"Don't use words too big for the subject. Don't say infinitely when you mean very; otherwise you'll have no word left when you want to talk about something really infinite."
—C.S. Lewis
XII.
The second dance had already begun, and Adam could hear the whispers about Jack and Claire immediately. It was news apparently, that the first lady Lord Jack Beresford stood up with was Claire Denham, a girl of no situation or consequence.
Adam wove around the crowd, managing to smile at people who curtseyed and bowed as he passed them. He barely had time to register the mothers who tried to put their daughters in his path. He noticed then that Grace and Kate were standing beside a seated Mrs Denham. There chairs all about the perimeter of the assembly hall, being occupied by those of a more delicate constitution.
Adam had always liked Mrs Denham. He had enjoyed her warmth as a boy, and how he had always felt welcomed and valued by her. He had admired how she mothered her children, and how she and her husband shared a loving union, one that he could have only dreamed of for his own parents.
He was momentarily saddened by the fact that she was now widowed, and how he would have paid his respects years ago had he known.
Mrs Denham was the first to notice his approach, and the first look she gave him after not having seen him in more than a decade was one of disgust, and it made Adam stop in his tracks. What had he done to deserve that?
Nevertheless, he persisted, and joined the party after inhaling a deep breath of courage. He cleared his throat and bowed his head respectfully to the ladies.
Kate raised her eyebrows in surprise, while Grace appeared very hesitant, nervous, and confused at his sudden coming.
"Mama, you remember Lord Beresford," she stammered. "Lord Beresford, my mother, Mrs Denham, and my sister, Mrs Ellis," she introduced, reacquainting them.
"Good evening, ladies," Adam said as calmly as he could manage, trying to keep himself from staring, and focused on what he had meant to do. It did not help that being so near to her, he could truly appreciate the beauty the possessed out of that dreadful uniform. He averted his eyes from the curve of her throat and her smooth, elegant décolletage. "Mrs Denham, I hope you are feeling better and your injury is much improved," he said politely, offering her a smile.
Mrs Denham did not return the pleasantries, however, and merely scowled at him. This reception angered him, and the only explanation could be Grace had been telling tall tales. He had never done a thing to offend the Denhams. Why, as a boy, he had hoped on more than one occasion that they would allow him to live with them. He had always been on his best behaviour.
"Mama," hissed Grace, when she realised that Mrs Denham would not reply.
"Yes, much better," Mrs Denham replied reluctantly. "I thank you," she added, even more reluctantly, as though it pained her for the words to pass through her lips.
Adam needed to speak with Grace. There could no longer be any delay. But he knew he could not pull her aside and take her away for a private conversation. There were too many eyes, and there would be too many questions. Despite everything, Grace still had a reputation, and Adam was not so ungentlemanlike that he would tarnish that, no matter her past actions.
"May I have the next dance, Grace?" he asked, before correcting himself to, "Miss Denham." She was not in his employ at this moment.
Grace looked like a frightened rabbit, and both Mrs Denham and Kate were shocked at the invitation.
But Grace couldn't refuse unless she was otherwise promised, and Adam hoped that she was not. She stared up at him, her cornflower blue eyes wide with unease, but she nodded.
"I would be delighted," she replied, sounding anything but delighted.
The music for the second dance began to end, and Adam offered his arm to Grace. Her small hand shook as she extended it, placing it delicately on his forearm. The moment she was his, he led her away from her mother and sister.
"My sister tells me that you are now friends," Adam murmured under his breath, Grace's subsequent gasp letting him know that she had heard him.
"Is that why you have sought me out, milord?" Grace whispered. "Do you wish to put an end to that friendship?"
Ahead, Adam saw Jack extend his hand to Claire, asking her to dance the next with him. For a moment, Adam calmed, as he saw a genuine expression of happiness of his brother's usually sullen face. But this was quickly erased when another young man claimed Claire. Adam recalled his face from years ago, but he could not remember his name.
The look on Claire's face was evident that he was the man that she wanted to dance with, and she gave Jack her sincere apologies as Jack bowed to her and left, clearly disappointed.
Grace was watching the same exchange with disappointment. Perhaps she had wanted the connection between her sister and Adam's brother for reasons of benefit. Adam then admonished himself for the careless thought. Grace had never behaved in a way that was self-serving, and it was cruel to allow those thoughts now.
"No," said Adam, "so long as you do not fill Susanna's head with lies."
His words were cold, and perhaps her assessment of him had been correct as Grace looked up at him in shock. They took their place in the line of dances, Grace standing opposite to Adam, still reeling.
"I never lied," she mouthed emphatically.
Adam had to smirk. The musicians began to play, and he bowed to her, alongside the other men. The ladies in turn curtseyed to their partners, though Grace did not take her infuriated eyes off of him.
Adam took three steps in as part of the sequence, and uttered, "Unfaithful, you called me? Never!" he hissed, before taking three steps backward.
Grace followed suit, taking three steps in to meet him. "And you called me a liar?" she accused. "You are supposed to be a gentleman! That is why you went away. And you cannot even do the decent thing and apologise to me!" Grace spoke quickly, angrily, with the ire of weeks of pent up frustration, before she stepped back into line.
"Apologise?" snapped Adam, careful to keep his voice low as they met each other in the middle. Adam held his hands out for Grace's, and she took them, before they turned in a circle. "I owe you nothing. You, on the other hand, had the nerve to call me unfaithful after how callously and appallingly you behaved."
Adam and Grace came to stand next to each other as the couples moved in their lines. "I don't know how you could say such things to me now," Grace whispered shakily. "What you said to me is burned in my mind."
What was she talking about? Adam scowled down at her. "I have never said a cruel word to you," except for perhaps now, he silently admitted.
The line separated and they were once again standing opposite to one another. Grace's mouth was agape in shock as she comprehended his words, clearly not believing them.
"It is I who have never said a cruel word to you, milord," Grace retorted as they took hands once again to turn. "But you are not innocent. We cannot be friends, or anything else, as it is not proper," she said, as though she were reciting something.
Her eyes, her tone, everything made him feel as though this was supposed to mean something to him.
"You must understand that we are cut from two very different pieces of cloth," Grace continued shakily. "Do you think that I could ever forget such horrid words?" she asked him.
But at that moment, the music ended, and the dancers began to applaud the musicians. Both Grace and Adam participated in the courtesy, before Grace made the move to leave him.
His hand reached out to grab hers without him thinking of what he was doing. Adam was not letting her go until they finished this conversation, his previous reservations be damned.
Grace glared at him. "Let go of me!" she hissed. "Haven't you done enough?"
"No," snapped Adam as he glowered at her. "I haven't done anything." He pulled her hand onto his arm despite her protestations, so it at least looked as though he was to lead her back to her family, though he would take his own time in doing so.
"Stop making fun of me!" Grace demanded in a hushed voice. "How could you say those words to me and not apologise? I know a long time has passed, but it is the decent thing to do!"
Adam stopped, before looking down at her in utter confusion. Those words that she had recited were meant to be his? Where on earth had she got them from? "Grace, you are being ridiculous. I have no idea what you are talking about."
"Are you being deliberately coy?" Grace accused. "The letter!"
She could indignantly demand an apology from him but had the nerve to bring up her letter. Adam felt his fury bubbling in his chest.
"The letter," he repeated, shaking his head. "You are going to demand an apology from me, and then be the one to bring up the letter," he remarked in disbelief.
Grace stared at him. "Well, does not one deserve the other? Please, I am tired," she begged. "I have cried the last tears I ever want to over you. If you apologise for sending me that letter, then I promise to forgive you, and you can move on from me, which is exactly what you wanted."
Just as he was about to accuse her of being ridiculous again, he suddenly registered just what she had said. She was accusing him of sending her a cruel letter. Adam thought back to the countless letters that he had written her back then, the hours that he had spent planning, choosing just the right words, before pouring his childish heart onto the paper for her. Unfaithful, she called him, when he would have written her for years and years until the day they were reunited. In the dozens and dozens of letters that he had sent, never once had a sent her a word of cruelty.
He had been too busy thinking of synonyms for darling, dear, and my beloved.
"I really have no idea of what letter you are talking about," Adam said honestly, "but you cannot deny the words that you wrote me." He braced himself. "Do you think you are the only one with words burned into your mind? I don't want to write you anymore, you said. How silly I have been, you said. I am going to start my life without having an obligation to you, you said. You didn't want any part in my life anymore, and you told me that you wanted to move on from me." The words were truly etched in his brain, and it hurt something deep inside of him to repeat her words. "I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that, Grace, but an apology to me would be a start."
"Are you making fun of me?" Grace asked shakily, her eyes becoming glassy.
"No," snapped Adam.
"I never wrote anything of the sort," she protested, her voice barely above a fragile whisper. "I don't know what you are talking about. I only wrote you words of tenderness, faithfulness, and your last letter to me broke my heart."
Adam wanted to accuse her of lying again, anything to make sense of what had just been revealed, but he could see the sincerity in Grace's eyes. She was telling him the truth.
"But I received a letter from you," Adam reiterated, "telling me those horrible things, and you asked me to stop writing to you. Are you telling that you never wrote that letter?"
"No!" she cried, her voice raising slightly before she checked herself. "I never wrote you any such letter. You were the one to send me such a letter."
"I would never write to end our correspondence," Adam protested, "to end our friendship, our understanding, my promise to you." As soon as he uttered the words, he saw the recognition on Grace's face. She knew exactly what he was referring to. "Whatever letter you received was not from me."
"Well, whatever letter you received was not from me, either!"
They stared at each other in realisation, true comprehension of what had just been discovered between them. Neither one had severed their correspondence, but someone had.
To Adam, what was most important in this discovery was that Grace had never wanted to end their understanding. It had not been her choice, and every unforgiveable thought he had ever had about her filled him with immense remorse.
Grace. She was right here in front of him after so many years.
"Who could have done such a thing?" Grace asked softly.
Adam knew of only one person cruel and calculating enough to pull off such a ruse. And she had gotten away with it for twelve years. He immediately turned to where his mother was standing. She was still beside Peregrine, talking with the vicar's wife absently as she watched Adam with keen interest.
Cecily had an expression of disgust when her cold eyes flicked to Grace momentarily, before her attention returned to her conversation partner.
"I believe I know," muttered Adam tersely. Taking a breath, he tried to think of what to say next, what he could express to covey the magnitude of his regret. How could he even begin to make up for what his mother had done to her?
But before he could even begin to find the words, the music fell silent again, and the conversation in the hall stopped.
"Lady Ashley and Lady Sarah Ashley," announced the attendant, as two finely dressed women entered the assembly.