Read an Excerpt
Chapter One
England, 1855
Lady Grace Ashworth, the dowager countess of Blackbourne, ascended the steps of Blackbourne Manor.
She lifted the doorknocker and let it fall, proud that her hands did not tremble too awfully much. She waited several moments before the door was opened by a dear, familiar face that she hadn’t seen in nearly a year.
Despite her trepidation and trembling, she couldn’t help but grin. “Alfred, it’s so good to see you.”
The old butler’s lips twitched in what she knew was his way of smiling. “Likewise, my lady.”
She stepped in and handed her parasol to Alfred. “As I’m sure you know, I have an appointment with the earl.”
She’d practiced saying the words all the way here just so she wouldn’t choke on them.
“This way, my lady.” With his back straight, Alfred shuffled past the grand soaring staircase that she knew led to the earl and countess’s private chambers, and down the hall toward the study. Against her better judgment and the firm lecture she’d given herself, she surreptitiously glanced around and was surprised to see that very little had changed since she had been removed from the house. She’d been so certain that the new countess would have overhauled the entire manor, putting her own stamp on the stately home. Grace had been saddened to think of the lovely wainscoting gone, replaced with something garishly new. Alas, none of that had happened. At least not in the public rooms. She very much doubted she would be invited to view the private rooms.
Alfred shuffled to a stop and pushed open the door to the study, stepping back to let her in. “His lordship will be with you shortly.”
“Thank you, Alfred.” She settled into the chair opposite the current earl of Blackbourne’s desk.
“My lady?” Alfred moved farther into the room after a quick glance down the hall. “The cook wanted me to tell you that you are missed.” He leaned forward to whisper, “The entire staff wanted me to convey that as well.”
Grace smiled through an unexpected stab of sorrow. She missed these people so much. “Thank you, Alfred. They are well?”
“Best as can be expected.”
“And Cook’s rheumatism? How is that faring?”
Alfred shook his head. “She’s in pain most of the time, I’m afraid. Not enough time in the day to put one’s feet up.”
Her smile faded. “No, I suppose not.” Did Clara, the current countess, know of Cook’s arthritis? Did she allow Cook time to put her feet up? From Alfred’s expression, Grace guessed not.
“Her ladyship—” Alfred’s back snapped taut, and he closed his mouth.
Nigel Ashworth, the earl of Blackbourne, also known as Grace’s brother-in-law, entered with a wave of his hand. “That is all, Alfred.”
The butler stepped into the hall and quietly closed the door, but not without a final sympathetic look at Grace that set her heart to thundering once again.
“Grace.” Nigel sank into the desk chair with a loud sigh. He wasn’t an ugly man, but Grace’s opinion of him colored her perception. He was ugly within, and for her, that tainted the outside. Though he had the black hair and green eyes of the Ashworths, unfortunately, Nigel had not inherited the regal bearing of his brothers. Nor the common sense. Or, for that matter, the business acumen. He was the youngest of three and had not been raised to take on the earldom, although one had to admit, he had done so with enthusiasm. He definitely enjoyed the prestige, if the rumors Grace had heard were true.
“So.” He folded his hands on his desk and looked at her. He was the shortest of the Ashworth brothers, and since his ascension to the earldom, he’d gained some weight that made him appear paunchy and fleshy.
But the eyes. It hurt to look into his eyes. They reminded her of Michael.
“I have heard that you and Sir Clayton Timmons have been spending some time together,” he said.
The tremors Grace had managed to quell returned tenfold. When she had been summoned to the manor house, she’d had no idea why. Out of the dozens of scenarios she’d considered, this was not one of them. “We’ve taken a few strolls through town, and he’s called to convey his condolences. Nothing serious, I assure you.”
“I had the opportunity to speak to Sir Timmons just yesterday. He is quite fond of you.”
Grace found it hard to catch her breath, unsure where this conversation was heading but knowing it wasn’t going to end well. None of her conversations with Nigel ended well. “He told you this?”
“But of course.” Nigel sounded entirely delighted. “He has offered for your hand.”
Grace blinked, her power of speech deserting her. Offered for her hand? As in marriage?
