Surrendering the Past (The Granville Legacy Series Book 1) Page 2

  Julian barely smiled as they stepped toward the closed doors of the drawing room, where the butler was leading them. When the doors opened and they were announced, Richard scanned the room in his usual eagle-like fashion. His father’s men dotted the perimeter of the room. These were burly men who guarded the earl at all times. Richard did not recognize the faces, but he did not need to. He knew who they were and what their job was. He wondered briefly how his father always managed to find these men, always with the same look about them—mean, solid, yet short in stature. The earl would never have a subordinate looking down on him, not even one meant to intimidate.

  Richard’s eyes next landed on his brother, Wesley, standing in the middle of the room surrounded by beautiful women whom Richard did not immediately recognize. He made a step toward the group when his father intercepted him.

  “Ah, my son and my nephew. You have finally joined us.” The earl’s voice held a sickening sweetness that made Richard want to run. It was the voice Litchfield always gave when he was up to something vile—the performance before the mask was removed to reveal the evil underneath. Richard began to question his belief that the purpose of the evening was simply to celebrate Wesley’s betrothal, but rather something far more sinister.

  Neither man responded but stood as the earl’s icy gaze trailed over his son. “It is good of you to make an appearance, Richard. I did not know if you were alive or dead these last two years.”

  Richard’s outward appearance did not change as his father spoke. He retained the cold, emotionless expression he held when he walked through the door. Inside, he was reminding himself that he was no longer a child, and that voice need not send a bolt of fear straight through him. “You seemed to know enough to find me last week.”

  “Yes, well, London is my town, is it not? I have many acquaintances here who like to fill me in on all the goings on. I am not fortunate enough to have friends in France or wherever it was you were all this time.” He paused once more to search Richard’s expression. Knowing full well what he was doing, Richard kept his gaze hard and unyielding. “Well, it is of no matter now. Your brother will be happy to see you.”

  As the earl’s attention turned to Julian, Richard’s eyes once again wandered to his brother. Wesley seemed to stand straighter than the last time he saw him. As the eldest and heir to the considerable Litchfield estate, Wesley, Viscount Ashly, certainly had reason to be proud. However, it was not pride Richard read in his eyes as Wesley stared into his own, but curiosity mixed with something Richard could not name.

  He father’s voice resonated beside him, but Richard barely heard him as the women in Wesley’s company came into focus. He recognized Rachel by the way she smiled sweetly in his direction. The years had been good to her. He remembered her as a slightly mousey, and mouthy, young lady, but the woman standing there was beautiful. He assumed the lack of a husband had kept her young and strong.

  He nodded to her and turned his eyes to a smaller woman with many of the same features standing between Rachel and Wesley. She had a grip on his brother’s arm that left no doubt who she was. Kathleen. My future sister. The possessiveness in her expression hardened her otherwise lovely features, and Richard wondered at the cause of the protective stance. A slight look to the left of Wesley gave him his answer.

  Captain Richard Granville was not often in the company of women. He had no sisters or any living female relations. He had often thought this was because the Granville men were so large and consuming that there was no room for delicacy, and the women just could not survive among them. There were, of course, the whores who followed the encampments along the battlefields and the occasional female spy who could never be trusted. But having so little experience with ladies in polite society, he was at first surprised and then gratified as a blush crept up this woman’s features as he held her eyes in his own. He heard the cackling laugh once more and watched as her blush intensified and turned into one of shame. She turned away, and Richard immediately missed having her eyes upon him. What was this angel doing in the den of the devil?

  * * *

  Jane’s face heated as she once again wondered how she had come to be in the earl’s home that night. Just one week prior, she was sitting in her uncle’s modest home on Sloane Street content with her books and quiet but kind relations. She looked up to Viscount Ashly to gage his reaction to her mother’s laugh, but his expression remained neutral and fixed on the man who had just entered the room. It was too much to hope that he and the ladies with them had not heard her. There were probably not many in London who had not. She drew a deep breath and reminded herself that she was a gentleman’s daughter. In spite of her mother’s behavior, her father’s poverty, and her own fear, she was at least equal to every other woman in the room in that respect.

  With great effort, she again looked at the man staring. He must be the earl’s other son, Richard. Jane had been told that, even though he had been given every advantage of his class, he had grown quite wild and did not have much use for his family. She saw no wildness in his demeanor, only a lack of affection and the same curious look she had seen in every male member of the party that night. She guessed that no matter how well she had dressed and comported herself that evening, it was still obvious, at least to some of them, that she did not belong.

  Before she even realized he had moved, the captain was beside her, standing in front of his brother and exchanging greetings with a cool politeness that had Jane unconsciously searching for the wrap she had discarded earlier.

  “Richard, it is good to see you. Are you in good health?”

  “As you see. I see that you are as well.”

  “Yes, thank you. We have had your rooms prepared if you would like to stay here during your time in London.”

  Jane watched one corner of his mouth rise in an ironic smile as Richard answered his brother. “I see there was no need to mention that I am on leave for the next month. You have somehow anticipated me; however, I will be staying with Julian. But I thank you.”

  Jane felt that last bit of politeness was made more for the benefit of company than out of sincerity. The tension between the two men caused her to look around for her own dear sister, Amy, whose smile could always give her courage. She found her standing with their parents, obviously trying to keep their mother under good regulation. Poor Amy looked exhausted from the effort. Jane caught her eye with a wordless request. Amy smiled, said something to the crowd around her, and stepped toward Jane just as Richard requested introductions from his brother.

  “You must remember Lady Rachel Blanchard.”

  “Of course I do.” A genuine smile escaped then, and he took her hand and bowed over it. As he came up, he asked in a false whisper, “Are you keeping out of trouble, Lady Rachel?”

  Rachel smiled, and Jane noticed how the eyes of both men softened at the gesture. “I am trying my very best not to.”

  It was impossible not to laugh at the mischief in her voice, and Jane’s soft chuckle brought Richard’s eyes back to her. Feeling Amy now at her side, Jane was able to tear her attention away from the soft blue orbs as Viscount Ashly continued introductions.

  “Richard, you likely do not remember Rachel’s younger sister, for she has only recently come out into society. I am honored to introduce you to Lady Kathleen Blanchard.”

  Richard did not offer an immediate greeting, but paused as if waiting for more. Jane looked at the brothers more closely then and wondered if either of them realized that their expressions were nearly identical—tight, forced, and expectant, far different than their reaction to Rachel even though their words gave Kathleen far more importance. Jane decided that was due to Kathleen’s more formal, and societally appropriate, behavior. This was not a family that openly accepted informality, it seemed. She breathed deep and moved closer to Amy as the gentlemen’s eyes fell to them.

  Jane blamed the man’s imposing height and the unflattering stories she had been told for the bold heartbeat now pounding in her ears.
That same curious gaze he had leveled on her before was back, and Jane did not know if he had sensed her fear or if he was genuinely pleased to meet her when a soft smile graced his features, making him seem a little less than giant. Jane hoped her relief was not too evident. Wild or not, it was important to her that both the captain and the viscount liked her.

  “Richard—” This viscount’s words were cut off as Lord Litchfield approached with the other gentleman who had arrived with Richard.

  “I will take over the introductions, Wesley.” The earl’s authoritative voice chilled Jane, and she could feel Amy’s slight shiver next to her. Still, she forced her features into what she hoped was as neutral an expression as she saw on the gentlemen when they looked at Kathleen.

  “Richard, Julian, please allow me to introduce you to our special guests this evening. I present to you Miss Jane Dawson and her younger sister, Miss Amy Dawson. Ladies, my son Captain Richard Granville and my nephew, Mr. Julian Hale.”

  Both men bowed, though Richard kept his eyes on them as he did so. Before anyone else could speak, the butler appeared to announce dinner. The earl immediately offered his arm to Jane.

  “We will take care of the rest of the introductions in the dining room. Julian, you will escort Miss Amy.”

  Jane quickly glanced back toward her mother who was still chatting away with Lady Blanchard while they both walked with their husbands. She said a quick prayer that the rest of the evening would go smoothly, that her mother would not embarrass her again, and that she would continue to resist the urge to break out into a wild run.

  * * *

  Richard could not be sure that his father had intentionally maneuvered the seating so that he would be next to the most annoying woman in England, but he would blame him anyway. Whenever she would say something entirely inappropriate, Richard would look at her husband, who was only two seats down and within hearing distance. Mr. Dawson would only sigh and take another drink of wine. By Richard’s estimation, his glass had already been refilled twice, and they were still in the first course.

  “Oh, what an honor it is to be sitting at an earl’s table and in such fine company! And my Jane being honored above the rest. Look how lovely she is sitting next to Lord Litchfield. She has had disappointments, to be sure, but look at her now. She will be the belle of London.”

  Richard could not make out Lady Blanchard’s reply but noticed Mr. Dawson’s gesture for more wine. These were people the esteemed earl would not normally acknowledge at all let alone allow in his home. Richard had learned from Mrs. Dawson’s conversation with Lady Blanchard that Mr. Dawson owned a small estate in Surry and had few acquaintances in town, save her husband’s sister who was married to a scholar who tutored sons of the lower classes. In Richard’s mind, there was no situation he could imagine that would ever put this family in his father’s path. Yet, they were sitting at the table with his father’s oldest friends as if they were equals.

  He happened to look at the head of the table just before the earl was able to hide a disgusted snarl behind his wine glass. No, not equals. What plans did he have for these people, then? The question sent a cold wave down his spine. He tried to catch Julian’s eye across from him, but he was looking down at his dinner partner in amusement while she stared daggers through him. He would wonder about that later. Richard used his height advantage to look over Rachel, who sat next to him, toward his brother. For a moment, he believed he saw the same fear in his brother’s profile that he himself suddenly felt, but that would take freethinking on Wesley’s part, and he simply did not think his brother was capable of such a thing.

  Richard looked back to his father to see that he was staring straight at him. The snarl had been replaced with a smile that grew in the face of Richard’s confusion. He had avoided looking at Jane since they had been seated. She made him uncomfortable in a most pleasant way, and Richard would not let his father see anything in his demeanor that could be interpreted as weakness. They stared at each other for a long moment until the earl looked over at Jane, who smiled nervously and then looked down at her plate. When his father turned his attention back to him, Richard stared hard, and his stomach churned as the cold realization of the situation began to dawn.

  “My friends,” Litchfield began as he rose. The chatter of the room quieted, and all attention was turned to the head of the table. “I welcome all of you, old friends and new, to this joyous celebration. I see that I am confusing some of you, for you are currently unaware of the good fortune that has befallen the house of Litchfield. I will not make a long speech. I must save my voice for arguing with this gentleman in the House of Lords, after all.” He placed his hand on Blanchard’s shoulder as they both laughed. “I will simply ask my dear boys, Wesley and Richard, to join me in welcoming a new member to our family: my betrothed, Miss Jane Dawson.”

  Chapter 3

  Taking her betrothed’s word that she could roam freely about his home, Jane took the opportunity to slip from the drawing room while the other ladies prepared for their displays. She walked through an open passage into an adjacent room decorated in shades of cream and gold. Though lavishly furnished, she could see no purpose for the room other than as a showcase for the owner’s obvious wealth. She stepped into the middle of the floor and scanned the area around her. Jane found it odd that there were no windows and wondered if there were passages behind the walls.

  She walked toward a large mirror hung on the far wall. Staring at the image in the glass, she could hardly account for the composed lady staring back. It must be a testament to the ridiculously expensive dress that draped her frame. Guilt gripped at her as she wondered how her father would be able to pay for such a piece, but her mother had insisted. “You must look the part, Jane. He has to believe you belong in his home. To be sure, he wants you in his bed, but you must look as if you belong in his dining room as well.” Jane did not know if her mother had intended to call her a whore then, but as she stood in front of her reflection and adjusted the fine silk sash around her waist, that is exactly how she felt. Yes, the mirror reflected a composed, proper lady, and she would play that part for her family’s sake, but she would not deny to herself that her father had sold her and that her mother considered it a personal victory.

  As she continued to stare, her eyes slowly changed focus from her blue and silver gown to the wall behind her. A portrait, framed in gold, stared back at her. Jane looked over her shoulder and then slowly turned and stepped toward the picture until she was just below it, looking up. The figure of a woman looked down upon her and, like Jane, was dressed in finery befitting such a room. Her glassy blue eyes, however, told a different story. Jane could not decipher the meaning and stood there some moments caught in her gaze.

  “That is the woman you are to replace.”

  Jane jumped and placed her hand over her heart as she turned to the voice beside her.

  “Captain Granville. I did not notice you.”

  “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you.”

  Jane stared at him for a moment, looking for signs of the crazed wildling she had heard about from both Lord Litchfield and Lady Blanchard. His dark, curly locks were untamed, but the rest of him seemed controlled and gentlemanly. His clothes were not of the latest fashion, but they fit him well, and he seemed just as poised and self-assured as the other gentlemen of the party who were dressed in all the modern finery. Her eyes met his, and they told her little, only that he waited for her perusal and pending judgment. She smiled and returned her gaze to the portrait.

  “I have been standing here for some time, foolishly looking into her eyes and wondering why they were so familiar.” She paused and looked at him. “They are yours—and your brother’s.”

  Richard nodded. “Yes, I am told I am the image of my grandfather, her father. But Wesley is Granville all over, except for his eyes.”

  Jane continued to affect confidence as Richard took his turn to examine her far more thoroughly than she had him, and the knowing look he g
ave at the end of his efforts told her he saw right through her. His subsequent smile made her breathe a sigh of relief and return his smile.

  “Have the men joined the ladies in the drawing room?”

  “No, they are all still talking estate business in the dining room. Since I have no estate, I was too bored to remain.”

  “Do you enjoy being in the army?” She shook her head and turned away. “What a silly question. I ask if you enjoy the army the same way I would ask if you enjoyed your dinner. I would imagine they are very different experiences.”

  Richard laughed. “Indeed, they are. The conversation is less polite, and the surroundings are…more natural, I suppose.”

  “More natural? You mean there are no golden tapestries or dancing lady figurines?”

  “No, just smoke and blood, and the only things dancing around you are the shouts of your commanders.”

  Jane looked a bit dazed, and he was instantly apologetic. “I am unaccustomed to speaking with ladies. I am far more fit for a battlefield than drawing room banter.”

  She shook her head and briefly touched his sleeve. “I was shocked at your words, but truly, I do not mind. There is so much pomp and politeness in those drawing rooms, even the smaller, less adorned ones I am used to, to allow much room for truth. We have an encampment of soldiers in the village near my father’s estate, and we dine with a few of the men from time to time. They are well versed in politeness and will acknowledge that Napoleon exists but never speak of how they will defeat him.”

  Richard smiled broadly. “You would prefer battle stories to polite conversation?”

  She blushed at his tease but continued her light tone. “I imagine they would make the time go faster as I struggle with my embroidery as well as remind me that my troubles with said embroidery are nothing compared to those of the men protecting England.”

  “I shall have to come entertain you then.” They both smiled—a sweet smile of understanding that comes with knowing you have found a friend.