Why bother? Ian hadn’t wanted to marry.
“Your gown is lovely,” Mrs. Smithson said. “I can help you with the hooks. Castleton has not hired a ladies’ maid. He thought you would like to select one or send for your own maid.”
“Rose will arrive tomorrow. If you can assist now, I would be most grateful.”
“Of course, my lady.”
“His lordship wants you to be comfortable, my lady. If you require anything, all you need do is ask.”
Once again, Grace was surprised to learn of his efforts.
She can rusticate in the country.
His words resounded in her mind. The truth was that he never intended for her to learn that he’d kept his precious casino.
“You must be famished. Dinner will be served in the dining room.”
“Is Castleton expected?”
“No, my lady. He has departed for the evening.” Mrs. Smithson turned, but not before Grace caught the flash of sympathy in the housekeeper’s eyes.
He’d left her.
On their wedding night.
She could only assume he’d escaped to the Raven Club. What did she expect? She’d demanded a marriage in name only. He was following her command. Then why did she feel such emptiness, such sorrow?
She let out a long sigh. If only he hadn’t betrayed her.
Would she have agreed to marry him if she’d known he intended to keep the club?
Her position had been precarious. Her father’s debts. Her nonexistent dowry. Adam’s schooling. Her imminent ruin.
If only she hadn’t learned of his deception from eavesdropping on his conversation with the dowager. If only Ian had been honest, had explained his intentions, perhaps things would have turned out differently and she wouldn’t be spending her wedding night alone.
She pushed aside her disappointment. She was never one to wallow in self-pity. She preferred action. Hadn’t she bravely sought out employment with the milliner to ease her financial burdens?
She was healthy and strong-willed. There were worse things than dining alone.
Even on her wedding night.
As that thought crossed her mind, another took hold. “Can you tell me where Castleton’s bedchamber is located?” She’d been to his chambers once before to see his clothing and cut his hair, but it had been at night and she wasn’t certain of its location relative to her own chambers.
“The servants use the door from the hall, but you won’t need to.”
She wouldn’t need to. Did Ian tell Mrs. Smithson about their arrangement? Grace felt her face heat.
“You may use the private door that leads directly into his chambers.” The housekeeper pointed to a paneled door by the escritoire. It had been surreptitiously painted the same color as the wall and was hard to see unless one knew to look for it.
A private door to Ian’s bedchamber.
But you will not use it. She’d stood before him hours ago dressed in her wedding finery and swore she would never willingly come to his bed.
Challenge accepted, he’d said.
Would he slip through the door tonight and try to seduce her?
Why did the thought cause her heart to pound fast in excitement rather than outrage?
“Thank you, Mrs. Smithson. I’m tired from the day and have decided to have a tray brought to my room. Please help me with my stays.”
The housekeeper’s brow furrowed and she curtsied. “As you wish.” Mrs. Smithson worked the tiny row of pearl buttons, helped Grace step out of the beautiful gown, then hung it in the armoire. Next were Grace’s stays, then she laid a nightgown on the bed. “It’s lovely.”
The nightgown was nothing like Grace had ever worn before. A thin garment made of the softest cotton she had ever touched, it was embroidered with fine silver on the hem. The dressmaker had insisted she add it to her trousseau along with a matching wrapper. Of course, Ian was paying for everything, and the woman was more than happy to see Grace outfitted as the new bride of the Earl of Castleton. Grace had blushed when she’d first seen the garment.
Now she wanted to toss it out the window, except she had nothing else to sleep in. It didn’t matter. Ian wasn’t home, nor was he coming to her bed.
Mrs. Smithson went to the door, then hesitated. “Forgive me for speaking, my lady, but Castleton is not a bad man.”
Grace’s stomach tightened at the housekeeper’s words. Her husband may not be a bad man, but he certainly was a dishonest one.
“Good evening,” Grace said.
Mrs. Smithson curtsied, then slipped out of the room.
Grace spent a half hour pacing the lavishly appointed room in her nightgown. Rose would arrive tomorrow, but she decided to take out her gowns, shake them, and hang them in the armoire. A low knock on the door made her look up. A young kitchen maid carried in a tray and left it on a side table, then quickly departed. Grace had little appetite, but she nibbled on cheese, soft bread, and cold ham. It was surprisingly delicious, and she wondered where he’d found the cook.
Soon after eating, she made up her mind. Her dresses had been hung, her silver comb and brush set on the dressing table. If he wasn’t coming home, then she wouldn’t wait. There was one room in the house that held hours of entertainment. Entertainment and diversion from her predicament.
She donned her wrapper, took up a candlestick, then opened the door. Her footsteps were silent on the carpet runner as she headed down the hall, passing doors until she came to one on the opposite end from her bedchamber. She’d spent most of her late-night visits here with Ian, and she knew precisely which door interested her. Opening it, she swept inside the library.
The table where she’d instructed Ian about table manners that fateful night was no longer there. The large oak desk remained along with the magnificent shelves of books.
A perfect escape.
She set her candlestick on an end table and helped herself to Ian’s French brandy from the sideboard. She could spend hours here reading until she was too sleepy to keep her eyes open. She walked to the bookshelf closest to the desk when a flash of red from the corner of her eye caught her attention.
She froze. A stack of red, leather-bound ledgers rested on the desk. Spread open on the blotter beside a bottle of ink was one of the ledgers. She recalled seeing them on his desk on her first visit to the library. Her bookkeeping work for the milliner had aroused her interest in business, and her fingers had itched to open one of Ian’s books and learn his true worth and that of the Raven Club. She nervously glanced around the room as if someone would appear from behind a bookshelf or the furnishings and surmise her intent.
A peek couldn’t hurt, would it?
Don’t be ridiculous, she thought. Ian isn’t coming home tonight.
Hesitating for only a heartbeat, Grace placed her glass and candlestick on the desk and walked behind it. She ran her hand over the luxurious leather grain of Ian’s desk chair, then sat and reached for the open ledger.
An hour later, she was shocked and horrified at what she’d discovered.
Good God.
Her husband wasn’t just wealthy. He was filthy rich. More than she’d ever imagined. If he knew, the Prince Regent would be green with envy. The Raven Club was an endless source of income. But what was shocking was what he did with the money.
She leaned back in the leather chair, propped her feet up on the edge of the desk, and scanned the tiny rows of figures. Her husband donated to charities. Almost a dozen of them. He didn’t spell them out but used an abbreviated notation. The Orphaned Children’s Relief Society was one of them. She recognized the initials and the precise amount donated. She recalled the charity’s last meeting where an anonymous donor had made a significant contribution—enough to purchase coal for the braziers for the entire winter and refurbish the headmaster’s quarters. Ian was the anonymous donor.