fourteen years of love and devotion they had given her, and they had given her a life, one that was truly wonderful, and which she wouldnât have had without them.
In her mind Grace Rose associated Vicky and Stephen with love, for that is what she had received from them, and continued to receive unstintingly. They had never demanded anything in return but she had responded to them with utter devotion, love and obedience.
Within the first few weeks of her arrival in this house the three of them had become as close as any parents and a child could be. And right from the beginning she had fallen into their ways, had adapted easily to their lifestyle, been comfortable in their world of courtesy, good manners, cosseted comfort, and undeniable wealth and privilege.
There were moments, like right now, when she thought about the courage they had shown ⦠they had been so very brave to take her in, make her their daughter.
She , the urchin child, existing on the streets of Whitechapel, living in an old cart, alone, scared witless and forever hungry. An urchin child dressed in ragged boysâ clothes, which were far too big, and covered in grime and dirt. A little girl who had been thrown away without a second thought, until Amos Finnister had found her and taken her to Lady Fenella and Vicky Forth at Haddon House. The three of them, and Stephen as well, had saved her life. She shuddered to think about what would have happened to her if Amos had not gone into that cul-de-sac on that particular night to eat his meat pies. And found her . She might not have lived to see the year out.
Rising, Grace Rose stood up and went over to the looking glass which hung above the fireplace in the parlour, staring at her reflection. What she saw quite pleased her, even though she didnât think of herself as being beautiful; she now decided that she looked attractive. She especially liked her red gold hair, which she thought of as her best asset. It fell to her shoulders in curls and waves, and was constantly admired by everyone. Her eyes were unusual,very, very blue, and she knew â everyone knew â that she looked exactly like Edward Deravenel. Even her slender nose, rounded chin and broad forehead were inherited from him.
Grace Rose had first met him fourteen years ago, in this house, when he had rushed into the library looking for Amos and Neville Watkins. The minute she set eyes on him her heart had done a little leap inside her, and she felt a lovely surge of happiness. It was him . Her father, looking just the way her mother had described him to her. Tabitha had told her he was strong and tall like a tree in the forest, with eyes as blue as the sky above, and hair the colour of the autumn leaves. She had recognized him.
She had smiled at him and he had smiled back, and she knew deep down inside herself that she was his, and he was hers, and there would always be something special and unique between them. And it had been so.
Her thoughts swung to Tabitha ⦠her first mother. A little sigh escaped her. She was still perplexed about her motherâs fate; Tabitha had gone away one day and never come back, and she had gone out into the streets, running as fast as her little legs would carry her. Her need to escape that hovel of a house had propelled her as far away as possible.
Now she knew as much as Vicky and the others knew about Tabitha James. Her first mother had been born Lady Tabitha Brockhaven, the daughter of an Earl; she had fallen in love with her music teacher, Toby James, and had eloped with him. But they had never had any children together. She had come along later, fathered by Uncle Ned when he was only a boy, then her mother had moved and had lost touch with Edward Deravenel.
Vicky, her adoptive mother, had told her about her background, given her all the facts that were available when shewas fourteen, at which time Vicky had believed she was old enough to know everything. But even Vicky had
In her mind Grace Rose associated Vicky and Stephen with love, for that is what she had received from them, and continued to receive unstintingly. They had never demanded anything in return but she had responded to them with utter devotion, love and obedience.
Within the first few weeks of her arrival in this house the three of them had become as close as any parents and a child could be. And right from the beginning she had fallen into their ways, had adapted easily to their lifestyle, been comfortable in their world of courtesy, good manners, cosseted comfort, and undeniable wealth and privilege.
There were moments, like right now, when she thought about the courage they had shown ⦠they had been so very brave to take her in, make her their daughter.
She , the urchin child, existing on the streets of Whitechapel, living in an old cart, alone, scared witless and forever hungry. An urchin child dressed in ragged boysâ clothes, which were far too big, and covered in grime and dirt. A little girl who had been thrown away without a second thought, until Amos Finnister had found her and taken her to Lady Fenella and Vicky Forth at Haddon House. The three of them, and Stephen as well, had saved her life. She shuddered to think about what would have happened to her if Amos had not gone into that cul-de-sac on that particular night to eat his meat pies. And found her . She might not have lived to see the year out.
Rising, Grace Rose stood up and went over to the looking glass which hung above the fireplace in the parlour, staring at her reflection. What she saw quite pleased her, even though she didnât think of herself as being beautiful; she now decided that she looked attractive. She especially liked her red gold hair, which she thought of as her best asset. It fell to her shoulders in curls and waves, and was constantly admired by everyone. Her eyes were unusual,very, very blue, and she knew â everyone knew â that she looked exactly like Edward Deravenel. Even her slender nose, rounded chin and broad forehead were inherited from him.
Grace Rose had first met him fourteen years ago, in this house, when he had rushed into the library looking for Amos and Neville Watkins. The minute she set eyes on him her heart had done a little leap inside her, and she felt a lovely surge of happiness. It was him . Her father, looking just the way her mother had described him to her. Tabitha had told her he was strong and tall like a tree in the forest, with eyes as blue as the sky above, and hair the colour of the autumn leaves. She had recognized him.
She had smiled at him and he had smiled back, and she knew deep down inside herself that she was his, and he was hers, and there would always be something special and unique between them. And it had been so.
Her thoughts swung to Tabitha ⦠her first mother. A little sigh escaped her. She was still perplexed about her motherâs fate; Tabitha had gone away one day and never come back, and she had gone out into the streets, running as fast as her little legs would carry her. Her need to escape that hovel of a house had propelled her as far away as possible.
Now she knew as much as Vicky and the others knew about Tabitha James. Her first mother had been born Lady Tabitha Brockhaven, the daughter of an Earl; she had fallen in love with her music teacher, Toby James, and had eloped with him. But they had never had any children together. She had come along later, fathered by Uncle Ned when he was only a boy, then her mother had moved and had lost touch with Edward Deravenel.
Vicky, her adoptive mother, had told her about her background, given her all the facts that were available when shewas fourteen, at which time Vicky had believed she was old enough to know everything. But even Vicky had
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