Scandalously Wed To The Captain. Joanna JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
jolt of recognition that brooding could still be very attractive indeed—before Mrs Dauntsey laid one skeletal hand on the damp sleeve of her gown.
‘My dear, you look absolutely chilled to the bone. Won’t you sit with me before the fire and take some tea?’ She cocked her head, the sparkle never leaving the brown gaze so like the colour of her son’s. Out of the corner of her eye Grace could have sworn she saw Spencer stiffen, but there didn’t appear to be any question of refusal as the older woman gestured towards the door she had appeared through with a welcoming smile. ‘Do come through to my sitting room. I can’t tell you how delightful it is to see you again after all this time!’
Mrs Dauntsey cast a quick glance up at Spencer, apparently trying to read something in his face, although what she could have seen in the straight set of his lips Grace could only guess. Certainly to her there was nothing to be seen but faint displeasure, almost bordering on discomfort, and it was a relief to follow the slow progress of his mother away from his disturbing presence in the direction of her warm and comfortable sitting room.
‘Do sit down.’
Mrs Dauntsey waved a hand at an enormous chair drawn up to the fire. The flames cast Grace’s shadow long across the carpeted floor as she sank into it, her body leaning instinctively towards the hearth as though longing for its heat. She hadn’t realised how cold she had been; distress had numbed her senses, and it was only when her fingers tingled painfully she saw the blueish hue that tinged them.
There was a bell on a table next to Mrs Dauntsey’s overstuffed armchair and she lifted it with a small sound of effort.
‘There. Tea will be along in a moment. If I remember correctly, you always liked it sweet with plenty of milk.’
For the first time since Henry had thrust his fateful letter into her hand Grace felt a tentative upward tug at her mouth. Despite her fragility and in startling contrast to her glowering son, Spencer’s mother radiated warmth, her memory of the preferences of a child oddly touching.
‘That’s right. I’m afraid I still use rather too much honey.’
‘I’m not sure there’s any such thing.’
Mrs Dauntsey settled herself against her cushions and regarded Grace keenly, apparently hungry for every detail of her face and windswept hair.
‘Let me begin by apologising for my silence the past couple of years.’ Her voice held soft regret, real feeling that Grace knew was sincere. ‘We moved around so often after we left Dorset, even living in Scotland for a time, that inevitably some of my effects were lost between houses. Among them was my writing case, containing—as I’m sure you’ve guessed—not only all the correspondence from your mother, but also my little book of addresses. I thought I’d committed yours to memory, but when my letters were returned as misdirected I realised I must have been mistaken.’
When she smiled again it was like a shaft of sunlight in the darkened room. ‘But now I’ve returned to the place I spent my happiest years and the daughter of my dearest friend sits before me. So please—tell me everything I missed!’
Grace hesitated, taking in the vivid interest on the drawn face, but at a loss as to how to reply.
Where should I start? With my jilting, or Papa’s imprisonment?
To her unending horror Grace felt a prickling behind her eyes, the distress of the past few hours rising again at the question. Mrs Dauntsey’s kindness threatened to make a fresh river of tears flow, her innocent enquiry a stark reminder of Papa’s plight and the dizzying turn Grace’s life had taken for the worse—but wasn’t that the truth for her hostess, too? She’d lost a son since she had been in the north and Spencer had lost his twin; and both of them were now so altered it would have been forgivable for even intimate acquaintances to hesitate. So much had happened in the intervening years, including Grace’s new distrust in the word of a handsome man.
Some clue as to the workings of her mind must have shown on her face, for the smile left Mrs Dauntsey’s lips at once, her brow creasing in concern as she leaned forward to look into Grace’s downturned eyes.
‘Grace? Why, dearest, you look so troubled. Is something amiss?’
Her expression was so worried that Grace had to bite her tongue to stop herself from breaking down. It would have taken a heart of stone to resist the pull of that readily offered sympathy: how many times had Mrs Dauntsey soothed Grace’s bumped head or grazed elbow as a child, or passed her a sweet beneath the cover of a card table? Her kindness had always been apparent, but never more than at that moment, her obvious dismay tempting Grace to confess every secret sorrow she’d ever had.
A single impatient sigh from directly behind her chair made Grace start in surprise, the sudden movement once again sending a shard of agony through her injured neck.
He followed us in here?
She winced, twisting to peer at Spencer looming above her and looking for all the world as though she was the bane of his existence. He was close enough for her to have touched the soft fabric of his rich breeches and the very idea of such a scandalous—and tempting—action jolted Grace into speech.
‘Did you say something?’
Spencer folded his arms across his broad chest, the movement causing his impressive biceps to bunch beneath the scant cover of his shirt in a way so damnably interesting Grace felt her face flush scarlet as she hastily turned away again. A flicker of that same sensation she had felt earlier sparked into being within her and she would have given anything for a glass of cold water with which to douse the alarming embers that glowed at his sudden proximity.
When he replied it was directed over her head as though she wasn’t there at all. ‘I found Miss Linwood out on the Cobb in a state of acute distress. As far as I can gather she’s had to call off her engagement this evening, although I haven’t the pleasure of knowing why.’
Grace gritted her teeth, resentment simmering alongside her dismay as the older woman’s brows knitted together further.
As if I needed more proof his good nature has gone for ever, taking with it the boy I thought so highly of.
She could still sense Spencer standing at her back, in all likelihood scowling down at her from his great height, and the knowledge of his unseen closeness stirred the fine hairs of her neck. Irritation at his meddling coursed through her, although another stream of something close to a kind of breathless apprehension mingled with it. His voice was deep and expressionless, yet it possessed an educated cadence so pleasing that even in the depths of her annoyance Grace felt herself give a small shudder when he spoke.
It has to be the loss of William. What else could change him so drastically for the worse?
From his stance behind her chair—his chair, in fact—Spencer couldn’t see the set of his silent guest’s expression, although if the stiffness of her shoulders was anything to go by it probably wasn’t one of delight. Looking down at her from behind only afforded him a view of her blonde ringlets, one escaping from a cluster at the back of her head to snake at the base of her slender neck, but it was enough to make him avert his eyes in sudden discomfort. There was something so vulnerable about that nape, so delicate as it rose out of her lace-trimmed collar, that was deeply unexpected and just as deeply disturbing. It roused something in him, some glint of the weakness he had determinedly suppressed for so long it was a wonder to discover he could still feel it.
Be careful. A sense of danger nagged at the back of his mind, a clear warning against the perturbing turn this sorry business was taking. It must have been the suffering on her face that called to him, holding a mirror up to the pain that so often clouded his own features; but that was not a good enough reason to allow any assault on his restraint and it was with a frown he took in her words as she began to speak.
‘Thank you, Spencer, for that