Lyn Stone - The Captain and the Wallflower

Caine felt apprehensive about talking to Grace, though he certainly needed to after his meeting with Wardfelton. The man must be lying, but his words had required careful reflection, in case Caine’s reasoning about this was faulty.

He spent hours after returning home reviewing the visit with Grace’s uncle. His preoccupation was so intense, he barely tasted the meal Mrs. Oliver brought him on his tray. He ate absently as he considered every word, every move, every sigh Wardfelton produced.

Caine denied himself that last element of consideration, the woman herself, until he had examined the rest in detail. That accomplished, he would now have to judge her for himself in light of her uncle’s declaration. He was resolved that, mad or sane, he would never return her to Wardfelton, but Caine felt he should know her state of mind one way or the other.

Grace had been left to her own devices all day. How must she feel in strange surroundings among people she hardly knew? He wanted to give her no reason to reconsider their betrothal, least of all because of his neglect of her when she was most vulnerable.

The visit with Grace could prove awkward. Now that the matter of their marriage was settled, what would they discuss? Most of their conversation thus far consisted of fielding insults, arguing away her mistrust and convincing her that he meant business.

His trepidation annoyed him. She was only a little bird of a girl after all, hardly anything to dread. If grief had stolen her reason, then he would restore it if he could, keep her comfortably if he could not. He would see that she was as happy as he could make her and as free as possible. She would know that she was cared for.

Caine postponed calling for her. The evening would be soon enough, he figured. He resumed working, poring over numbers in the earl’s accounts.

Late that afternoon, the butler interrupted the never-ending effort. “A Mr. Tinroy to see you, sir. He insists it is urgent.”

“Show him in,” Caine said, shuffling the paperwork into a neat stack and setting it aside, welcoming the intrusion, whatever it was. The visitor’s name was unfamiliar. Perhaps it was Wardfelton’s man.

“Thank you for seeing me, sir,” the spindly little fellow said after Jenkins had introduced him. Hat in hand, he stood before the huge oak desk like an errant schoolboy called up for an offense.

“What is this urgent business, Mr. Tinroy?” Caine demanded, the former commander in him responding naturally to the man’s subservient attitude.

“It concerns your betrothal,” the man said with a timid smile. “I should say, the original one made with Miss Thoren-Snipes.”

“Ah, a thing of the past then. What of it?” Caine replied, clasping his hands atop the desk and leaning forward.

“The thing is, she never officially ended it, sir. Her brother has retained me to speak on her behalf and tell you that, as a gentleman, you are obliged to carry through. He mentioned a breach-of-promise-suit if you prove unwilling.”

“So she would sue?” Caine almost groaned at the irony. “How can one be a gentleman , Mr. Tinroy, when he has been quite publicly declared a beast? Please inform your client that unless she wishes a countersuit for defamation of character, the matter is best considered closed.”

“Oh, sir, she meant no harm by her words. You know how young ladies natter on to one another when they are upset. But never did she cry off the engagement!”

No, she had screamed it off as far as Caine was concerned. He sighed, unclasped his hands and stood. “No contract was ever signed, because her brother originally opposed it. Of course, I was not heir to the title at that time. Perhaps that has inspired his sudden inclination to find me an acceptable match?”

Tinroy rolled his hat brim and tried a smile. “Oh, no, sir, not at all! It’s merely that the young lady has realized her foolishness and had a change of heart!”

“So have I ,” Caine declared, rounding the desk and towering over the little toad. “Good day to you, Mr. Tinroy.”

He watched the solicitor back out at a near run. Caine felt like dusting his hands and hoped he never heard the name Thoren-Snipes again in his lifetime. Greedy buggers, the lot of them.

After a day fraught with confrontation, he knew he had one more to face before he could rest. Grace. Only, this meeting, of course, was to be more in the nature of an evaluation to see whether Wardfelton’s accusation held any semblance of truth.

He flagged a maid in the hallway and sent her up with a summons for Grace. They might as well meet here in the library. If she were a reader, they could discuss books. There, that was settled. He waited.

Grace appeared within five minutes, almost breathless as she entered the room. Had she taken the stairs at a run? Her hair was pulled back into a rather untidy bun at the nape of her neck and several strands had come undone. She raked them back with an impatient hand. “You wished to see me?” she asked with a nervous laugh.

“Yes, of course. Good evening, Grace,” he replied as he stood and surveyed the change in her. It was not so remarkable. She wore a plain gray long-sleeved dress, not a good color for her, but better than the yellow. It was a bit short and so large it hung rather loosely at the waist. He figured she must have borrowed it from one of the maids. In fact, she looked like a young maid on her first day of work, sans apron and reporting late.

He could not help comparing her looks to the stunning, yet shallow, beauty of Belinda. Somehow, even in her plainness and disarray, Grace did not seem wanting. Surface attraction held little appeal for him, especially now. Grace’s smile was sincere and she seemed honestly happy to see him. Lord, maybe that alone made her unhinged.

He smiled. “How was your day, my dear?”

She cocked her head and studied him for a minute, then seemed to form a conclusion. “Interesting, indeed. How was yours, Captain?”

Caine sensed she was really interested instead of just being polite. “Honestly? I have had better.” He indicated she should take one of the large wingback chairs beside the fire. He sat across from her in the other as he elaborated. “Business matters consumed me, being new to the chore of managing properties. I must have been born to soldier. That was never so difficult for me.”

“Ah, but you love a challenge,” she guessed with a sly grin that lighted her slender features.

“That’s true enough,” he agreed, noting that she had a foxlike manner, watchful, knowing, quick to respond. “Do you?”

She inclined her head and nodded once. “I suppose I do, come to think of it. We certainly took on this one without much hesitation, so it seems we have something in common from the start.”

“Apparently.”

The silence drew out between them. Caine wondered if there were any more to say. He had to think of something. “You seem quite … rested.” Truth was always appropriate. Her eyes were brighter, such a true, clear blue. Like a cloudless sky at its best. “I take it that you slept well?”

She sat back in the chair, perfectly relaxed, though her feet, clad in her soft yellow dancing slippers, didn’t quite touch the floor. She swung them idly as he watched. “Oh, yes, and I haven’t slept much of late, so that was a great relief. And the food here is remarkable!”

Ah, there was that prodigious interest in food again. “I shall commend the cook,” he promised. “Have you already eaten this evening?”

“An hour ago. You were busy and Mrs. Oliver said I shouldn’t wait for you. I understand your aunt takes a tray in the earl’s chambers early in the evening to keep him company.”

“Yes. We seldom dine together at table these days.” Caine felt guilty that she’d had to eat alone. He should have joined her. But she must grow used to his being absent, since he would have little time to entertain her in future.