The Captain and the Wallflower. Lyn Stone

advantage as best he could. Never vacillate, never look back on what might have been. And now he had chosen a wife. Granted, this decision had been made more impulsively than most any other in his life, but he would stand by it.

      He would stand by her. For some uncanny reason, he felt an odd kinship with the little Lady Grace and had from the moment he had first seen her across the ballroom. Odd.

      Trent had followed them home and stood in the foyer behind him as he introduced Grace to his uncle’s housekeeper, Mrs. Oliver. The older women curtsied even as she frowned at the newcomer. Caine could sense her disapproval, or perhaps it was only concern. The earl might mirror that when he met Grace, since she did not possess the appearance of a healthy breeder. No matter.

      “Mrs. Oliver, could you arrange something to feed us?”

      “The three of you, milord?”

      “Yes, but nothing fancy. A simple tray in the breakfast room will do nicely. And a pot of strong tea for the lady.”

      “Only brandy for me,” Trent supplied. He turned to Grace with a succinct bow. “I am Gavin Trent, friend of this nodcock you’re now attached to.”

      “And his second this evening, so he tells me. Thank you for your assistance with the arrangements,” she said with a curtsy.

      “My pleasure.”

      “This way,” Caine said, ushering Grace down the corridor.

      “A lovely residence,” Grace observed, sounding a bit breathless. “Your uncle is …?”

      “Earl of Hadley.”

      She turned to him. “And you are his—?”

      “His heir. Yes, you will one day be a countess. I understand your father was an earl, so perhaps you won’t mind the station.” Caine hoped she wouldn’t faint again and took her arm in case she did.

      “My goodness!” she exclaimed, her hand clutching her bodice. “Why me?”

      Caine might not know much of women’s minds, but he certainly knew better than to be completely honest in this instance. “You looked positively regal standing there. I was quite smitten.”

      She laughed out loud, a full-throated, joyful sound he hadn’t expected. It was contagious and he laughed with her. Trent shot him a frown and, obviously not amused, went straight for the brandy decanter when the butler appeared with it.

      They sat at one end of the breakfast-room table, Grace on his right, Trent to the left. “So, here we are,” Trent said on a sigh as he poured a draft into three snifters. “What now?”

      “Would you see about getting the license?”

      “If you like.” Trent gulped a swallow and winced at the burn. “But first I’ll need information you haven’t given me yet. Where will you marry?”

      “Do you have a preference?” he asked Grace.

      She gave a shrug and a small shake of her head. “Anywhere.”

      “The chapel at Wildenhurst,” Caine stated. “It’s close enough that Uncle can attend comfortably, but not here in town where we might be plagued by hordes of the curious. Have you friends you wish to witness or attend?” he asked her.

      Again, that small, disbelieving shake of her head. She knocked back the entire contents of her glass and coughed.

      “Easy there. Are you quite all right?”

      She nodded uncertainly as if the full impact of the evening’s events had suddenly hit her.

      “No more plans tonight. You need to eat and then sleep. Tomorrow is soon enough for arrangements,” Caine declared. He looked meaningfully at Trent.

      Trent set down his glass and stood. “I’ll just be off then.” He held out a hand to Caine. “Congratulations on your betrothal.” He bowed to Grace. “My lady, I wish you every happiness. And with that, a good night to you both.”

      Grace exhaled audibly. “Thank you.”

      Caine grinned at Trent’s wry expression. “See you in the morning.”

      When they were alone, Caine sought to soothe Grace’s concerns, since she surely must have a few. “Everything will be done for you and you needn’t worry about anything.”

      A kitchen maid arrived with a tray laden with cold meats, bread, sliced oranges and a pot of tea.

      “You may leave it,” Caine told her. “I will serve the lady.” He proceeded to slather butter on a slice of bread for her.

      She hurriedly rolled two slabs of ham and attacked the food without pause. Or anything resembling manners. Caine stopped what he was doing and watched with fascination as she ate. Eyes closed, she moaned softly and chewed rapidly.

      After a few moments, she stopped and covered her mouth with her serviette.

      “Too much, too fast?” he asked. “Perhaps you should rest a bit first.”

      “She should and that’s a fact,” Mrs. Oliver declared. Caine turned to see her standing in the doorway Trent had just vacated. The heavyset retainer marched forward and virtually lifted her charge out of the chair. “You come right along, miss.”

      He stood quickly to bid Grace good-night, noting that she plucked up the slice of bread he had buttered before being hauled away.

      Caine sat down again when they were gone, eye fixed on the remnants of the cold supper without actually seeing it. Why would Grace admittedly starve herself, then gobble down food with such abandon? Had she lied about Wardfelton’s treatment? Had the man withheld sustenance? And if so, whyever would he do such a thing?

      This would bear some investigation, but there was no rush. His little Grace would be perfectly safe now and hereafter. He would see to that.

      For the first time since the morning of the battle that nearly blinded him, Caine felt a wave of calmness and well-being. He dearly hoped it would last.

      The next morning, Caine awakened late, but fully alert and eager, for once, to face the day. He ascribed that to having a meaningful and interesting project other than the tedious business of straightening out his uncle’s affairs.

      Grace must take second place, of course, immediately after their marriage. Once he had grown accustomed to the new duties he would assume and felt confident he could handle them, he would investigate Grace’s situation or have someone do it.

      No sooner was he dressed and on his way downstairs than Trent arrived with news. Caine motioned him toward the library.

      Trent began speaking before he even took a chair. “The archbishop will provide the special license to wed any place you wish,” he announced immediately. “However, Jarvis says that you will still have several weeks’ wait.”

      “I thought we could wed at any time thereafter.” Caine made himself comfortable behind the earl’s desk and began rearranging the papers he had been working on the day before.

      “Well, these days, a special license has become a status affair and everyone wants one. So why not have banns called at the Wildenhurst chapel and do things in the regular way?”

      Caine steepled his fingers beneath his chin and thought about it. “I had hoped to have it done sooner, but I suppose there’s no great reason for haste.”

      Trent nodded his agreement. “He also said it might be wise for either you or the lady to repair to the country for the duration in order to establish residence. Though, that could likely be waived, since it was your home before the war.”

      Caine considered that for a moment. “Very well.” Truth was, he didn’t mind leaving London, but he would need to convince his uncle to accompany them. “Would you see to retrieving Lady Grace’s belongings from Wardfelton’s house for me?”

      Trent sighed and threw up his