as he stepped out onto the paved drive. He’d always felt a deal of sympathy for Thea, caught in a life she surely wouldn’t have chosen for herself. There were rumors about Thea’s mother, Davinia’s willful and rebellious daughter. Peter didn’t know if the rumors were true or if, in fact, they had anything to do with the tight rein Davinia held on her only surviving grandchild. He didn’t have a clue as to why Thea allowed herself to be governed by her grandmother’s outdated ideas and ideals. It wasn’t as if she had no other recourse. Everyone knew she had considerable assets of her own.
Not that it mattered to him one way or another. He had no intention of giving Thea or her grandmother any grounds for complaint. Not tonight or at any time in the future. He couldn’t imagine even a single circumstance under which he’d be tempted to behave as anything other than a perfect gentleman with Thea. She wasn’t exactly his idea of a temptress.
The idea of Thea as femme fatale made him smile as he loped up the steps and pushed the doorbell, half expecting to be admitted by a butler straight out of the old Addams Family television series. But the liveried man who opened the thick wooden door looked more like Santa Claus than Lurch. “May I help you?” the butler said.
“I’m Peter Braddock.” Peter offered the information with a smile. “I believe Ms. Berenson is expecting me.”
“Miss Thea isn’t quite ready, sir, but Mrs. Carey would like to greet you in the parlor.”
Disguising his reluctance to be greeted, Peter stepped inside the cavernous foyer and blinked in the dusky, dusty light. Grace Place, on first impression, did not live up to its name. Although as his vision adjusted to the gloom, he could see the house might once have been something spectacular. Dual stairways curved up on either side of a large entry and the chandelier hanging from the ceiling was quite simply massive. If lit it would undoubtedly illuminate the entryway with a crystalline light.
“This way, please.” The butler walked with a slight hitch in his step to the far side of the foyer, where he opened an ornately carved wooden door to reveal a dim room decorated in a style that hadn’t been fashionable for forty years. “Mr. Peter Braddock is here for Miss Thea,” he announced, then stepped aside so that Peter could enter the parlor, which was just as dreary as the foyer, if not more so.
Davinia Carey sat like the proverbial spider, in a web of ruffled cushions on a dark green velvet settee. Her hair was crimped and upswept into a tight knot atop her head. It was as black as a raven’s wing, which made her face look unnaturally pale in the gloomy light. “Good afternoon, Peter,” she said in a voice that made him feel he wasn’t standing quite straight enough.
Peter wasn’t easily intimidated, but Davinia Carey always made him nervous, as if she was both judge and jury, as though she knew that beneath his GQ facade he was merely a pretender to the throne. “Hello, Mrs. Carey,” he replied in a voice that betrayed not one iota of his feelings. “It’s very nice to see you again. I hope you’re feeling well today.”
She sniffed, a sound as eloquent as any words. “Have a seat, Peter.”
He glanced around and chose a straight-backed Queen Anne, which was as uncomfortable as it looked, but had the advantage of being a respectable distance from the settee. For some reason, he found himself remembering the night of his first formal dance. He’d been a gawky, awkward kid, barely thirteen, and still terrified he would do something to embarrass the whole Braddock family. He’d made himself sick worrying about the dance and what he should or shouldn’t say to the pretty girl who was his date, until Grandmother Jane had taken him aside and offered her wise counsel. “Some day, Peter,” she’d said. “You’ll meet the woman who will be your wife and you’ll realize that her opinion of you truly matters. This is not that day, so stop worrying, relax and simply do your best to have a good time.”
Well, today was not that day, either. And with the thought, he offered Davinia Carey a warm and kindly smile. “I’ve never been to your home before,” he said easily. “Grace Place is an impressive estate.”
“It’s nothing to what it was when I was Thea’s age. This house is not as old as Braddock Hall, but my great-great-grandfather, Davis Madison Grace, spared no expense in building it.”
Which didn’t keep it from looking like a very poor relation now, Peter thought but didn’t, of course, say aloud. “I believe Grandfather mentioned this was your childhood home.”
The sniff again. This time expressing nostalgia, perhaps, or some old regret for days gone by. “My coming-out ball was as grand as any party ever given at The Breakers, I can assure you. Ask your grandfather. He’ll remember.” She paused, her eyes narrowing on him. “Grace Place will belong to Theadosia one day.”
He didn’t know quite how to respond to that, but she seemed to expect a reply, so he said, “Lucky Thea.”
“Luck has nothing whatsoever to do with it, Peter. She was born an heiress.”
The slight stress on the word was, he felt, not only intentional but intended to remind him that he hadn’t inherited the Braddock name and its privileges at birth. He had, in fact, spent the first nine years of his life believing he was the son of another man, a poor man, and hadn’t even been acknowledged as a Braddock until he was nine. A lot of people knew that. It wasn’t exactly a secret. But no one had ever pointed it out to him in such a coldly calculating way. Davinia Grace Carey was telling him he was not good enough for her granddaughter and it was all Peter could do not to challenge her on it. As if Thea had suitors climbing the walls of this monstrous old house in the hope of winning her heart. Or at least her fortune.
He held the old woman’s gaze and didn’t politely look away when it grew uncomfortable. “As I said before, lucky Thea.”
She drew herself up at that and a haughty smile curved along her thin lips, making her look even more like a spider in no particular hurry to immobilize her prey. “I see that we understand each other, Peter. I’m not sure what Archer had in mind in setting up this assignation between you and Thea. Do you know?”
Peter breathed deeply to maintain his composure. “I believe he hoped we would have a pleasant evening.”
“Be that as it may, Thea has been brought up as a lady and I do expect you to treat her as such. You will have her home at a reasonable hour. Not a moment past midnight, and in the same virtuous condition as when she walks out the door with you.”
It was becoming very clear why Theadosia Berenson attended social functions alone or accompanied by this harridan of a chaperone. Peter resolved then and there that tonight he would keep Thea out at least five moments past midnight, even if he was so bored by that time the seconds dripped like molasses. “I assure you, Mrs. Carey, my grandmother taught me to be a gentleman at all times, even under the most tempting of circumstances. Believe me, there’s no need for you to worry. Thea will be perfectly safe with me.”
Davinia frowned at him, obviously unconvinced of his sincerity, but then her gaze went past him to the doorway. “Theadosia,” she said. “Come in. How many times do I have to remind you it’s not polite for a lady to hover in a doorway? Come in, come in.” She extended a veiny hand. “You look lovely, dear. Doesn’t she, Peter?”
Lovely wasn’t the word for it. Thea looked bedraggled and miserably self-conscious. Her dress fit badly, at best, and covered her from high neck to midcalf in a dreary beige. Her hair was its normal mousey-brown, and looped haphazardly into a frazzled topknot that already showed signs of slip-sliding toward her left ear. The double strand of pearls she wore was too long to be stylish and too big to be simply a nice touch. Matching pearl earrings, too large for her pointy little face, studded
