An Unforgettable Lady (An Unforgettable Lady #1)(35)

He'd been passionate because he was a passionate man. His reaction had more to do with his own sex drive than with any special quality of hers.

"Grace?"

Her mother's strident voice bought her back to the present.“I'm sorry?"

“I was telling you about my forthcoming trip to Paris. I shall be staying with the Viscomte—"

This time, Grace was careful to pay attention as her mother laid out her plans in minute detail. The only pause came when the waiter brought their entrees. As a salmon fillet was placed in front of Grace, she hid a grimace.

She hated fish.

"You'll like that much better than the beef, darling," her mother said as an identical plate was put down at her place setting. "Now, tell me about the Gala."

"I think it's progressing quite nicely." Grace picked up her fork. She didn't like to lie, but had no intention of speaking the truth.

"Your father always had such a talent for those events. He was responsible for securing Betsy Ross's first flag for auction. Do you remember that?"

Grace let the story she'd heard countless times wash over her. Reminding herself to nod as soon as she heard a pause, she brought her fork to her lips and took the salmon into her mouth. She had to fight to keep from gagging.

Her eyes left her mother's well-preserved face and traveled through the room she knew so well. The place made her think of her father. She'd loved coming to dinner with him all alone. It had started out as a birthday tradition when she'd been younger and, as she'd grown up, they had done it more regularly.

Her father would watch her intently as she spoke, all the while tracing the tip of a silver teaspoon on the heavy linen tablecloth. She could still hear the soft rasping sound of it rising up between them. He would move the spoon in circles while he was listening. When he would speak, he would draw invisible squares, turning the corners as he made his points.



Those moments had been the very best of him, of their relationship. A sense of loss made her put the memories aside for another, more private, time.

She looked over to Smith and stiffened. She sensed that those hooded eyes were seeing through her social smile and her carefully observed manners. He knew, she suspected, that she was exhausted, tense, and lonely. Did he know that she despised the dinner she'd allowed her mother to order for her, too?

"Grace," her mother said sharply.

She turned her head. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?"

"I asked after Ranulf."

Grace's hand tightened on her fork. "Oh, he's well."

"Your husband is such a marvelous man. Did you know he wrote to me?"

"When?" She tried to keep her face smooth. Unlined. Pleasant.

Inside, she was wondering why in the hell Ranulf was reaching out to her mother. Now that they were separated, he should keep to his own family. She made a mental note to talk with her lawyer about it.

"The letter arrived last week. He said that he was going to be in town and that the three of us should get together." The disapproving tone, the one that made Grace's shoulders tighten like a vise around her spine, came back. "I assumed you would have brought him tonight."

"He was busy."

"Well, I did call on short notice. "Will you send him my regards?"

"Of course."

"Now tell me, when will you be having children?"

Grace choked on the fish. Coughing, she fumbled to get a napkin to her mouth.

Her mother didn't miss a beat. "Your one-year anniversary is coming. It's time, don't you think? Your father missed the opportunity of knowing his grandchildren. I don't want the same thing happening to me."

Grace took a sip of water. And another one. "I'm busy with the Foundation right now. I can't—"

An impatient hand waved away her words. "Let Lamont run the place. That's what your father really wanted."

Grace's eyes flared. Slowly, she put her glass down. "What did you say?"

"You can't honestly think he'd want you cooped up in that dreary office all the time. That's why he cultivated Lamont. Besides, what could you possibly know about running the Foundation? I was talking to Charles Bainbridge the other day, pointing out to him that you were really under too much stress. You need to be taking care of Ranulf right now, not worrying about business. Charles agreed."

Grace felt the blood drain from her face. Bainbridge was the chair of the board and the leader of the men who were rallied against her.

Her mother looked concerned. "Darling, you're not eating. Is the fish not to your liking? I'll summon Edward."

As her mother began to lift her hand, Grace rushed in, "No, no, the salmon is fine."

In the silence which followed, she tried to get her temper under control.

"Mummy, how could you do that?" she said quietly.

Her mother looked up in surprise. "I beg your pardon?"

"How could you undermine me like that? "

"Good Lord, are you talking about Bainbridge? I did you a favor. You really can't handle the responsibility—"

"I will be the one to decide that."

Carolina Hall froze. As her mother's expression turned icy, Grace fought against being submerged in her mother's censure.