Page 62 of Only By Grace
When she finally relented, holding up the note with a resigned sigh, the room erupted into a flurry of exclamations and advice.
“You must go, of course,” Patience declared, ever practical.
“And wear something becoming,” Joy added with a grin. “This is no time for drab grey.”
Faith, more measured in her response, laid a hand on Grace’s arm. “This is the chance you hoped for.”
“It is from my brother? I knew it,” Lady Maeve said with a satisfied smile.
At noon precisely, the sound of hooves and wheels on gravel drew Grace and the others to the window. There he sat, in a gleaming curricle pulled by a pair of matched bays, their coats shining like polished bronze in the afternoon sun. Ronan’s posture was relaxed, his hands steady on the reins, but even from a distance, he was the most striking man she’d ever seen.
Her nerves, which had already been frayed by the morning’s anticipation, threatened to unravel entirely as she adjusted her bonnet one final time and descended the stairs. She had chosen a gown of her favourite emerald green with delicate embroidery at the hem—simple yet flattering, at Joy’s insistence—and a matching cloak to guard against the lingering chill.
When she stepped outside, the crisp air brought a faint colour to her cheeks. Ronan turned at the sound of her approach, his gaze softening as he took her in. He descended swiftly, tossing the reins to the groom, then offering his hand to help her into the curricle.
“Miss Whitford,” he said, his voice low and steady, though there was a flicker of something more in his eyes—nervousness, perhaps? “You look lovely.”
“Thank you,” she replied quietly, her gloved hand resting lightly in his as she climbed into the seat. She settled beside him, hating the stiff formality of this exchange and longing for the easy way they’d known before.
The silence that followed was not unpleasant, but it was charged, Grace acutely aware of him as the curricle began to move. The bays, well-trained and spirited, responded to Ronan’s light touch, their strides even as they pulled the carriage down the lane.
Grace kept her gaze fixed on the scenery, the gentle sway of the curricle and the rhythmic clatter of hooves doing littleto calm her nerves. She was painfully aware of his nearness, of the way his shoulder or thigh brushed hers when they turned a corner.
“I hope the flowers were to your liking,” he said at last, breaking the silence.
“They were lovely,” Grace replied, her voice steadier than she had expected. “Thank you.”
He nodded, his attention briefly on the horses before returning to her. “I was concerned they might be too plain. You deserve more than a handful of blooms.”
Grace glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. “Simplicity is often the most elegant, my lord.”
“Ronan,” he corrected softly, his gaze unwavering.
Her cheeks warmed, and she looked away, the weight of his gaze almost too much to bear.
He smiled faintly, the tightness in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. “Thank you for coming, Grace. There are things I need to say—things I did not say properly the first time.”
Her heart quickened, but she kept her voice even. “I am listening, sir.”
And as the curricle carried them farther from the house, past the city and into the countryside, Grace braced herself for the words that might mend or break her heart entirely.
The curricle moved steadily along the winding country lane, the matched bays pulling with an effortless grace that opposed the tension-laden air between its two occupants. The countryside stretched out before them, the fields fallow and the trees barren. She sat composed, though her fingers twisted slightly in the folds of her cloak. She waited for something to cut the tension between them.
“I asked for your forgiveness last night.”
Grace’s gaze shifted to him, and knew she must be forthright. “I have thought about that a great deal, and I do not thinkyou need my forgiveness, my lord,” she replied quietly. “I understand you thought you were acting in my best interests.”
Ronan glanced at her, his jaw tightening. “But I should like it just the same. I let fear and pride dictate my actions, and in doing so, I caused you pain.”
“You acted as you thought best. I cannot fault you for wishing for my happiness.”
“But that is where I failed,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I did not ask you for your opinion.” He drew the reins lightly, slowing the curricle and pulled it to the side of the road. “I convinced myself that pushing you away was the proper thing to do, but in truth I was a coward, too afraid to admit how much you mean to me.”
Grace’s breath caught, and she turned to him, her composure wavering. “Ronan…”
He stopped the curricle entirely, the horses stamping lightly as they came to a halt. Carew set the reins aside and turned to face her fully, his blue eyes bright with intensity. “I cannot bear the thought of losing you, Grace. Not to another man, not to the distance I put between us. I have spent weeks regretting my actions; all the moments I let slip away and every word I left unsaid.”
Grace stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest. The vulnerability in his expression and the raw sincerity in his voice were unlike anything she had ever seen from him.
