Page 59 of Only By Grace
“I told him I did not know,” Grace admitted, burying her face in her hands. “And then I left him standing there. What have I done?”
Hope moved quickly to her side, taking her hand. “You have done nothing wrong, Grace. If he truly cares for you, he will fight for you. Make him prove it.”
“But is he wrong to wish for someone worthy of her?” Patience asked, ever the devil’s advocate. “His intention might not have been to hurt her.”
“That is the problem,” Grace said quietly. “I believe he truly thought he was acting in my best interest. He wants what is best for me.”
Faith set the brush down, reaching for Grace’s other hand. “And what do you want?”
Grace’s voice wavered as she replied, though cross at her own weakness. “I want him. Of course I do, but he caught me by surprise. I could not think clearly in the middle of a waltz.”
Patience gave a rueful laugh. “No indeed, it was hardly his best choice to speak to you then. I wonder why he did not follow you when you left.”
“I am very glad he did not,” Grace said, feeling foolish. “I needed time to consider, yet I fear I may have bungled it. A man does have his pride, after all.”
Hope shook her head. “You did not reject him outright, Grace—did you? Besides, he came all the way from Ireland. That must surely speak for itself.”
Grace’s heart sank. She had not meant to be cruel, and the thought of hurting Ronan pained her deeply. “I have no wish to play such games. I cannot think what came over me.”
“No one who knows you would accuse you of toying with someone’s affections,” Faith said firmly, “but you must decide what you want. If he speaks to you again, be honest with him.”
Grace nodded slowly. Her voice, when it left her, was barely above a whisper. “I suppose I must, though I fear doubt will get the better of me.”
“I am sure your courage will not fail, for does not your happiness depend upon it?” Hope asked, her tone encouraging. “Sleep upon it, dear sister. The answer will come to you.”
Grace doubted she would sleep at all, her heart was too heavy with uncertainty. Yet as her sisters gathered around her, their warmth and love enveloping her like a shield, she allowed herself a small flicker of hope. They had all found love despite some very difficult circumstances.
“I am proud of you,” Faith said softly. “For standing up for yourself and taking the time for reflection. You are stronger than you realize.”
“And I am still a little cross with him for trying to make decisions on your behalf,” Patience added, a note of indignation in her voice.
Grace managed a small smile. “As am I, in truth, but perhaps he deserves a chance to explain.”
The sisters nodded in agreement, their support bolstering her resolve. Whatever the future held, Grace knew she would always have her sisters, and though he’d still not offered for her, she allowed herself to hope.
Ronan was relievedto hear Westwood was in Town. He was desperate to know what to do next.
“I’ll announce myself if it is a good time, Hartley.”
Westwood’s long-time butler inclined his head as he held open the door. “Indeed. He is in his study, my lord.”
Ronan strode into Westwood’s study, his usual air of nonchalance had notably abandoned him. Having passed by a mirror, it showed that his neckcloth was askew, his dark coat bore the creases of having been slept in, and the shadow of stubble on his jaw spoke to a missed shave. His eyes, normally sharp and guarded, were clouded with fatigue and frustration. It mattered not if Grace would not forgive him.
“You look terrible,” his old friend said from behind his desk.
“Indeed? As though I have travelled day and night from Ireland only to have my dreams crushed?”
Westwood considered him and nodded. “Yes, then,” he drawled, rising slowly from his chair. “To what do I owe the honour? Although I expect we are here for the same reasons.”
Ronan exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. “Grace,” he confirmed, his voice heavy with self-reproach.
Westwood crossed to the sideboard, where he poured a generous measure of brandy into two crystal glasses. “Sit down,” he commanded, gesturing to the chair near the fire, then handed him a glass.
Ronan didn’t hesitate before lowering himself into the chair with exhaustion. He accepted the brandy and took a long sip, his eyes fixed on the fire.
“Well?” Westwood prompted after a moment. “Out with it, man. What calamity has driven you to my door in such a state?”
“I’ve ruined everything,” Ronan said bluntly, his voice cracking. “I sent her away—told her to find someone worthy, as though I were doing her a kindness. And now…now I’ve no idea how to win her back. She sent me away with my tail between my legs.”
