Page 96 of The Miracle of Love
The elite were not supposed to arrive with their fine carriages and haughty airs until summer.
What was Genevieve doing here?
Grace had been watching the stewards bring out more cakes and other delicacies, but now turned to him. “What’s wrong?”
He reached for her hand as Genevieve and her companion, the sharp-eyed woman from the Blue Moon Inn, approached. He remembered why she had seemed so familiar. She was Genevieve’s waspish cousin, Velda de Clare.
Of all the bad luck.
He had met her only the once at a crush of a party held at the country home of Genevieve’s parents several years ago. Velda was unremarkable then and remained unremarkable now, a drab woman with a sour smile and a mean spirit.
He had not recognized her because she had aged considerably since their only meeting. She was Genevieve’s toady and always ready to do Genevieve’s bidding.
What were these two doing in Brighton now?
Velda cast him a gloating smile. “I told you I’d seen him with the Montford girl. They were traveling together and sharing a bedchamber.”
Genevieve’s gaze was filled with malice. “Indeed, you did.”
How had he ever thought this woman beautiful?
Well, Genevieve had classically beautiful features and those had not dimmed over the years. But that sneer and the venal look in her eyes revealed how petty and vain she had become. In truth, she had always been this way.
Why else would he have run?
Grace tried to slip her hand out of his, but Deklan refused to let her go. He did not want her leaving his side to hide in shame when she had nothing to be ashamed about. Society’s conventions were nothing but hypocritical rules often flouted and ignored by the very people who would use them as weapons against innocents like Grace.
He was not about to let Genevieve hurt Grace.
He politely rose to acknowledge the pair, hoping to take the brunt of their anger and move them on their way. “I am surprised to see you here, Lady Genevieve.”
“Oh, heavens,” he heard Grace mutter as she realized who the haughty beauty was to him.
Genevieve had perfected the art of condescension. “I am Lady Somerset now, not that you would care.”
No one could look upon another person with such convincing disdain.
Of course, back then she had been all smiles and sweetness toward him. Her true nature had come out as he got to know her, for her lack of kindness or compassion toward those she deemed below her station was not something she could easily hide.
Not that he was any prize.
He was detached and aloof, but he would never ridicule or humiliate a person in public for the sport of it. “My congratulations on your marriage. I hope you and Lord Somerset will be very happy together.” The man was rich and an earl, so she had landed on her feet and done nicely for herself.
Her eyes glittered with intense anger.
She had not forgotten a moment of his rejection and intended to make him pay for it now.
“I would congratulate you as well,” she said, glancing at Grace before turning back to him, “but I know of your companion’s reputation and she is no one you would ever marry.”
“You are quite wrong about that.” He introduced Grace as his wife.
“Do not take me for a fool. You really ought to stop consorting with the dregs, my darling. But I supposeLady Disgraceis easily bought now that her family is in ruins. Even you must know it is terribly bad form to bring your mistress to a respectable establishment.”
Grace tried to leap to her feet, but Deklan held her down. “I will not stop you if you now wish to walk back to your table, Lady Somerset,” he said, his voice a soft menace. “Indeed, I urge you to do so before I lose patience and bodily toss both of you onto the street where you belong.”
“How dare you!” Genevieve now had her claws out. “How long has Mr. Quinton engaged your services for, Miss Montford? I hope you demanded more than that cheap necklace from him. He is quite wealthy, you know.”
Grace looked angry as bloody murder.
