Page 15 of The Marquess's Imperfect Brid
Grace nodded, waving him off. She watched him go, wishing she had asked him to stay. But again, she knew she could never interfere with any of her loved ones enjoying themselves.
Moments after Neil left her side, Grace heard giggling coming from her right side. She stood up straight, pretending not to notice as she focused her hearing on the direction of the laughter. She recognized one of the voices at once, and she froze.
“Poor thing,” Lady Cecilia was saying, her tone sounding filled enough with pity to make Grace blush. “I cannot imagine how it must feel to be despised by the entirety of the ton.”
Grace’s jaw tightened, but she refused to look in her direction. It was true that much of the ton avoided Grace except to gossip about her. But she would hardly say she was despised. Was the woman being cruel with her gossip, despite the apparent sympathy in her voice?
“She is certainly a monstrous creature,” another woman said. “How anyone could even look at her is something I shall never understand.”
The women mumbled in agreement before another one spoke.
“And the way her brother hovers over her as if she is a child in need of coddling,” the third woman said. “He is a very handsome gentleman and should be focusing on his own future, not looking after his beast of a sister.”
Grace’s cheeks burned hot. She had had the same thoughts about her brother, feeling terrible guilt that Neil seemed more focused on taking care of her than he was on creating a life for himself and enjoying the events he attended. The only thing on which he spent almost as much time as he did on her was learning the things he needed to know to take over as marquess when their father passed.
She sighed, resisting the urge to cover her face and hide, or to summon Neil as he had told her to do. The tears that stung her eyes were warmer than her face, threatening to scald her cheeks if they fell. She sipped her drink, barely containing the urge to drink it all in one gulp and fetch two more. She did not need to draw attention to herself by drinking too much. But then again, she already seemed to be the center of attention. Did she not deserve to be too silly to care what people said and thought about her, if only for a couple of hours?
When she heard the first strains of the waltz drifting from the musicians, she bit her lip to contain a laugh. It was a dance that she had always thought was so beautiful and passionate. And with all the gossip and disgusted glares from the other guests, she was reminded that it was a dance she would never share with a man. She did finish her entire drink then, hoping to ease the sting of such a notion. And she turned back toward the refreshment table, considering changing her mind and drinking another one immediately, regardless of her previous reservations. However, there was another hand on her elbow just as she was making up her mind.
“Lady Grace, you look absolutely ravishing,” Lord Hayewood said before she could turn to identify her new company.
She turned with wide eyes, looking directly into his. She was surprised by his approach, ashamed of her unladylike consumption of her drink and shocked at his compliment. She only fumbled for a moment, however, as she once more saw compassion in his eyes. If she did not know better, she might have believed that he could not see the scars which made everyone else laugh and gossip about her. She knew that he must. But the calming effect his gaze had on her made her smile, despite herself.
“Thank you, my lord,” she said with a curtsey. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
The marquess cast a dark glance behind her with an unreadable expression. But it passed as soon as he met her eyes again and his brilliant grin returned.
“I am now,” he said. “And forgive me for being bold, but I hope to enjoy the evening even more by being granted the honour of sharing a dance with you.”
Grace’s heart stopped as he offered her his hand. She wanted to put her hand in his and never let go. She longed to be in his arms on the floor, blissfully ignorant of the world around them. But she knew what she was to all of society. She also understood that he would risk his reputation simply by interacting with her. And yet, when she looked from his hand into his eyes again, he was still gazing at her with warmth. He paused to glance at a nearby whisperer, giving them a cold glare. Then, he turned back to her, straightened his tall frame and silently emphasized his hand extension. It was as if he was wordlessly conveying that he did not care what other people thought. He was still hoping to dance with her. And Grace did not believe she could resist.
With a slow smile, she took his hand and allowed him tolead her onto the floor. The stares and whispers multiplied and amplified almost instantly. Yet by the time the marquess had led Grace to a position on the floor, Grace did not care. For the first time since becoming disfigured, she was able to ignore the nasty looks and words from other people. In fact, it was as if they did not even exist.
The dance began, and Grace fell into step with him. She had practiced the dance in her dance lessons as a girl. But she had never performed it with anyone other than her siblings and mother. Yet in the marquess’s presence, she quickly began to relax and performed the dance as if she had been doing so her entire life. It was every bit as beautiful a dance as she had always believed, and her cheeks grew warmer with each step she took in Lord Hayewood’s arms. His strong frame guided her through the steps, and she felt more comfortable than she had all evening.
“I seem to recall hearing that you visit the orphanage,” he said, the corners of his lips turning up into another sweet smile. “Do you do charity work for the vicarage?”
Grace blushed, surprised at his interest.
“I volunteer at the orphanage,” she said. “I teach music to the orphans, and my dear friend and I make packages for the less fortunate throughout the year, and baskets of gifts and treats and winter supplies during Christmastide.”
Lord Hayewood blinked his eyes, looking at Grace with genuine awe.
“That is remarkable,” he said. “You speak so humbly, yet that must make a profound impact on those sweet young children.”
Grace’s blush deepened.
“They certainly make a profound impact on me,” she said. “That has been especially true since…” She trailed off, choking just as she lifted her left hand to her marred cheek. She froze, cursing herself for having spoken. But the marquess gave her thekindest, warmest look so far and shook his head gently.
“You need not say any more,” he said. “I know you were in a tragic accident. Let us think no more of that tonight. Please, tell me more about your charity work.”
Grace smiled with a surprised laugh. She was not surprised to learn that he knew what had happened to her. Gossip made its way into every home in London one way or another, after all. What shocked her was that he had not even hesitated to ease her discomfort about it, he had not asked any tasteless questions about it and he had not suddenly started mocking her as though he really had only just seen the scars. He was a true gentleman. And he was genuinely interested in hearing about her work at the orphanage.
As the dance continued, she explained her music lessons to him. He listened attentively the entire time, smiling at her as though he was marveling at the words she spoke. It was too easy to lose herself in the joy of the connection she felt with the marquess. And for the first time since her parents told her about the house party, she was beginning to think that it might not be such a bad thing, after all.
***
Gareth listened to Lady Grace talk with a rapture he did not know he possessed. When Lady Cecilia spoke, it was as though each syllable carried with it a perilous challenge, compelling the contents of his last repast to rise anew from his innermost depths. He could not stand to listen to her carry on about the compliments she received for her singing and dancing, the skeletal contributions she had personally made, with her father’s money, to the church and her clearly hollow plans to become a matron of the theater once she married. It could not be clearer that most of what she said was untrue, and even the few things about which she was honest, she was exaggerating them for thesake of impressing him. Listening to her was truly painful, in every way.
