to hide from anything but the world.
Grace placed her hand to the left side of her face, feeling
the ridged scars. She rarely looked in the mirror anymore; even her morning
toilette was completed on a bench near the fireplace.
Ridgley.
She thought of him only on her worst days. Tears formed
quickly—tears laced with sorrow and regret and yes, anger.
On her worst days, she blamed Sebastian.
Oh, why has he come?
Why had he come when she had established a perfectly
wonderful life here in Cornwall? Here beauty had a new meaning—not the refined
perfection of London or the manmade definition of attractiveness but something
greater.
What could have only been minutes passed before there was a
light tap on the door and Felix, rather than one of the kitchen staff, appeared
with a tray. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece to see an hour
had already ticked by. Had Sebastian’s presence already disrupted her
well-ordered world?
“Your Grace,” the majordomo said as he set the tray on a
round mahogany table. He carried the centerpiece away and then placed the
covered dishes in a semicircle around her plate. While he worked, he continued
with the news she wanted to hear. “Lord Ridgley has just started his supper and
a room has been prepared. He asks once again if he might have a moment of your
time.”
Even the tantalizing scents of butter and bread, ham and
sweet potatoes did not tempt her.
“No, Mr. Felix,” she said quietly. He mustn’t . I
can’t . Such a mistake . Make him go away.
She used all of her noble manners to exude the strength she
did not feel. Felix held her chair at the table.
It was simple enough to be the queen of her Cornish kingdom.
No one in her realm would think anything less of their monarch let alone say a
thing about her appearance. In short, they had all come to a quiet agreement
that her scars would be ignored. Grace never talked about the wretched
disfigurement. Her staff pretended she was the most beautiful and kind Duchess
of Hammond. They lived a happy delusion in the country.
She was loath to have her world disrupted so forcefully a
second time.
Did Sebastian not understand she had secluded herself
willingly?
“He seems most determined, Your Grace.” Felix reached for a
note that lay on her supper tray. “He requested I give you this. And he said he
wished with all his heart you would read it and look upon his words favorably.”
“His exact words?” she asked.
Grace touched the note for a second. The temptation was
great. She raised her hand but caught herself just as the first hint of some
manly cologne wafted under nose. “No,” she said and handed it back. “Please
inform Lord Ridgley I cannot accept correspondence from him.” The other notes
he’d sent had sat on her bedside table for days before she succumbed to the
need to open them. The longer she went without reading, the longer she could
savor his words when she finally gave in. And she always did.
There were the scars on her face, yes.
But Ridgley could reopen the scars on her heart. Already she
could feel the small tears. “He must leave in the morning, Felix. See that it
happens if you must harness his team yourself.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
After finishing food she did not taste, Grace called her
lady’s maid and slipped into a comfortable rail and robe. Normally she enjoyed
having Trish brush her hair for several long minutes, tonight instead she had
it wound into a thick braid.
Ridgley’s arrival had her feeling out of sorts, and she
hated being grumpy and irritable with the staff. She thought it would reinforce
the idea of her ugliness. There were times when she preferred being alone to
making an irreparable mistake with those who had been most faithful to her.
Many from her London household still served her needs since her permanent move
to Cornwall.
When she had succumbed to despair those many months ago, her
staff, led by Mr. Felix, had made all the difference. And of course
Grace placed her hand to the left side of her face, feeling
the ridged scars. She rarely looked in the mirror anymore; even her morning
toilette was completed on a bench near the fireplace.
Ridgley.
She thought of him only on her worst days. Tears formed
quickly—tears laced with sorrow and regret and yes, anger.
On her worst days, she blamed Sebastian.
Oh, why has he come?
Why had he come when she had established a perfectly
wonderful life here in Cornwall? Here beauty had a new meaning—not the refined
perfection of London or the manmade definition of attractiveness but something
greater.
What could have only been minutes passed before there was a
light tap on the door and Felix, rather than one of the kitchen staff, appeared
with a tray. She glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelpiece to see an hour
had already ticked by. Had Sebastian’s presence already disrupted her
well-ordered world?
“Your Grace,” the majordomo said as he set the tray on a
round mahogany table. He carried the centerpiece away and then placed the
covered dishes in a semicircle around her plate. While he worked, he continued
with the news she wanted to hear. “Lord Ridgley has just started his supper and
a room has been prepared. He asks once again if he might have a moment of your
time.”
Even the tantalizing scents of butter and bread, ham and
sweet potatoes did not tempt her.
“No, Mr. Felix,” she said quietly. He mustn’t . I
can’t . Such a mistake . Make him go away.
She used all of her noble manners to exude the strength she
did not feel. Felix held her chair at the table.
It was simple enough to be the queen of her Cornish kingdom.
No one in her realm would think anything less of their monarch let alone say a
thing about her appearance. In short, they had all come to a quiet agreement
that her scars would be ignored. Grace never talked about the wretched
disfigurement. Her staff pretended she was the most beautiful and kind Duchess
of Hammond. They lived a happy delusion in the country.
She was loath to have her world disrupted so forcefully a
second time.
Did Sebastian not understand she had secluded herself
willingly?
“He seems most determined, Your Grace.” Felix reached for a
note that lay on her supper tray. “He requested I give you this. And he said he
wished with all his heart you would read it and look upon his words favorably.”
“His exact words?” she asked.
Grace touched the note for a second. The temptation was
great. She raised her hand but caught herself just as the first hint of some
manly cologne wafted under nose. “No,” she said and handed it back. “Please
inform Lord Ridgley I cannot accept correspondence from him.” The other notes
he’d sent had sat on her bedside table for days before she succumbed to the
need to open them. The longer she went without reading, the longer she could
savor his words when she finally gave in. And she always did.
There were the scars on her face, yes.
But Ridgley could reopen the scars on her heart. Already she
could feel the small tears. “He must leave in the morning, Felix. See that it
happens if you must harness his team yourself.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
After finishing food she did not taste, Grace called her
lady’s maid and slipped into a comfortable rail and robe. Normally she enjoyed
having Trish brush her hair for several long minutes, tonight instead she had
it wound into a thick braid.
Ridgley’s arrival had her feeling out of sorts, and she
hated being grumpy and irritable with the staff. She thought it would reinforce
the idea of her ugliness. There were times when she preferred being alone to
making an irreparable mistake with those who had been most faithful to her.
Many from her London household still served her needs since her permanent move
to Cornwall.
When she had succumbed to despair those many months ago, her
staff, led by Mr. Felix, had made all the difference. And of course
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