A Reluctant Betrothal (The Grantham Girls) Read online

  He did nothing of the kind, but he was trapped, just as much as she was. Well, she had no choice in the matter now. She couldn’t refuse without disappointing Rupert, which was something she couldn’t afford to do. There was nothing to be done but pay the visit, look at the paintings, and endeavor never to be left alone with the vile man.

  Honor crossed to Julian, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm with easy familiarity. “Julian, you’ve come back just in time. Papa’s speaking with Lord Upton. You should come and meet him. He could be an invaluable ally.”

  “Who’s Lord Upton?” Rupert asked in his usual, forthright way.

  “He’s on the London County Council,” Honor explained. “Julian will need the Council’s assistance acquiring land for his housing works in Old Nichol.”

  Housing works? The last thing Grace would have expected from Julian was involvement in charitable works. And Old Nichol? That wasn’t a name she heard often these days. But she remembered it well from her childhood. It was the worst of the slums, the one part of London she’d prayed they’d never have to inhabit. Her father had died before he could sink them so low. What business could Julian possibly have there?

  It was absolutely none of her business, but she couldn’t help asking. Her curiosity was eating her alive. “What housing works?”

  “I want to build a housing works for destitute workers.”

  “I imagine this is your idea, Lady Honor,” Rupert said to her with a wink.

  “Not at all,” she protested. “Yes, I brought Julian there and showed him around, but he hit on the housing problem—and the solution—himself.”

  “Honor’s been working with a charity in the East End for years,” Julian explained. “Last year, I accompanied her a few times and saw the state of things in Old Nichol myself. It’s not something I’m soon to forget. Not to diminish Honor’s work, but a great deal more is required than some baskets of food and warm stockings. Proper, hygienic housing is needed, at a price the poorest workers can afford.”

  Grace couldn’t speak for her shock. Because he was absolutely right. That Julian was aware of the slums, never mind committed to eradicating them, flew in the face of everything she thought she knew about him. Tonight was revelatory for both of them, it seemed. She was not nearly as bad as he’d assumed and he was a great deal better than she’d guessed.

  “That’s an admirable goal,” she said quietly. “You’re right. Much needs to be done.”

  For the first time since their ugly confrontation in the hallway, he met her gaze. She’d half expected him to look smug, superior in his generosity. Instead, he simply shrugged. “I’m grateful to be in a position to do it. With a little help from Lord Upton and the County Council. Now if you’ll excuse us, Honor’s right. I should go have a word with Upton.”

  Honor hurried ahead, dragging Julian by the arm.

  “Come on, Julian. I want you to have enough time to talk to Upton before the second half begins.”

  Were they still in the intermission? Julian felt like he’d lived a lifetime since the lights had come up. He was still reeling from the fight—yet another fight—with Grace. Miss Godwyn. And once again, she’d left him feeling ashamed of himself.

  She wasn’t Musgrave’s mistress. Why was he at all surprised? Learning Musgrave had lied about the encounter rather fit with what he already knew of the man himself. And yet, he’d been ready to believe the worst about Grace based on his lie. Grace Godwyn seemed to keep peeling back layers of his personality, and he wasn’t always pleased with what she unearthed.

  He would simply have to do better. Be better. And Honor was leading him right to a golden opportunity. Yes, he’d grievously insulted Grace. He could shift the balance, perhaps, by achieving something good for a great many others.

  “Papa!” Honor cried as she entered her family’s box.

  Lord Dorney turned and smiled at his beloved only child. Honor’s mother was quiet and reserved, like his own mother, but Lord Dorney was her opposite, energetic, expansive and popular. A consummate politician, he’d spent his life crafting a vast network of friends and allies in the House of Lords. Julian had known him socially for years, as the husband of his mother’s close friend. Now he looked forward to making an ally of him, and learning from Dorney as he advanced his political career.

  “Honor, Julian. You’re just in time. Come meet Lord Upton.” Dorney waved them forward. “Lord Dorney, you know my daughter, Honor, of course. This is a dear friend of our family, Lord Knighton.”

  Lord Upton, gray-haired and heavyset, extended a paunchy hand. “Nice to meet you at last, Lord Knighton. Dorney says you’re set on storming the House of Lords next year.”

  “I am indeed, sir. I feel I could be of service.”

  Upton examined him shrewdly, no doubt remembering the scandalous behavior of his father. This was only the first of many sizing-ups Julian would have to endure.

  “Glad to hear it,” Upton finally said. “The country could use more smart young men committed to service.” Well, at least Upton seemed prepared to accept him on his own terms. One small hurdle had been cleared.

  “Knighton will be a tremendous asset,” Honor interjected. “He’s got a plan to expand on the new tenement housing being erected in Old Nichol.”

  Upton’s eyes went wide. “Indeed?”

  “I do. It’s welcome news that the County Council has begun construction on the new tenements. I’ve visited some of the buildings in Old Nichol and there are few worse places for humanity to inhabit.”

  The year before, a frequent visitor to the charity house where Honor volunteered had been kept away owing to the birth of a new baby. Honor had wanted to check on her in person, so naturally Julian accompanied her, to ensure her safety. He would never forget the damp basement flat, reeking of soot and rot, crammed with a family of eight in one small room. Only a tiny crack at the top of a boarded-up, broken window let in any light or air. All his life, he’d intended to devote himself to some worthwhile public project. His parents’ marriage had failed, but it left him—the sole product of that marriage—wealthy and powerful, and he meant to use it to do some good. That day in Old Nichol, he knew he’d found the people who needed him most.

  “The conditions there are terrible, to be sure. That’s why the Council is building the new housing, to eliminate those terrible slums.”

  “I’ve been examining the tenement plans, and while the design is sound, I fear the projected rents on the new flats will still be far out of reach for the poorest citizens, the same ones displaced to make way for the construction. If we don’t provide additional cheaper housing, we’re only going to create worse slum situations elsewhere.”

  “You seem to have given this a great deal of thought.”

  “I have. And I’m willing to give it a great deal of money, as well. But, as you know, I’d need a land allocation from the County Council.”

  “It’s a bit of a tangle, dealing with the Council. There’s already a faction actively opposed to the current building plans, never mind an expansion. And I’ll be frank, Lord Knighton, there are one or two men who will want to say no the moment they hear your name.”

  Julian fought back the flush of anger and humiliation. “With all due respect, I’m not my father.”

  Upton nodded. “I know it. But you know how these things go.”

  “Yes, I do.” He knew it better than anyone.

  “I said it would be difficult, but perhaps not impossible. Between Dorney and myself, we might be able to help you navigate it.”

  “I’d be grateful for any assistance you’d be willing to provide.”

  “I’m always happy to help a young man with a promising future. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to rejoin my wife before the second half begins.”

  They said their goodbyes, and as Upton left their box, Lord Dor
ney clapped Julian on the shoulder. “Well done. You’re off on the right foot with Upton, and he’s a man who could do much to help you.”

  “Thank you for making the introduction.”

  Dorney’s smile faded. “I’m afraid you’ll have a bit of a fight ahead of you, convincing these men to forget your father. And as you know, Lord Lydney is on the Council.”

  Of course Julian knew it already. Lord Lydney, brother of Lady Clevedon—the woman his father had run away with to France. It hadn’t been enough to destroy his own family; he’d had to convince a married gentlewoman to destroy hers, too. And not just any gentlewoman—Lady Clevedon, daughter of a powerful political family, whose brothers and cousins were entrenched at nearly every level of the government. Lydney would never agree to any plan Julian presented on principal.

  “I know it won’t be easy.”

  “No, but as Upton said, not impossible. Your conduct speaks for itself, Julian. You’ll convince plenty of men to forget the past, I’m sure of it. You’ve got me to help, and Honor. Honor’s brilliant at making these connections.”

  “Papa...” she protested.

  “I’m just pointing out Julian’s good fortune in having you on his side.”

  It was the first time anyone in either of their families had referred so pointedly to what had only been assumed for many years. Julian was far more startled by the idea than he had any right to be. Honor had been a part of his own future planning. But now, when the wheels were beginning to turn, when the future was nearly at hand, he found himself hesitating, uncertain, when he’d never been uncertain before.

  He had to stay focused. He’d kept his reputation spotless, and now, with the right help, he could begin to carve out a place for himself in Society. Now was not the time for hesitation or doubts.

  Chapter Nine

  “Flowers have arrived for Miss Godwyn, Your Ladyship.” Mrs. Winters, the housekeeper, said as she crossed the yellow parlor, a footman trailing after her carrying the enormous bouquet. Genevieve indicated a spot on the side table near the south windows and the footman set the flowers down.

  “Who are they from?” Gen asked as Grace rose and plucked the card from the arrangement. Rupert’s pink roses had already arrived. She couldn’t guess who’d sent these.

  Grace’s heart stuttered as she read the card.

  Kind regards. Lord Knighton.

  She cleared her throat. “They’re from Lord Knighton.”

  Behind her, Genevieve went absolutely silent, which was never good. The wheels were turning and Gen, with her superhuman perception where people were concerned, was adding up what she’d seen and drawing conclusions, probably terribly accurate ones.

  “Quite an unusual arrangement, don’t you think?” Grace said brightly, trailing her fingers over the flowers. The scent of purple hyacinths filled the air. Hyacinths meant “I’m sorry.” And tea roses meant... She couldn’t remember the significance of tea roses.

  “Very unusual. Grace, why would Lord Knighton be sending you flowers?”

  “Perhaps he sees how attached Rupert has become—”

  “Grace.”

  She dropped her head and closed her eyes. “I’ve met him before. In France.”

  “Was there anything remarkable about the meeting?”

  Grace remembered a dark alley, his hand over her mouth, his voice in her ear, his features, picked out in flickering candlelight and a kiss that seared her to her soul.

  “No, nothing at all remarkable about it.”

  Gen came to stand at her side, and then bent to inhale the hyacinths. “Then what is he sorry about?”

  Grace flushed and looked away. “He might have insulted me slightly last night.” And before that at the Longvilles. When he kissed me. Again. “A...small misunderstanding, which we quickly cleared up.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s nothing, Gen. He’s got an understanding with Lady Honor and I’ve got Rupert—”

  “Exactly.”

  Gen said nothing else as Grace adjusted the flowers in Julian’s bouquet. She couldn’t control the question which burst from her lips. “Are they engaged? Lord Knighton and Lady Honor?” She still hadn’t sorted out quite what they were to each other, although there was a definite level of intimacy between them.

  “Engaged?” Gen cocked her head to the side. “No. I didn’t know Lord Knighton before this week, but I know his mother, the Countess of Knighton, slightly. Well, the Dowager Countess, now the former earl is dead. I believe she’s good friends with Lady Honor’s mother, the Countess of Dorney. Lord Knighton has likely known Lady Honor for most of his life.”

  “I see. And his father? You said he passed away?”

  Gen nodded. “In the South of France earlier this winter. No doubt Lord Knighton was there settling his father’s affairs.”

  “How much could there be to settle if he was just spending the winter in Menton?”

  Genevieve gave her a look loaded with significance. “The previous Lord Knighton had lived in the South of France for nearly twenty-five years.”

  “Twenty-five years? While his wife and son stayed in England?”

  “Lady Knighton is American, from a large and wealthy family. He married her for the money, of course, but didn’t feel obliged to honor his vows in the slightest. He had been embroiled in an affair with Lady Clevedon before his marriage, and it continued afterward. Once Lady Knighton had delivered an heir, Lord Knighton and Lady Clevedon ran off together to France, and lived there together openly for the rest of his life.”

  “Oh, that’s terrible. How embarrassing for his wife.”

  Gen raised her eyebrows. “Indeed. I expect it’s been rather difficult for his son as well.”

  Grace didn’t want to feel sorry for him. He’d been arrogant and presumptuous. He might be engaged in some good public deeds, but it didn’t make up for the horrible way he’d insulted her. Yes, he’d been misled by Frederick Musgrave about her, but he was the fool who believed Frederick, and he was the one who felt entitled to insult her based on his misconceptions. He’d accused her of being little better than a gold-digging whore. A few hyacinths didn’t make up for that. Neither did his unfortunate family situation.

  But perhaps these flowers were his peace offering? Did he mean to leave their previous encounters in the past and back off where Rupert was concerned?

  As if Genevieve could read her mind, she said, “He seems rather protective of Mr. Humphrey.”

  “And I’m a threat?”

  “Perhaps he sees you as one.”

  “Well, he can’t dictate how Rupert finds happiness. Or me. It’s none of his business.” Maybe the flowers meant he’d realized it, too.

  “You’re right. It’s not.” Gen pulled a pale pink tea rose from Julian’s bouquet and inhaled its scent before carefully settling it back in place. “Curious.”

  “What is?”

  “Tea roses mean ‘I won’t forget.’ I wonder what it is that Lord Knighton won’t forget?”

  Genevieve swept out of the room, leaving Grace to stare at the bouquet, wondering the same thing. Did he mean he wouldn’t forget their kiss in France? Or he wouldn’t forget their ugly confrontations here in England? Were these flowers a promise or a threat?

  * * *

  Julian’s mother was not at all what Grace had expected. She thought the countess, being a wealthy American, might be more brash, more confident. Instead, she seemed almost fragile, as if she might snap in half from the weight of her disappointments at any moment.

  Her marriage to the deceased Lord Knighton had been arranged to shore up his crumbling family fortunes, just like Victoria’s marriage and so many others. Also like Vic, she’d been abandoned by a husband who chose to live in another country rather than maintain a home with her. But Vic’s husband ha
d eventually come home and fallen in love with her. Lady Knighton’s never had, and the damage he’d done to her seemed profound.

  She was still attractive, despite the pervasive sadness hanging about her, and gracious, if a bit cautious, with the newcomers. Perhaps it wasn’t so surprising, considering the sort of gossip she’d been exposed to all her life. It must have been a horrible burden for her to bear.

  Gen quickly engaged her in conversation about mutual acquaintances, and after a few moments, she declared she and Lady Knighton would stay in the parlor for tea and leave the “young people” to their amusements, even though she wasn’t all that much older than Rupert and Julian. Gen managed not to see the several pointed glances Grace threw her way. She’d been counting on being able to hide behind Gen if conversation with Julian became uncomfortable.

  “Shall we have a look at the pictures, then, Julian?” Honor asked.

  Julian cast a furtive glance at his mother. “They’re, ah... I’ve had them put in the attic.”

  “Oh, the attic,” Honor laughed. “What an adventure.”

  “Not an adventure, Honor. Just a great deal of dust.”

  “We’re not put off by a bit of dust, are we? Lead the way, Julian,” Rupert said with a wave of his hand.

  Julian led them through Knighton House, which was a very elegant place. Beautiful furniture and artwork filled every room, an impressive display of both the Knighton history and the American fortune financing it. Lady Honor would fit right in here, the next gracious, titled mistress of Knighton House. It was clear she and Julian knew each other intimately. Honor teased him like a trusted friend, and Julian treated her with a great deal of affectionate indulgence. They’d rub along together quite well, no doubt.

  The Knighton House attic ran the length of the house, a long narrow space with a pitched roof, dimly lit by small oval windows at intervals under the eaves. They let in enough light to make out the contents of the space without aid of a candle, although Julian had brought a lantern up in case it was needed.

  “The paintings are down here.” There was a large stack of framed paintings leaning against the far wall, draped in a cloth. Rupert helped Julian uncover them and dispose of the dust cover. Despite how much she didn’t want to be there, Grace’s eyes immediately fastened on the painted canvases, noticing some elegant compositions and rather sophisticated brush work.