At first he'd been furious that she'd taken the final step and retaliated by going through a veritable gauntlet of women, rather than thinking through what she must
have been feeling. Then he'd started hating himself for his behavior, as he had never been one to enjoy multiple partners, and he kept his affairs to one woman at a time, becoming more circumspect and choosing the ones that would be discreet, that wouldn't flaunt the affair in front of his wife. But the damage was already done. By the time he'd swallowed his pride and recognized his own fault in their current situation, by the time he’d finally tried to approach Grace again, she'd hated him and he couldn't honestly blame her.
If only he hadn't let his pride and temper get the best of him, if only he'd gone after her when she'd first left, when she'd started her first flirtation... or even if he hadn't compounded the problem by beginning his own.
The only thing he'd been able to do for her was ensure that she maintained a place in the ton rather than being driven away from it completely. A quiet word here, a word there, and only the highest sticklers wouldn’t have anything to do with her. The others knew they would court his displeasure by openly shunning her.
And he kept her accounts at the various shops open, so that she could buy whatever she needed. At least this way she remained in London rather than disappearing to who knows where and with whom; she would never be driven to desperate straights or end up relying on another man for her livelihood. He'd hoped that eventually her fury would cool, that she might see how he was still providing for her, and she might come back to him, be willing to talk about why she'd left him in the first place, but she never had.
For a while he'd even forgone his mistresses, although that hadn't seemed to help and after a year he'd stopped denying himself when she obviously wasn't. Even though he never had to see her, he still heard about her lovers and it grated. At least she only had one at a time and they always lasted for a long period. Truthfully, Alex preferred it that way, he didn’t like to think that she wouldn’t be constant once their relationship was finally repaired.
At one point he'd thought they might have a chance at something more than the usual ton marriage. Their honeymoon had been blissful. Grace had caught his eye when he'd begun looking for a wife and the first few weeks after their wedding had seemed to confirm his choice. A large factor of their marriage had been the business deal between himself and her father, but he'd rather enjoyed Grace for herself and he'd especially enjoyed her warmth and vibrancy, her openness.
Then, after they'd returned to London, it was as if the sun had gone out and Grace's personality had snapped shut. He’d come home from his club one afternoon to find her packed and ready to leave, when he’d tried to stop her she’d railed nonsensically at him, something about both of them being foolish, and then she'd gone.
Everything had disintigrated rather rapidly, leaving Alex feeling as though she'd taken all the light in the world with her. And once his pride and anger had worn down, months later and far too late, he'd realized he'd behaved remarkably stupidly.
But he was determined to change that now. He wanted his wife back and he was tired of waiting. It was time to stand up and fight for what was his.
******
The two men faced off, Conyngham rather warily. After all, he wasn't quite sure what to expect; Lord Brooke wasn't behaving the way most husbands of the ton did, whether or not they were accommodating. An accommodating one would have left as soon as he knew his wife was entertaining, to continue the illusion that he was unaware she was doing any such thing. An unaccommodating one would already be either brandishing pistols or calling for them.
Alex was leaning against the doorway of her drawing room as if he had every right to be there, watching them come down the stairs. He wasn’t shouting or retreating, he was just standing there, observing. And as much as Grace wished she could just see Rupert off with his usual kiss and promise of a later engagement, she didn't think she could pull it off with her husband standing there. Her stomach churned with nervous tension even though she didn’t look directly at him.
Rupert reached the bottom of the stairs before her. "Lord Brooke.” He nodded his head in greeting, still wary but apparently determined to be civil. “What an unexpected surprise."
Ah yes. And this was why she'd fallen in with Conyngham. He was never at a loss for words, unlike herself. He always managed to find something civil to say; it was a talent that Grace wished she had. That and he made her smile, which was hard enough to do these days.
Grace felt like Sisyphus, and the great stone of her marriage was about to roll over her and crush her flat.
Divorce.
It had finally come. She'd wanted it, waited for it, planned for it... and yet now that Alex was standing here in her home, finally ready to deliver it, the pain in her chest was so great that she thought her heart might actually be falling into tiny pieces. Not for the loss of Alex, she told herself, but for the loss of what might have been. The marriage that could have been. The girl that she had been, before she'd spent years estranged from her deceiving, philandering husband.
"I need to speak with my wife," Alex said, almost affably.
Grace tensed at hearing her described in such terms. Surprisingly, Rupert didn't, and neither did he completely abandon her. Instead he straightened, looking Alex directly in the eye. "I would like your assurance that no harm will come to her from you."
Tears sparked in her eyes. Rupert cared. He didn't love her and she didn't love him, she knew that, but she did care for him and enjoyed his company, but she hadn't truly known how he felt about her. Whether or not there was more to their relationship than her affection for him and his desire for her. But he did care; for the first time in her life she was actually hearing a man stand his ground for her, for no reason other than to ensure her well-being. He was standing up to her own husband for her. And it shocked her nearly speechless even as it made her want to cry out with gratitude.
Alex looked back at Rupert, just as serious, his face as stone-like as ever, and nodded. "On my honor."
Rupert nodded back and looked up at her, she was only standing a few stairs above him. "My dear... I'll call upon you this afternoon."
To check on her. To ensure that Alex had followed through with his word. And suddenly Grace knew that if she asked, Rupert would stay.
As practiced as her social mask was, she could feel it cracking and saw Rupert's eyes widen as he took in her watery smile. Despite his willingness, she knew he had things he needed to attend to this morning, and she didn't truly want any witnesses around for her conversation with Alex or the immediate aftermath. As wonderful as Rupert had been, and as good a friend as he was in addition to being her lover, she doubted he would quite understand her need to mourn a marriage that had been effectively over for years. Seeing him this afternoon would be soon enough, after she could compose herself again.
"Thank you Rupert," she said, the warmth in her voice completely sincere and not just a show for Alex. "I'll see you then."
He took her hand and kissed it, rather than the usual kiss on the lips; apparently she wasn't the only one feeling stymied by Alex's presence. Then he left, leaving her alone with her husband for the first time in years.
Blinking away the tears that Rupert's stalwort support of her had engendered, Grace swept down past Alex and into the drawing room, trying not to tense as she passed by him. It wasn't exactly easy to pretend he wasn't there, when he took up nearly half the doorway with his muscular frame, but she managed well enough.
Firmly entrenched in the middle of one of her favorite rooms, Grace took a moment to gather herself before turning to face him, her expression as blank as she could possibly make it. She wished that she'd had more time to prepare, but she hadn't realized that Alex was here so she was wearing a soft pink morning gown that was more comfortable than flattering, and her hair was curling down her back rather than being tidy and up. It made her feel at a disadvantage when he was looking so splendid, but that couldn't be helped. She didn't realize how warm and beautiful she looked in the soft pink, or the way her dark hair framed her face and shoulders, or how the fabric clung to her curves.
Raising her chin stubbornly, she forced herself to calm, hiding her clenched hands in her skirts. "I assume you're here about a divorce?"