Page 52 of Only By Grace
“Hear, hear!” They all lifted their glasses and drank.
His mother signalled to the footmen, who came forward to begin serving.
“We should hold a ball,” his father announced, continuing in the vein of celebration.
“It might seem rather callous with Flynn not cold in the ground,” Ronan warned.
“We must celebrate somehow.” His father was almost pouting. It seemed that now he had come out of his chambers, he meant to resume living again. For that, Ronan was grateful.
“This will have to do as they will be leaving on the morrow,” Maeve said.
“Is this true?” he asked Grace.
“I am afraid so, my lord.”
“Then we shall make the most of the time we have together. I hope it will not be the last, however.” He cast a meaningful look between Ronan and Grace. Ronan felt his father might as well have pierced his heart with a dagger, for it was of little use to him now. It would be leaving on the ship for England tomorrow.
CHAPTER 18
The voyage back to England was a far cry from the tense and tumultuous journey to Ireland. The seas were calm, and no gales or superstitious sailors threatened her person. Grace sat and watched the days go by while trying to determine how the world could look outwardly so calm when inside she felt overturned and empty.
Around her, life continued as though nothing had changed. The others filled the days with easy chatter. The ever lively Joy had taken to entertaining Lady Maeve with tales of their escapades in England, embellished to such a degree that even Maeve managed to forget her troubles and laugh. Mr. Cunningham joined in the merriment as usual. The kittens proved an endless source of amusement, tumbling over each other in pursuit of Joy’s ribbons and drawing laughter from all corners of the deck.
Lady Maeve appeared to be recovering quickly. The sea air seemed to agree with her, and as the bruises faded so did her reticence. Grace could not help but feel a sense of obligation to her—this young woman who had endured so much. Yet Maeve was also a painful reminder of her brother, with those piercing eyes and shining black locks. From there her mindcreated memories of Ronan’s intense gaze, and the unbridgeable distance that now yawned between them.
Once back in England, Grace moved through her days like a shadow of herself. No one mentioned the ordeal, as if it had never existed. Most of her days were spent in the gardens despite the cold, staring at nothing. Even reading had lost its allure.
It was during one of these moments of reflection that the Dowager Viscountess Lady Westwood approached in her wheeled chair. She was a fragile-appearing woman with sharp eyes that missed nothing, and she carried herself with a grace that belied her age. Without preamble, she stopped beside Grace, her gloved hands folded neatly in her lap.
“You look as though you’ve lost something, Grace,” the Dowager Viscountess said, her tone light but pointed.
Grace blinked, startled out of her reverie. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”
“You have been wandering about like a ghost since your return,” the Dowager continued. “It is most unbecoming in a young woman to mope, especially one with so much life ahead of her.”
Grace flushed, lowering her gaze. “I apologize if I have been remiss in my conduct.”
“Do not mistake me,” the Dowager said briskly. “I am not trying to scold you, Grace, but I find it curious that a young lady who showed such courage and resourcefulness to rescue the young maiden…”
Grace looked up sharply.
“Oh, yes, I have heard it all. But you are behaving as though you have left something behind in Ireland.”
Grace’s hands twisted in her lap. “I do not know what you mean.”
“Do you not?” the Dowager’s sharp gaze seemed to pierce through her. “Perhaps I am mistaken, but I suspect that your heart is more disquieted than you would care to admit.”
Grace opened her mouth to protest, but the elder woman waved her hand dismissively. “I shall not pry, my dear, but take it from someone who has lived long enough to know better—when one’s heart is wounded, it is best to address it straight away rather than let it fester. Find that courage again, my dear. Do come in from the cold soon.”
Before Grace could respond, the Dowager turned and rolled away, leaving Grace to grapple with her thoughts in silence. “’Tis all very well, but he does not want me. How am I supposed to face the pain with courage when he made it clear there was nothing between us?”
Yet she knew the Dowager was right. She could not allow herself to waste away, pining for something that could never be.
She went inside, the warmth of the house enveloping her. Her limbs began prickling as the warmth infused her body. How long had she been out there? Chafing her hands together, she went to find her sisters for advice. Perhaps keeping busy would keep her thoughts from straying to Carew. She stopped short of entering the drawing room, however, when she overheard them discussing her.
“I have just come from speaking with Grace,” she heard the Dowager say. “I may have been too harsh with her.”
“You have noticed it as well. I have tried to give her time, but it is clear something is wrong,” Patience’s voice added. “She has endured so much, from the unexpected journey alone and then witnessing Flynn’s death. She is more tender-hearted than I when it comes to those things.”
