The Earl of Sunderland by Aubrey Wynne

Author:Aubrey Wynne
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: 0
Published: 2018-01-30T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 10

“I have been a selfish being all my life, in practice, though not in principle.”

Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

Mid July 1815

Grace dressed quickly and smoothed the chemise over her hips. She wrinkled her nose at the corset but slipped it on. With a skilled hand, she reached behind, yanked the ties in the middle, and then pulled the strings at the bottom. Her maid would tighten it properly when she dressed for breakfast. The poor thing had been appalled to learn Grace had dressed herself the first morning. She’d learned to do a passable job around thirteen when she began her early morning forays. With the bodiced petticoat, silk stockings, and garters in place, she donned her pale yellow morning dress. The white lace trim on the neck and sleeves was wearing thin but no one would see her at this hour.

A routine had been established in the last week. As always, Grace rose between six and half past. She would peek in Sammy’s room then take the narrow back stairs, wander several hallways, another set of stairs, and find herself in the kitchen. The gardens just beyond were peaceful and smelled heavenly. The fresh morning dew sparkled silver on the leaves, accentuating the yellow, pink, and red petals that were in bloom. She stopped by the herb plot, ran her fingers over the rosemary, and held them to her nose. The pine and lemon scent tickled her nostrils as she looked beyond the gardens to the rolling hills beyond.

Twice this week, she had seen Lord Sunderland on his great black horse, far off in the distance, cantering up a hill or into the woods. His tall form, dark in his mourning coat, stood out against the stark white trunks of the silver birch that mingled with towering oaks. The fact he rose even earlier than she made her smile for some reason. Though, the man himself seems to have made it his mission to make me smile, she thought as she absently rubbed the soft green needles again.

“Rosemary is for remembrance,

Between us day and night.

Wishing that I may always,

Have you present in my sight.”

Grace’s hand froze midway to her nose. Her stomach fluttered as the sultry voice dripped over her. Without turning to face him, she replied with a quick wit,

“And when I cannot have

As I have said before,

Then Cupid, with his deadly dart,

Doth wound my heart full sore.”

“Do you often surprise gentlewomen strolling alone in the garden, my lord?” How could she have not felt his approach? His presence was almost overpowering. Her skin prickled, and she resisted the urge to rub her bare arms.

“Only the most beautiful of women, Lady Grace.” He stepped in front of her and bowed. “I do apologize if I frightened you. So do you believe in the power of rosemary?”

“For memory? I don’t know, but the poem is lovely. A medieval ballad, isn’t it?” She looked at him under the cover of her long lashes. So handsome. His eye had healed completely, not even a faint bruise remained.

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