyed it as she would a snake and after a couple of seconds her husband questioned drily as to whether he had something unsavoury on his fingers.
Shaking her head in embarrassment, Grace hastily took his proffered hand and allowed him to lead her to a door, previously unnoticed in the corner of the room.
“Where are we going?” she asked as he stopped in front of the closed door.
“It came to me that you may not know how to dance,” he answered, pushing open the door.
Grace froze as they walked into the room, seeing a long forgotten small ballroom before her. “We do not have to,” she said softly, turning to face him. “Miss Beaumont has informed me she has been able to secure a teacher who has a reputation for discretion.”
Nicholas placed his hand on her waist, the other pulling her hand up with his. “It is of no consequence. However, if you prefer, think of this as a favour to me. I have a need to practice this new-fangled waltz I’m told is all the rage in the ballrooms of London.” He gave a wry smile. “And considering the last person I practiced with was Malcolm, you are truly doing me a great service.” His light-hearted words drew an incredulous giggle which had clearly been his intention. Smiling warmly down at his wife, Nicholas adopted an air of mock seriousness.
“One dance, Grace. Now pay attention to my steps.”
Grace bit her lower lip, stifling her laughter, and did as he asked, doing her best to make allowances for his injuries as they moved about the wooden floor. After a few moments, she gradually learned the simple steps and began to move in tune with her husband until he was whirling her about the floor, their steps kicking up the dust around them.
“You are a natural,” he murmured as he eventually slowed their steps, pulling her against his strong form
Grace smiled tremulously up at him. The feel of him holding her close was beyond delicious and as she looked into his warm but troubled eyes, she realized she was developing feelings for her inscrutable husband…
Oblivious to his wife’s thoughts, Nicholas looked down at her and quirked another smile. “You will do very well Grace, of that I am sure, and I promise I will do my best not to tread on your beautifully slippered toes.” He set her away from him and Grace expected this to be the moment he excused himself. However, her husband clearly had not finished surprising her for the day as he proposed accompanying her for coffee in the small drawing room.
For that one moment, Grace acknowledged she had never felt such happiness.
She was to remember that precise moment many times in the weeks and months to come.
∞∞∞
Giles Northrop could not believe his luck. As the penniless son of a distant relative of Viscount Northrop, he had spent his whole life on the fringes of the ton. Generally considered beneath the touch, he had been ridiculed and despised in equal measure for as long as he could remember. It was his sole ambition to be finally accepted in the higher echelons of English society.
His visit to Devonshire had been more of an impulse. For three reasons. The first being a rumour that a prime bit of blood was purportedly to be put through her paces at Exeter racecourse, and secondly