Page 34 of A Trial of His Affections (Bachelors of Blackstone’s #2)

Chapter Thirty-Four

G race stood across from Lord Stanhope, the music for the reel filling the room. She paid little heed to the gentleman. It was unpardonably rude, but she could not seem to take her gaze off Miles.

He stood off to the side, chatting amiably when someone approached him. But even from her spot halfway across the room, she could see there was no spark in his eyes. His countenance held no happiness. Was that because he missed her as much as she missed him?

The set ended, and Grace curtsied to Lord Stanhope.

“Shall I fetch us some refreshment, Miss Jenkins?”

Grace flicked her gaze toward Miles and saw him leave through the terrace doors. Her stomach lurched. Where was he going?

“Miss Jenkins?” Lord Stanhope leaned into her line of sight.

She gave him a quick smile. “I beg your pardon, my lord. I am rather hot. I think I shall take some air out of doors.”

Lord Stanhope nodded, his lips twitching with a grin. “In truth, I’m rather surprised you stayed as long as you did. I commend you on your impeccable manners.”

Grace looked back at him and frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

He nodded toward the terrace. “Yardley’s mood has matched yours of late…decidedly bleak.” He grimaced. “I mean no offence. But it hints rather obviously that the two of you have things to say to one another. Why do you not go find him? Fin and I will stand at the door and keep watch. It would not do for anyone to interrupt you.”

Grace looked up at Lord Stanhope. He truly was a good man. It was too bad she had not met him at the beginning of the Season. She cast that thought away. No, indeed. It was best that things had worked out the way they had. Because if she’d met him at the beginning of the Season, things might have progressed, and then she might be married to a good man. But not to the man she loved.

“Thank you, my lord. Miles was correct in his assessment of you.”

He shrugged. “I know when I’m beat, Miss Jenkins. And I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way.”

Grace smiled at him.

He lifted his arm to her. “Let me at least escort you to my competition.”

They walked toward the terrace doors, stopping only for a brief, whispered conversation with Lord Finsbury.

He grinned at Grace and winked. “It’s about time you both figured things out, Miss Jenkins.”

She flicked up her lips. “Your congratulations are premature, my lord. He has not yet accepted me.”

Lord Finsbury rolled his eyes but said nothing else.

They flanked her as they walked to the terrace, releasing her arms at the door frame. “I believe you will be very happy together.” Lord Stanhope said.

Grace tilted her head to the side. “How do you know?”

He flicked up his brows. “If the two of you can weather what you have and are still in love, I can’t imagine anything could tear you apart.”

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. “I only hope you’re correct, my lord. I cannot share your optimism. I was quite harsh and said many terrible things.”

“You were hurt,” Fin lifted a shoulder. “And he does not blame you for it. Indeed, I believe he has muttered far worse things to himself.”

“Perhaps neither of you showed yourselves at your finest.” Lord Stanhope said. “But beneath the missteps, the truth is plain—you love each other. Were it otherwise, he would have let you go, and you would not have fought so hard to remain his.”

Grace’s throat tightened. If it were not completely improper, she would have thrown her arms around the gentlemen and thanked them. Neither could know how their words affected her. But instead of the grateful embrace, she settled for a quiet “thank you.”

They smiled and motioned her out the door. “Now go to it.” Lord Finsbury said.

Grace stepped out into the warm summer night. She missed the cool evenings of Somerset.

The emptiness of the terrace surprised her, considering the crush of people in attendance. The torch-lit paths of the side garden gave it an inviting air—private but not perilously so. If she could simply find Miles.

Had he followed one of the many paths into the garden? And if so, how was she to discover him? She glanced in the other direction. If he’d continued out onto the lawn, would she not be able to see him from her position?

“Are you lost, Miss Jenkins?”

Grace stilled. He had not gone either way, it seemed. But then, where was he hiding?

She turned and found him leaning to the side of the pillar. He looked marvelous to her hungry eyes. She knew she’d missed him the prior week—lawks, had it only been a week—but it was not until that moment that she realized how much she ached to see him. To speak with him. “Good evening, Miles.” She swallowed, and her fears that this would all come to naught crept up her stomach and settled heavily in her limbs. “I’d rather hoped you’d ask for a set, but you did not.”

He watched her closely. “I don’t believe I have that right anymore.”

“Asking me to dance is a right?” She wished other gentlemen held that same conviction.

“When my past actions are what they are, I can hardly claim a dance as my due.”

Grace bit on her lip. Why was he making this so difficult? Could he not see that she held no ill will towards him? Could he not see that the opposite held true? “Is that not my decision to make?”

He took a step toward her. “I thought you’d already made that decision.” He tipped his head to the side, a frown still marring his handsome face. “You said I was vindictive. I should think such an opinion conveys your decision.”

She stomped her foot. “Then do I not have the option to change my mind?”

He stopped in front of her, his face softening slightly. Was there a look of hope there? “And have you…changed your mind?”

She nodded. “Perhaps…” His closeness left her feeling a little muddled. She had thought on what she would say to him all day, but now that he was before her, she found herself flustered and tongue-tied. She motioned toward the side garden. Surely, she would feel more at ease among the plants. “May we take a turn?”

Miles glanced over his shoulder at the doors to the ballroom. “Without a chaperone, I don’t think it prudent.”

Grace saw Lord Stanhope standing by one door and Lord Finsbury by the other. “We have one of sorts, but perhaps you are right.” She motioned to the bench just off the path to their right. “Then may we sit?”

Miles stared at her as if he were trying to decide if he could trust her. The pain that brought to her chest was one she’d not yet experienced. What would she do if she had lost his trust forever? “I suppose that will do.”

Grace sat, the smell of roses and honeysuckle calming her nerves. Something tickled at the back of her arm, and she twisted to find a lovely Male fern draping over the back of the bench. It was a small token of strength for her to press on. She pulled the long, arching frond through her hand. “Miles, do you know why I love ferns most of all?”

He shook his head. “I don’t believe you’ve ever told me.” A look of sadness crossed his features.

“Ferns are not like other plants. They don’t bloom with petals and declarations of purpose. I sometimes think people forget about the fern. When they don’t see the bright colors, they assume the plant is plain. Or worse, inconsequential and invisible.”

He looked at her, but the crease in his brow seemed only to deepen. Gracious, he had no notion what she was talking about. Plucking a leaf from the frond, she hurried on before she lost her nerve and fled the garden altogether. “Ferns don’t grow for admiration. They unfurl in the shadows, slowly, quietly, and often where no one thought beauty could live. That’s why I love them. They don’t belong to the bright, curated gardens or the tidy rows of useful things. They grow in the middle spaces—between the wild and the cultivated, between dark and light. It’s as if they’re not quite meant for either world, but they find a way to survive in both.”

S he kept her gaze on the leaf, lightly running it over her fingertip.

“I’ve felt like a fern for most of my life. Not quite a servant, not quite a lady. Educated like one but never treated as such. I was polished enough to be useful, never quite enough to be accepted. I think… I think I understand the fern’s plight. The plant that grows in the shadows but still hopes, somehow, that someone might notice the effort it took to grow in darkness.”

Miles’ lips parted slightly, and he took in a breath.

Grace’s gaze dropped, and the thought of kissing him flickered through her mind.

“I don’t think anyone who looks on you could ever accuse you of growing in the dark, Miss Jenkins,” he said

She scowled at him. “Did we not determine that you would call me Grace?” She looked at him.

He nodded, but a small smile pulled at his lips. It was the first hopeful thing she’d seen.

“If you believe that, I believe you might be even more naive than me.” She frowned. “I’ve often wondered if that is why I clung on so tightly to Miss Martindale. While I’m now certain her motives were not pure, she was the first person of standing who paid me any heed. It was like coming into the sunlight for the first time. And while it was rather blinding, the warmth felt lovely for a change.”

This conversation was nothing like the one she’d practiced in her head. But she was uncertain how to get back to the rehearsed one. “Unfortunately, she made me believe I belonged in the full sun, rather than the shade I was used to. I dismissed a good man because I’d been convinced—whether right or wrong—that it was my duty to lift my family. And that good man could not elevate my family as they needed to be.” She was speaking in generalities. Would he understand what she meant by them?

He shook his head. “You cannot take the whole of the blame for my failed proposal, Grace.”

She smiled at the sound of her name on his lips.

He picked up her hand and splayed his fingers against hers. “It was a rather clumsy attempt. I don’t blame you for rejecting me.” His long fingers pulled on the tips of hers, curling them into his palm, then pushing them back out again. “And you did not love me. Indeed, while I proclaimed my love for you, I can see now that it was not the sort of love that should have induced you to marry me.”

Grace frowned. “You never proclaimed to love me.”

Miles nodded. “Yes, I’m almost certain I listed it among my reasons.”

A smile tickled Grace’s lips. “You had a great many reasons and advantages for us to marry, but not one of them was because you loved me. Did I not tell you that in my letter? That had there been the least amount of love I might be persuaded?”

Miles stared at her. “I thought you meant you did not love me.” He sat straighter. “You are saying I never declared myself to you?”

She shook her head.

He scratched at his earlobe. “Thunder and turf.” He shook his head but then looked at her. “I’m sorry for hurting you, Grace. That was not my intent. I should have dismissed the notion as soon as Freddie suggested it. But—” He frowned and then licked his lips. “I felt desperate.”

Grace dropped her gaze to his mouth and nodded. She understood how that felt. She’d felt rather desperate herself of late. “I understand why you did it, Miles.” She sighed. “I suppose what I wish to know is where do we go from here?”

Miles took her other hand, holding both of them in his. “I’m not titled, Grace. And unfortunately, Freddie is just stupid enough to stay alive and inherit my father’s title, so it seems unlikely I’ll ever have one.” There was a hint of pain behind his eyes, and she knew he was thinking of his brother Julian.

She took in a calming breath. If life in the shadows had taught her anything, it was that propriety was often a luxury for those in the light—and sometimes, to grow at all, one had to reach where one wasn’t exactly invited. “If it’s still available, I would be happy if your title were that of my husband.”

He tipped his head to the side, his lips quirking upwards. “Why, Miss Jenkins, did you just propose to me?”

Grace pulled her lips between her teeth. “I’d rather think of it as accepting your offer—after much consideration.” She cleared her throat. “If you’ll still have me.”

Miles leaned forward, placing his hand on the bench beside her hip. He stopped only inches from her face. “I’ve wanted no other, Grace.”

She lifted a hand to his cheek. “Deep down, I don’t believe I did either. I just needed some time in full sun to make me realize the shade was much more desirable.”

Miles slowly came toward her, his gaze never leaving hers. After what felt like an eternity, his lips found hers, and she nearly burst with happiness. Never had anything felt so right. Never had she felt like she belonged as much as she did at that moment.

Miles moved to deepen the kiss. He moved closer to her, lifting his hand to her cheek.

She tipped her head into him and sighed contentedly.

He smiled against her lips.

A rattle at the door pulled them apart, and they looked over with wide eyes.

Lord Finsbury stepped outside. “Nothing to worry about. Just a busybody wishing for some air. Carry on.” He flicked his brows up at them and grinned as he pulled the doors closed.

Miles dropped his brow onto Grace’s. “I love you, Grace. I do not want to go another minute without you hearing that from my lips.”

She smiled and melted into him. “I love you too, Miles. I’m sorry it took me so long to acknowledge it.”

He tipped her head up, looking into her eyes. “What is a year when we have our whole lives together? Why do we not stop apologizing for our past wrongs and focus on the future instead?”

She nodded. “I like that idea.”

He leaned toward her again. “Now, where was I?” He sprinkled kisses along her jawline and earlobe before returning to her lips.

A throat cleared, and Miles growled. “What the blazes? Can a man not have any privacy?” He glanced toward the door.

“It’s become deuced difficult to keep people away.” Lord Stanhope grinned at them, filling the doorway with his broad frame. “And as a proper chaperone, I feel it’s time I intervene.”

Miles grumbled and stood up. “Perhaps next time you might be a little less proper.” He extended his hand to Grace. “But a job well done, Stan. Thank you.” He tucked Grace’s hand into the crook of his arm and led her into the ballroom.

“I should hope there won’t need to be a next time.” Stan leveled a stare at Miles. “Go speak to her brother before you make another muddle of this.”

“I will.” He looked down at Grace, and she did not think she could ever be so happy. “But I promised Grace I’d ask her to dance. And I’m not the sort to go back on my word.”