you marry?”
“Do you have a preference?” he asked Grace.
She gave a shrug and a small shake of her head. “Anywhere.”
“The chapel at Wildenhurst,” Caine stated. “It’s close enough that Uncle can attend comfortably, but not here in town where we might be plagued by hordes of the curious. Have you friends you wish to witness or attend?” he asked her.
Again, that small, disbelieving shake of her head. She knocked back the entire contents of her glass and coughed.
“Easy there. Are you quite all right?”
She nodded uncertainly as if the full impact of the evening’s events had suddenly hit her.
“No more plans tonight. You need to eat and then sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough for arrangements,” Caine declared. He looked meaningfully at Trent.
Trent set down his glass and stood. “I’ll just be off then.” He held out a hand to Caine. “Congratulations on your betrothal.” He bowed to Grace. “My lady, I wish you every happiness. And with that, a good night to you both.”
Grace exhaled audibly. “Thank you.”
Caine grinned at Trent’s wry expression. “See you in the morning.”
When they were alone, Caine sought to soothe Grace’s concerns, since she surely must have a few. “Everything will be done for you and you needn’t worry about anything.”
A kitchen maid arrived with a tray laden with cold meats, bread, sliced oranges and a pot of tea.
“You may leave it,” Caine told her. “I will serve the lady.” He proceeded to slather butter on a slice of bread for her.
She hurriedly rolled two slabs of ham and attacked the food without pause. Or anything resembling manners. Caine stopped what he was doing and watched with fascination as she ate. Eyes closed, she moaned softly and chewed rapidly.
After a few moments, she stopped and covered her mouth with her serviette.
“Too much, too fast?” he asked. “Perhaps you should rest a bit first.”
“She should and that’s a fact,” Mrs. Oliver declared. Caine turned to see her standing in the doorway Trent had just vacated. The heavyset retainer marched forward and virtually lifted her charge out of the chair. “You come right along, miss.”
He stood quickly to bid Grace good-night, noting that she plucked up the slice of bread he had buttered before being hauled away.
Caine sat down again when they were gone, eye fixed on the remnants of the cold supper without actually seeing it. Why would Grace admittedly starve herself, then gobble down food with such abandon? Had she lied about Wardfelton’s treatment? Had the man withheld sustenance? And if so, whyever would he do such a thing?
This would bear some investigation, but there was no rush. His little Grace would be perfectly safe now and hereafter. He would see to that.
For the first time since the morning of the battle that nearly blinded him, Caine felt a wave of calmness and well-being. He dearly hoped it would last.
The next morning, Caine awakened late, but fully alert and eager, for once, to face the day. He ascribed that to having a meaningful and interesting project other than the tedious business of straightening out his uncle’s affairs.
Grace must take second place, of course, immediately after their marriage. Once he had grown accustomed to the new duties he would assume and felt confident he could handle them, he would investigate Grace’s situation or have someone do it.
No sooner was he dressed and on his way downstairs than Trent arrived with news. Caine motioned him toward the library.
Trent began speaking before he even took a chair. “The archbishop will provide the special license to wed any place you wish,” he announced immediately. “However, Jarvis says that you will still have several weeks’ wait.”
“I thought we could wed at any time thereafter.” Caine made himself comfortable behind the earl’s desk and began rearranging the papers he had been working on the day before.
“Well, these days, a special license has become a status affair and everyone wants one. So why not have banns called at the Wildenhurst chapel and do things in the regular way?”
Caine steepled his fingers beneath his chin and thought about it. “I had hoped to have it done sooner, but I suppose there’s no great reason for haste.”
Trent nodded his agreement. “He also said it might be wise for either you or the lady to repair to the country for the duration in order to establish residence. Though, that could likely be waived, since it was your home before the war.”
Caine considered that for a moment. “Very well.” Truth was, he didn’t mind leaving London, but he would need to convince his uncle to accompany them. “Would you see to retrieving Lady Grace’s belongings from Wardfelton’s house for me?”
Trent sighed and threw up his hands. “I went by to accomplish that after I asked about the license. Her uncle refuses to part with a thread of hers, or to countenance what he’s calling her abduction. He swears he plans to bring charges against you, but I doubt it will come to anything. Too many witnesses heard her accept your offer.”
“I suppose the town’s abuzz with last night’s antics,” Caine said.
“If that was your intention, it was wildly successful.
Still, public approval of your little romance doesn’t help clothe the lady, does it?”
“No matter. I’ll send for a dressmaker. Grace will need a trousseau. But absolutely nothing in yellow,” he added with a shake of his head. “Atrocious.”
Trent was staring at the doorway and wincing. Caine turned to see Grace standing there, wearing the awful garment he had just referred to. “Sorry you heard that, but you must admit …”
She nodded thoughtfully, staring at the floor. “I am well aware of how I look. No need to mince words on my account.”
Caine wished he could call her beautiful, but he did not want to begin their relationship with lies. She was not beautiful. The poor little dear looked pitiful this morning, even worse than last evening. Her light brown hair hung from a middle parting in stick-straight strands, the ends uneven about her shoulders. Pale as death, her features seemed far too small for the large blue eyes. Remarkable eyes. His heart went out to her in that moment.
“It’s the color yellow that I object to, Grace. And only that,” he said with conviction.
Trent cleared his throat, breaking the spell. “Yes, well, if you two will excuse me, I have errands of my own.”
Caine thanked him absently as he left.
“Mr. Trent is a good friend to do so much for you,” Grace said as she ventured farther into the library.
“It’s Lord Trent, Viscount Trent. His father’s Marquis of Alden. And yes, indeed he is my best friend.” Trent
