Chapter 2

Grace sat on the violet chaise longue underneath the violet and white draped window looking out over the vast grounds of Rutherford Court. A heavy, pelting rain fell, streaming down the panes in an endless torrent of water, so much so, she could barely see the topiary garden or the lake with its swimming swans in the distance beyond. What a lovely view it was. A pity it had to rain, she longed to take a walk around the lake, for she had not had the opportunity yet to do so.

She let her mind drift back to the first time she met the marchioness. To her surprise, Lady Rutherford herself had been within the confines of the ornate carriage sent for Grace's use on her way back from London. As Lady Rutherford explained it, she decided to postpone her return to the country estate and collect Grace along the way. It turned out that it was not far out of her way and she was glad to do it, herself not being able to wait to meet her dear friend's daughter.

What a revelation Lady Rutherford turned out to be, vastly different to what Grace had anticipated. A tall, slender lady with a regal manner, Lady Rutherford was the epitome of elegance, but that Grace did expect, it was her kind, gentle nature that surprised the younger woman. Still stunningly beautiful, she wore her medium dark brown hair, only slightly greying, coiled on top of her head, her alabaster skin with only a touch of colour at her cheeks, still unmarked by the advancing years. Even though she was four and fifty, she still looked to be in her forties. However, her smile was her best feature of all, when she smiled it seemed to travel right up to the depths of her sapphire blue eyes. A smile she bestowed on Grace often.

During the eight weeks Grace had been in residence at Rutherford Court, she heard rumours regarding Lady Rutherford's only son from the servants below stairs. Still unmarried, it seemed he never visited his mother, preferring to stay in London to participate in the many entertainments offered for young eligible gentlemen. She certainly hoped he would not show his face at Rutherford Court during her incumbency, for she was certain to give him a severe tongue-lashing. It did not matter who he was, he should make time to see his only living parent who loved him dearly. Although she did not complain, Grace knew his mother missed him.

Sighing, Grace turned her attention to the chambers given to her on arrival. How very different to what she had become accustomed to, although the colours were practically the same as what she had at the cottage, that is where the similarity ended. Decorated with furniture of the latest Chippendale designs, a large, ornate bed made of mahogany with violet draperies hanging from the canopy above sat in the middle in between two matching many-paned windows. A large clothes press from the same designer sat along the far wall, on the opposite wall sat a marble-mantled fireplace that now had a fire dancing merrily in the hearth, warming the room against the chill that had gathered overnight.

Grace did not want to become too accustomed to such luxury; she would not be here for long after all, she did not know how long the marchioness would be in need of her. Even though she had not been in residence long, she began to love it here, along with the marchioness who treated her like the daughter she never had.

"Artemis, come on, breakfast time," she called to her faithful pet.

To Lady Rutherford's credit, she did not turn her nose up at the sight of Grace's unusual companion; instead, she greeted the dog warmly, bestowing fond pats on top of Artemis's smooth head. For that, her ladyship had made a friend for life. Unlike the squire, Artemis would have gladly ripped the seat out of his breeches if given the chance; she certainly did not like that man. Fortunately, Grace did not see him again before she left and for that, she would be eternally grateful. Although, she knew she would see him again. It was only a matter of time.

With Artemis following close behind, Grace made her way down the ornate mahogany staircase toward the breakfast room. With sadness, she looked down at the simple dusky pink muslin gown she wore, too simple in her opinion for the opulence that surrounded her. However, it would have to do; she could get more when she could afford it. Even though Lady Rutherford had offered to buy her some new clothes, Grace refused. Just receiving the chance to live in such splendour was enough, not to mention the chaise by the window in her room to allow her to look out over the grounds. Such inspiration for her writing she saw everywhere she looked, which Lady Rutherford kindly granted time off for her to do.

She collected buttered eggs, toast from the sideboard, sat down on a mahogany chair upholstered in apricot fabric, and began to eat. A footman materialised from seemingly nowhere and collected Artemis to take to the kitchen to feed her. Grace smiled in thanks at the kind man, grateful he did so otherwise she would have fed her from the table, a habit she sometimes had, a bad habit to be sure. Mrs Woods always told her off for doing so.

Whilst she ate, her thoughts turned to Mrs Woods. She wondered how she fared, living with her sister and husband in the village near the cottage. If the squire realised she was there, Grace was certain he would compel the kind lady to tell him where Grace was. She shuddered at the thought, hoping Mrs Woods would not succumb to his threats. She knew what he was like.

Breaking into her reverie, Grace heard a rustling of skirts from behind her and turned around to greet Lady Rutherford. This morning, she looked stunning in a high-necked gown of sapphire blue silk that seemed to enhance her eyes to a deeper blue than normal. Then again, she could wear a potato sack and still look stunning in Grace's eyes.

"Good morning, Lady Rutherford," Grace greeted warmly.

"Good morning, my dear," Lady Rutherford replied as she selected her breakfast and sat down. "I trust you slept well?"

"Oh, yes, thank you, my lady," Grace replied. "And you?"

"Of course, I seem to be sleeping quite well since you have arrived. Did I not tell you what a joy it is to have you in my home?" Lady Rutherford said, smiling one of her dazzling smiles at the young woman sitting opposite her.

"Yes, you have," Grace replied, chuckling. "Now, tell me, dear lady, what is it you wish to do today? It is far too wet outside to take in the air, so that is out of the question."

"I feel like a party, it has been such a long time since I have had one," Lady Rutherford replied. "Why do we not spend today planning it? You shall write the invitations with a list I shall give you. Porter will know where the addresses are, in the library desk I believe." She looked more animated than Grace had seen her since she arrived and it made her smile. If a party is what her ladyship wanted, a party is what she would get.

"That sounds wonderful, my lady," Grace cried. "Who shall you invite?"

"A mixture of older and younger people I think," she said. "That way, we both have some new people to talk to. There may even be a young gentleman for you, my dear." There was a definite twinkle of mischief within her sapphire blue eyes as she gazed at Grace.

"But, my lady," Grace cried. "I am here to keep you company, a job I thoroughly enjoy I might add, not to find a husband. Although, I thank you for thinking of me, I do appreciate it."

"Nonsense," Lady Rutherford replied. "Besides, if you become betrothed to a nice young gentleman, the squire shall not have any right to claim you."

Grace had to agree with that logic. On only the second day, she had confided in Lady Rutherford her problems regarding the squire. Her ladyship was aghast at the lengths the squire had employed to force her hand, pleased that in her own small way, she had been able to help. She did not hear a thing in London on that score.

"Who else shall you invite?" Grace said quietly, she did not think her ladyship would give up; it would be best just to move on.

"I think Lady Felicity Beecham shall attend, she is a lovely girl," Lady Rutherford said with a fond look in her eyes. "Maybe I shall also lure Nicholas here if she is to attend."

Even though she had never met Lord Nicholas, Marquess of Rutherford, her dislike for the man grew. Why her ladyship should feel the need to lure her son to see her, Grace did not know. If he chose to attend, she firmed her resolve to tell him what she thought, regardless of the consequences; she could find herself well and truly out on her ear. Nevertheless, he needed to know how his actions were hurting his mother. She had gone to London especially to see him and he did visit with her, but why she had to do that instead of him journeying here was beyond Grace's comprehension.

After breakfast, Grace collected Artemis from the kitchen before going with Porter to the library. She sat down behind the large mahogany desk on a comfortable leather chair and collected the paper, ink and the new steel nibs that made writing such a pleasure, to begin writing the invitations. Raising a bushy, grey eyebrow in question, Porter handed her the list of names and addresses needed.

"Her ladyship wants a party, Porter," Grace said, grinning. "We shall see that she gets one, as well as thoroughly enjoying herself of course."

"I notice Lord Rutherford is on the list, miss," Porter said, frowning ever so slightly.

"Do not worry, Porter," she replied. "I shall word his invitation just right so that he cannot refuse."

The normally reticent butler grinned at her as he bowed to take his leave. On the way out of the door, he bent down and patted Artemis's head fondly, receiving a lick on the hand for his attention. Not only had Artemis charmed her ladyship, but she also charmed the entire household. Quite often, she would go the kitchen and beg for treats from the cook who would gladly give her whatever she wanted.

Grace settled down to write the invitations in her neat, open hand. When it came time to write Lord Rutherford's invitation, she sat with the end of her pen in her mouth and thought a moment, before a slow smile spread across her face. She would stress that Lady Felicity Beecham would attend. That should be enough for Lord Rutherford to accept the invitation.

According to Lady Rutherford, Lady Felicity is a diamond of the first water and more than qualified for the position of marchioness, providing his lordship wants to propose that is. That would be quite fine by Lady Rutherford, if in fact he did decide to propose. She would dearly love to retire to the dower house and become the dowager marchioness, it was about time her son married and had a clutch of children of his own for her to spoil. She would be entirely in her element.

Finally finished, Grace addressed the envelopes and sealed them with a blob of red wax with the Rutherford seal. She went out to the entranceway and handed the completed invitations to Porter, before heading to the drawing room in search of Lady Rutherford. There, she found the marchioness sitting on a lemon yellow chaise attending to her needlework, a picture of elegance as her hands moved the needle swiftly through the fabric. She looked up from her work and greeted Grace with one of her charming smiles.

"All of the invitations have been written and I have handed them to Porter to organise the postage, my lady," Grace said. "Would you like me to play something for you?"

"Oh, would you? That shall be lovely," Lady Rutherford replied. "I shall leave the selection up to you, my dear. You know what I like."

Fortunately, Grace and Lady Rutherford liked the same styles and composers of music, so choosing something suitable was simple. Finally, she settled on a Mozart sonata, one she knew was a personal favourite of the marchioness. She sat down on the burgundy upholstered stool in front of the fine Broadwood pianoforte and began to play.

From beneath Grace's dainty fingers, an exquisite melody emerged, soft and measured through the first movement, gradually building until it erupted into a crescendo of sound that reverberated off the walls. Her fingers flew over the keys, producing arrangements of notes that would melt even the coldest of hearts. The music took over her body, so much so, she was unaware there was another person present within the room.

When she finished, complete silence ensued. She turned around and saw Lady Rutherford sitting with her eyes closed, seemingly unaware Grace had finished. Artemis sat at her feet with her head on her paws, eyes half closed, almost nodding off to sleep. Grace had to smile at the picture presented, such a perfect example of domesticity. Although, how they could sleep while she played the fourth movement, she did not have a clue.

She rose from the stool and went to Lady Rutherford, placing her hand gently on her ladyship's arm.

"Lady Rutherford," she said softly. "Are you alright?"

Lady Rutherford slowly opened her eyes, tears glimmering within their deep blue depths. "Oh, yes, my dear," she said, her bell like voice shaking slightly. "I became completely overcome with your playing."

"Would you like a nap before luncheon, my lady?" Grace asked kindly.

"Oh, yes, I think I shall," Lady Rutherford replied, rising gracefully from the chaise. "I think I shall eat there too. You do not mind?"

"Of course not," Grace replied. "I shall help you to your room, my lady."

She put her arm around her ladyship's waist and helped her up the stairs towards her room, where she left her in her abigail's capable hands. Not knowing what to do next, she headed in the direction of the library, thinking she might do some writing while she had the chance. No doubt, when the guests arrive, there will be no opportunity to do so; she had to help with the entertainment. She had already told Lady Rutherford she would not be required to lift a finger with the preparations, Grace would see to everything with the help of Mrs Tyler, the housekeeper and of course Porter. Both of which would do anything for her ladyship, everybody employed at Rutherford Court loved Lady Rutherford and would do anything for her. If Lady Rutherford asked them to walk over hot coals, they would, Grace giggled as she sat down at the desk and began to write.

By the time, Porter came to find her to announce luncheon awaited her; Grace had completed nearly twenty pages of her new manuscript. Even she had to admit it sounded good when she read it back through. Setting it aside, she arose from the desk and went to the breakfast room where Mrs Tyler had set out a delicious luncheon for her to enjoy. A maid had already taken up a tray to Lady Rutherford so that was something Grace did not have to do, although she would if asked.

For the rest of the day, Lady Rutherford stayed in her room. Grace checked on her every now and again, but saw she slept soundly so did not disturb her. Grace continued to write well into the afternoon until the light got to bad and she could not see, even with the help of candlelight.

An elderly gentleman walked down the very fashionable St James street in London, swinging his cane as he went, his black top hat sitting jauntily on his salt and pepper hair. He came to the illustrious doorway of White's, his very exclusive club, hoping to see one gentleman in particular. He entered the entryway through a pair of large oak doors, handed his hat, black greatcoat, and cane to the steward, and entered the parlour, scanning the room to see if he could spot the man he sought.

Fortunately, that man attended that day, as he did most days. The elderly gentleman made his way over to the table and bowed to its occupants before taking a seat.

"I say, Rutherford," he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "I paid a visit to your dear mother in the country on my way here."

"Did you really, Barrington," Lord Rutherford replied. "How is my dear mother, she survived the journey back I trust?"

"Oh, yes, quite well. However, I think that is because of the lovely companion she has hired," Lord Barrington said.

Lord Rutherford exchanged a look with his companion, Lord Markham. Even his closest friend could not see the ire that rose with in him. A companion, he thought, his mother did not tell him she intended to hire one. It is not that he minded; it is just that his mother should have told him, it was the principle of the matter.

"What companion?" he asked, keeping his rich, deep voice level.

"You mean to say you did not know?" Lord Markham asked aghast.

"No, I did not," Lord Rutherford, replied, shaking his head.

"Oh, she is a lovely girl. If I were not twenty years younger I would go for her myself," Lord Barrington chuckled, completely oblivious to Lord Rutherford's reaction to the matter. "She plays the pianoforte like an angel. I have not seen your mother so enthralled by someone as much as she is with that girl."

"She sounds too good to be true," Lord Markham said dryly. "What is her name?"

"Miss Grace Preston, the daughter of a country rector I believe," Lord Barrington replied.

While Lord Rutherford digested this piece of news about his mother, Lord Barrington made his apologies and rose to leave the club. After he left, Lord Rutherford turned to Lord Markham.

"Do you feel like taking a trip to the country, Markham?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

"What, and leave town in the middle of the season. Many a society hostess would be most disappointed if we left," Lord Markham chuckled. "Seriously though, are you worried about the companion?"

"Yes, I just wonder what she is up to," Lord Rutherford replied. "Something does not feel right. She is probably after my mother's fortune."

"Surely not, it could be rather innocent. She just might be naturally caring, most rectory girls are," Lord Markham said.

"Either way, I wish to find out," Lord Rutherford said emphatically. "And if I do find out she has ulterior motives, she will be gone so fast her head will spin."

"Alright, I shall come to the country. However, I have some engagements here I must attend. It would not be good to have the society hostesses angry with me because I reneged on my word."

"That is true. I have some I need to attend as well. I suppose it can wait a couple of days."

A gentleman simply did not break an engagement at the last minute, it simply was not done. On his way home, he happened to run into the Archbishop of Leicester. What luck that was. He might know the family, the father at least. Lord Rutherford called out to the older man and he turned around, recognition registering on his face.

"Ah, Lord Rutherford, I thought that might have been you calling," the Archbishop said. "What can I do for you?"

"Just a couple of questions, sir," he replied. "If you have the time, that is."

"Of course," the Archbishop replied.

"What do you know about a country reverend called Preston, he has a daughter, Grace?"

"Ah, yes, knew him well."

"Knew him, what do you mean?"

"He passed on a year ago, along with his wife. Tragic it was, carriage accident, travelling too fast on an uneven road. Killed them both instantly, leaving Grace alone."

"What did Miss Preston do then?"

"Rented a cottage in the country, along with the old housekeeper," the Archbishop replied, thoughtfully. "No thanks to her uncle."

"Who is her uncle?"

"The Earl of Denby, reverend Preston was the younger brother. He cut her off from the family, both financially and emotionally. The rumour has spread amongst Town like wildfire; I am surprised you did not know."

Lord Rutherford stared at him in astonishment. She was not just a country miss then, she had connections, interesting. Even though he felt for the young woman, he still did not trust her. In fact, he did not trust any woman, no matter what circumstances she came from. It was not as if he did not like them, he liked being in their company, they had their uses. He had been burnt before and was not willing to have it happen again, he knew the type.

"No, I did not know, thank you, sir, for telling me."

"Is that all you needed to know?" the Archbishop asked.

"Yes, thank you very much," Lord Rutherford said and bowed to the Archbishop in farewell. Then he headed to his home with thoughts swirling about his head regarding the woman now cosily ensconced at his country estate.

Once he arrived, his butler handed him the post and he went to his library to read it. Underneath the other letters, he found an envelope with his own seal on it. Curious, he opened it with a sterling silver letter opener, leaving blobs of red wax on the smooth surface of the mahogany desk and read it. His face began turn bright red as his anger grew; she had invited him to his own house for a party.

He knew the person who wrote it could not be his mother; he did not recognise the handwriting. It had to be Miss Preston; she prettily begged him to join his mother at her party and then went on to say Lady Felicity Beecham would be there, if she so chose to come that is, and she would. Oh, he would be there. Taking note of the date he should arrive, he composed his own letter, checking it before placing it into an envelope and sealing it with wax. Then, he went to change for his dinner engagement he was to attend that night.