Page 25 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter Twenty-Five

M iles could not help but notice the quick glances Mrs. Jenkins stole in his direction. Was it because he’d walked into the morning room with Grace? Or because he’d called her by her Christian name? Or perhaps it was because he’d asked her to take a turn with him. He really could not be certain what made her give him her knowing looks. What did she know, and could she possibly share it with him? He felt as if there was still so much he did not know about Grace. Although he knew far more than he had when he’d asked for her hand. He marveled that he thought himself in love then when he knew so little about her.

Mrs. Jenkins tied the bow under her chin and pulled on her gloves. She turned and motioned toward the front door. “Lead the way, Mr. Yardley.”

Miles nodded. He allowed the ladies to precede him out the door and onto the pavement. Then he moved up next to Grace and motioned toward Hart Street. Clasping his hands behind his back, he walked alongside her.

“Where were you coming from when you found me, Miles?” Grace asked, but then her eyes widened. “Begging your pardon. You need not answer that.”

His brow creased slightly. “I had gone to visit my sisters, but they were not at home. My brother volunteered to take them shopping.” Miles lifted a brow. “I’m certain it was only to escape the house and my father. Not because he wished to spend time with them.” He offered her a soft smile.

“That is too bad. I enjoy spending time with your sisters.” She looked earnest in her answer.

Miles peered over at her, his head tilted to the side. If only there were something to come from their relationship. Grace could be an influence for good on his sisters. Evie needed someone to help guide her through her upcoming Season—apart from the hovering of Aunt Lindy. And Ari needed a calming influence. Someone who could tame her slightly wild nature but not extinguish it completely.

Grace seemed just the woman to do it. But it seemed an unlikely scenario if she was married to another. “I’m glad you enjoy their company. I believe the feeling is mutual.”

They walked a little farther in silence, but it was not an uncomfortable one. He glanced over at her and wondered if he should not tell her about his part in her accidents. Why did he only consider it when she was in the aftermath of one? And should he speak of their almost kiss? If he told her of his role in the accidents, he could explain that his guilt over it was what had forced him to pull back. But she seemed so happy for their turn. Did he really want to be the reason for her unhappiness? Especially after she suffered such ill treatment at the hands of Lord Marcrum?

He swallowed. He needed to tell her. Perhaps he would start the conversation slow and work up to the confession. “How are you enjoying the Season, Grace?” He could not hide the smile at being allowed to use her Christian name.

“It’s not what I expected, but there will be some pleasant memories to look back on when I return to Somerset.”

He glanced over at her from his side eye. “Does that mean you are looking forward to returning home?”

She nodded. “Indeed, I am. I find Town is not to my liking as much as I expected. The people are not welcoming.”

Miles frowned. Likely only the people he had introduced to her. And that was by design. His stomach squirmed with guilt. Why had he listened to Fin and Freddie? It was not as if either of those men had been in love or tried to woo a lady. They were the last people he should have taken advice from. If only he had realized the error in his logic sooner. “Perhaps you have not yet met those in society who are good and kind people.”

She lifted a shoulder. “I’m doubting such people exist.” She smiled at him. “Except for you, of course.”

Miles grimaced. If only she knew! “Yes, of course.” He sighed. “I’m sorry your drive with Lord Marcrum did not go as you planned. Had I known, I might have warned you about his mother. She is rather a dragon, is she not?”

Grace frowned. “She’s a horrible woman.”

“You have not found what you were looking for in the gentleman who’ve called on you?” He knew the answer, but still he wished to hear it from her.

“No,” she sighed. “Perhaps I am the problem, rather than the gentlemen. After all, what are the chances that every man you introduced me to are…” She pushed out her lips as if trying to find the right word.

It seemed very likely as that had been his plan. “High in the instep?” Miles provided. He looked straight ahead, unable to hold her eye.

Grace released a chuckle. “That is putting it kindly, but yes.”

He licked his lips. “Has it changed your plans or made you reconsider?”

Grace frowned. “No.” It came out as more of a whisper. “I wish I could change them, but I can’t.” She looked ahead, and Miles wondered if she purposely avoided his gaze.

He closed his eyes, pain slicing through his chest. Why did he keep subjecting himself to this disappointment? Why did he not just accept that she would never see him in a different light—that she would never see him as right for her?

They dropped into silence as they approached Orange Street and proceeded toward Red Lion. Finally, unable to stand the awkwardness between them, Miles spoke up. “I thought it most fortuitous when I learned you had rented a house in Bloomsbury. What a great coincidence that we are neighbors.” It was a bit of a bouncer. When he’d first learned of their proximity, he’d thought it a cruel joke of the fates. But he’d since changed his opinion.

She nodded. “Yes, it is.” She looked at the houses lining the street.

They entered the square on the north end and walked side by side, with Mrs. Jenkins following behind. As far as squares went, Red Lion was nothing special. At least to outsiders. But to those who lived around it, it was quite the best square in all of London. “Do you know the infamous story about Red Lion Square?” It seemed best to speak of less personal things.

Grace shook her head. “Should I?”

“Likely not. But if you should ever come to live in Red Lion, it is necessary information.” If she’d accepted him last year, she would already call Red Lion home. Why did he keep thinking on that? They walked several paces without either of them speaking.

“But I should like to know,” Grace said.

Miles smiled. “There used to be an obelisk in the center of the square. And under the obelisk—it is said—were buried the bodies of Oliver Cromwell, Henry Ireton, and Judge John Bradshaw. As the story goes, in 1661, the three men were brought to the Red Lion Inn before they were taken to Tyburn to be hanged the following day.” He grinned at her slight intake of breath.

“I never understood why they did that.” She shook her head. “They were already dead those three years.”

Miles shrugged. “Yes, it does seem rather ridiculous to try and execute them posthumously. But they did it nonetheless, and their bodies were brought to the Red Lion Inn on a cart where they remained overnight. After being gibbeted, they beheaded them and buried them in a very humble pit near the gallows, while their heads were put on display on the roof of Westminster Abbey.”

Grace shivered. “It is all so gruesome.”

Miles could not disagree with her. “It is said that during their stay at the Red Lion Inn, the bodies were switched with those of strangers, and Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw were buried instead in the fields behind the Inn. In later years, the obelisk was erected where the men supposedly rested.” He lifted his brows. “But that is not the best part of the tale. People say that even now, their specters roam the square at night.”

She looked sideways at him. “And do you believe in such tales, Miles?”

“I can’t say for certain.” He shrugged. “But I’ve always thought this square had a different feel. It’s not something you can readily identify. And if one walks through in the late evening hours, it’s not uncommon to hear what sounds like moaning.” He waggled his brows at her and smiled. “What else could it be but Cromwell? I’m certain he believes there is much to lament about.”

“That is a remarkable story.” She shook her head. “It is a lovely square. I can see why you like it here.”

“Yes,” he motioned with his head. “And Lincoln’s Inn is just over there. It is a quick walk for me.” He looked around as if seeing the square from a new perspective. “Many of the residences are owned by solicitors, barristers, or doctors. I find the surroundings suit me very well.”

She smiled at him, and his heart thudded in his neck and chest. He lifted a hand, trying to hide the evidence, lest she notice it too. How would it look for her to see a physical manifestation of his tendré for her?

“That is how I feel about Bloomsbury Square. Which is silly because we are only renting the house.” She tipped her head to the side. “But I think if it were possible, Bloomsbury is where I’d choose to buy.”

Why did it disappoint him that she did not wish to live in Red Lion? “You would not choose a newer square like Berkeley or Grosvenor?”

She shook her head. “No. While I have not met all the people in Bloomsbury, I have watched them as they walk about the neighborhood. They are a friendly lot—always tipping their hats and offering a smile or a greeting. I can’t imagine the same could be said for any of the newer, more fashionable neighborhoods.” She frowned. “I believe Lord Marcrum lives in Mayfair.”

Miles nodded. “Yes, and if he is indicative of the residents there, I can imagine you don’t wish to have anything to do with it.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “Did you not go before the bar recently? I remember you mentioning it at dinner the other night.”

“I did. Just this morning.”

“And how did you fare?” She asked.

“I will not know until they read their decision tomorrow, but I believe it will go in my client’s favor.”

Her smile was instantaneous and genuine. “Oh, Miles. I’m so pleased for you.”

It was ridiculous how her praise made him feel. It was not as if she were his mother and he needed her approval. And yet, he could not deny that he was pleased. His spine straightened, and his chin lifted. He’d nearly convinced himself to wash his hands of her, and then she said such things. Why must she torture him so?

A breeze moved through the park, shuddering the tree branches. “I should return you home. It is nearly time for tea, and you must be chilled.”

She shook her head. “I’m not chilled in the least, but I would not turn down a cup of tea.” She glanced up at him. “Would you care to join us?”

His heart skipped a beat. Grace was the one inviting him, not Philip or Mrs. Jenkins. Grace . That had to mean something, did it not? It was more than a simple politeness. Blast the hope that welled up inside him. It would surely be his undoing. “There is nothing I’d enjoy more.” He smiled at her.

They completed the final look around the park and left the square through the same gate they had entered. As they walked out, Miles pointed out the houses of several prominent historical figures, such as Lord Raymond and John Milton. He pointed out the house on the northeast corner where the ancient Baronial Court had been held.

Grace was a polite and engaging listener, asking questions at the right moment and about the right things.

Indeed, it was a moment that Miles could see playing out repeatedly. If only Grace had the same visions as he did.