My Fake Rake

Yet his stomach clenched in disappointment when, a moment later, she let go of his hand. For the best, in truth. He’d be unable to pay attention to anything Rotherby said if he and Grace touched.

“Nothing people love so much as to talk about themselves,” Rotherby said, unaware of the tiny drama being enacted in front of him. “Keep bringing the topic back to them, they consider you the most spectacular conversationalist and a sterling example of humanity.”

Wryly, Seb said, “We all know that I am, in truth, as diabolical and nefarious as one of Bonaparte’s spies.”

“I’ve something for you.” Grace hurried to a small table and grabbed a folded item resting on top of it. She returned and held the item out to him. Gingerly, Seb took it, feeling soft leather against his skin. A pair of gentleman’s gloves. “In case you start to fret about what to say or what someone’s thinking, direct your attention to the sensation of these gloves in your hand.”

As he stroked his fingers back and forth across the leather, he did, in truth, sense himself firmly anchored in the present moment rather than spin off into worry.

Marveling, he said to Grace, “These ideas of yours, they’re ingenious.”

Her cheeks pinkened. “I thought to myself, if I was in the grips of anxiousness, what would be the gentlest means of getting past that? Because you can’t just beat the mind into submission,” she added with a look at Rotherby. His friend spread his hands in acknowledgment of his failed strategy.

Soft warmth spread along Seb’s limbs, spreading into his heart, which seemed to fill his chest. She worked so hard to help him overcome the obstacle of his fear.

“Are you feeling up to trying again?” Grace asked. She glanced at the three remaining people he hadn’t yet spoken to. They’d risen from the tea table, and talked amongst themselves near the pianoforte.

He inhaled slowly, and let out a long exhalation. “Ready to scale the dizzying heights of social success.”

With the gloves in his hand, and his breathing steady, Seb approached the trio.

It wasn’t perfect. He stammered at the onset, and twice used the feel of the gloves to keep him centered on the present moment. But the mind-numbing terror waned, he asked questions, listened to the answers, and his attempts at humor weren’t met with blank stares. The people themselves had fascinating stories to tell. One maid had come all the way from Northumberland to help pay for her brother’s medical education in Scotland. A footman had secret ambitions to open a dress shop that catered to the rising ranks of the bourgeoisie.

Seb was actually disappointed when Rotherby and Grace came to collect him.

“It was an honor to meet you,” Seb murmured to the trio, then said to the woman from Northumberland, “and be sure to have your brother write me. I know fine men at the medical university in Glasgow that he should meet.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“Excellently done,” Rotherby said as they ambled off.

Over her shoulder, Grace announced to the gathered servants, “Thank you all for your assistance. That will be all for today.” She turned back to Seb, smiling widely. “You ought to feel proud of yourself.”

“Proud,” he said truthfully, “and exhausted.” It was as though he’d run around the garden a hundred times rather than three. Clouds filled his head and he longed for some quiet corner of the world in which he could take shelter for a few moments.

“Then we’ve done enough for today.” Grace’s words were decisive. “It’s time for some respite.”

Chapter 11

“I cannot imagine why Rotherby didn’t want to join us.” Grace gently pushed aside tall grasses and carefully stepped forward, testing to make certain the ground beneath her was both stable and free from any creatures who might object to being trod upon. In one arm, she carried a woolen blanket. “It’s a perfectly lovely day.”

Sebastian followed in the path she created, moving his big body with surprising agility. “Not much for field excursions, the duke. Rotherby’s more comfortable harrumphing in Parliament or smoking a cheroot in the study.” He squinted with pleasure at the afternoon sun blazing overhead, hanging in a sky of faultless blue.