Not by Sight (14 page)

“Right now?” She quickly tucked the cutters into her pocket and rose from the bale, brushing a few errant pieces of straw from her sweaty uniform. “Do I have time to change?”

“I was told
now.
” The farmer frowned, adding, “If I were you, I wouldn’t dawdle.”

“Go on,” Mrs. Vance said. “We’ll see you at supper.”

Grace said her good-byes and struck out on foot across the field, her spirits lifting with each step. When Knowles sent her away earlier, she hadn’t realized how much she looked forward to her outings with Lord Roxwood of late, particularly their guessing game. Perhaps this afternoon they would return to the place he called Eden, his favorite spot. She hoped that she could paint her words well enough to do the wondrous scene justice.

She also intended to unmask him.

Heart thumping, Grace headed toward the garage. The notion had been on her mind for some time. She planned to proceed slowly, of course, but once Lord Roxwood stopped hiding, she felt he could start to accept his situation and begin living again.

Grace soon had the car running and brought it around front. Ascending the steps, she was surprised to see Knowles already waiting for her.

“I need a hat,” she told him.

“Pardon?”

“Lord Roxwood will need something with a wide brim. Direct sunlight isn’t healthy for his skin. Perhaps you can find something?”

From above the hawkish nose, his rheumy gaze studied her. Finally he stepped back and allowed her entrance. “If you’ll wait in the foyer, I’ll see what his valet can produce.”

Stepping inside, Grace tried to bolster her courage. Getting Lord Roxwood to remove the mask wouldn’t be easy, but despite his anger on Saturday, she felt their relationship had shifted. He’d begun to trust her and had revealed more about himself during the past week.

“Will this suit your purposes, Miss Mabry?”

Knowles held out a wide-brimmed straw hat, the same one Lord Roxwood had worn on the day they met in the hedge maze.

“That will do very nicely, Knowles. Thank you.” She took it from him.

“Ah, Miss Mabry, you’ve arrived,” Lord Roxwood called from the stairs. Today he wore a loose-fitting brown sack jacket and slacks, with a white shirt and blue-striped tie. Grace thought he looked quite dashing—except for the mask. On his head perched his usual brown felt motoring cap.

“Indeed, Lord Roxwood, and I’m eager to get started plying you with new prose as to our whereabouts on the road,” she said in a cheeky tone.

He chuckled behind the steel mesh—much to the butler’s delight. Grace noticed the smile forming on the curmudgeonly man’s lips. Renewed determination for her mission filled her. The mask was horrid, but more important, it hid the man beneath. She wanted to
see
him smile or frown or look cross at her, scars and all. To feel herself in the company of another warm-blooded human being, and not the cold and creaturely disguise he clung to. She only hoped he would grant her request.

———

“Margate?” Grace felt a rush of excitement as she turned in the seat to face Lord Roxwood. “You . . . you wish to go there today?”

“I do.” Seated beside her in the Daimler, he leaned back against the seat. “Of course, if you don’t get this car moving, we aren’t going anywhere.”

She readily obeyed, and he said, “Turn right and stay on this drive until you see a cross sign for Canterbury Road.”

“How long will it take us?”

“The entire trip shouldn’t take longer than three hours. I’ve been told the sky is clear and the wind feels mild, so we’ll make a good afternoon of it.”

Margate! Thoughts of Eden fled as Grace looked forward
to the drive ahead. She’d never imagined he would grant her wish to visit the place.

Making the required turns, she observed the now-familiar landmarks: rows of plane trees and verdant pastures, the occasional flocks of sheep around a thatched barn or cottage. She made a point to describe what she saw as they drove along, hoping he would tell her more about the meaning each place held for him. He didn’t disappoint, regaling her with tales of how he and his brother rode their ponies along the country roads and then stopped to swim in the nearest pond, of afternoons spent fishing or foraging for small game with their bows and arrows.

“Of all your lands, it sounds as if Roxwood holds your happiest memories.”

“It does,” he agreed. “My grandfather was a kind man. He treated Hugh and me equally, though my brother was eldest and the heir.”

“But both of you were his grandsons. Why would he treat you any differently than your brother?”

“You apparently know little about primogeniture, Miss Mabry. The eldest male inherits all, while any siblings are usually left with the scraps.”

“I’m aware of that. Still, I find it preposterous your grandfather would barter his affections in such a way. Love isn’t governed by wealth or title.”

“Lofty ideals,” he said. She detected his note of sarcasm. “At least my grandfather agreed with you. The earl, on the other hand, let’s just say he’s old-fashioned—medieval, to be exact.”

“How so?”

“If he could have fostered me out to some distant kingdom, I’m sure he would have leaped at the chance.”

“What about now?” Grace asked. “With your brother gone . . . I mean, how does the Earl of Stonebrooke treat you?”

“Stuck with me, I’m afraid. He ran out of heirs.” He paused,
then said, “You are certainly inquisitive this afternoon, Miss Mabry.”

And for a change, you are not, Lord
Roxwood
. The realization made her smile. Perhaps it would be a good day, after all.

“So how does your father treat you as opposed to your sibling? Is your brother older or younger than you?”

Grace kept her eyes on the road ahead. “Colin is older,” she said, feeling a bit of mischief. “And it’s true he gets along much better with our father. I’m much more . . . outspoken than what Da would like in a daughter.”

His low chuckle filled her with unexpected warmth, and she had to resist an urge to reach over and pull back the mesh to see his laughter. “What’s so amusing?”

“Your use of the English language,” he said. “You say ‘outspoken,’ which I suppose serves well enough in polite society. I, on the other hand, would say you bray like a donkey.”

Her warmth vanished. “You’ve got some nerve,” she said. “If I bray like a donkey, sir, then you have the manners of a goat!” She clutched at the steering wheel as she imagined her hands around his neck.

Laughter burst from beneath the mask. “I think you’ve just proved my point,” he said, amused.

She opened her mouth to sally a retort—then realized she would only lend credence to his insult. A smile touched her lips. She’d actually made him laugh.

“If you’re so outspoken, as you say, I assume your brother is quiet?”

“Yes, he’s quite shy,” she said amiably. “In fact, my parents were amazed we turned out so differently, though Colin
is
seven minutes older.”

“Twins?” He sounded surprised. “Does he look like you?”

“Not really. He stands several inches taller and
his
mustache is black.” She was rewarded with another chuckle from behind
the mask. “We do share the same nose, I suppose, but with his black hair and hazel eyes, he favors Da’s looks.” Softly she added, “I’ve been told I favor my mother.”

“You must miss her.”

His tone turned quiet, and emotion welled in her. “I do, very much,” she said. “Please don’t misunderstand. My father and I may not always agree, but I know he loves me and only wants what’s best. But his way of showing it is to marry me off to someone who will take over my protection and provide me with a safe and secure life. He doesn’t allow that I might be able to take care of myself.”

“How did you become so independent?”

“My mother was an early suffragette, despite being married to my traditional father”—she smiled—“or perhaps because of it. Before the war started, she was much involved with winning the vote.” Her humor faded. “When she got sick, I wanted to take up the cause, finish what she had started.” Grace recalled the words of her beautiful mother. “She taught me to never back down and always stand up for what I believed in. That with courage and God’s grace I could become anything I chose in life.”
And
that I must live with the decisions I make.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, and she blinked them away. Beside her, Lord Roxwood was still, his mask revealing none of his reaction. It made her long to see his face even more and ascertain his thoughts. She cast a quick glance to the back seat, where the straw hat rested.

“I think you’re doing exactly what she taught you, Miss Mabry,” he said finally. “You’re here working in Kent, charting your own course. I’d say you’ve come pretty far.”

His words pleased her. “Do you also support a woman’s right to vote?”

“Absolutely,” he said without hesitation. “Most women are by far more intelligent—which is probably why men don’t want
them voting at the polls.” His tone sobered as he added, “Fear tends to breed hatred and dissention, Miss Mabry. It can exacerbate the imagination to the point of becoming ludicrous.”

“Like jailing suffragettes?” Grace recalled her mother’s indignation when Christabel Pankhurst and Annie Kennedy were arrested for crashing a Liberal Party meeting. She also remembered the ridiculous rumors circulating the village. “Or creating crazy legends about some Tin Man?” she said.

“Exactly.” He raised an arm to rest against the top of the seat. When his hand briefly grazed her shoulder, Grace felt her pulse quicken.

He seemed oblivious to the action. “Women have as much to contribute in today’s society as any man. They can certainly be as astute when it comes to politics. Look at all the great queens who have ruled throughout Britain’s history and you’ll have your answer.”

“I’m happy to hear you say so. I’m also surprised, since your appreciation for women has previously dealt less with intellect and more with . . . with . . .”

“Physical pleasures, Miss Mabry?” Again his hand brushed her shoulder, and Grace held her breath in an effort to slow her racing heart. “Surely, as you can tell, my days of chasing the ladies are at an end, unless I want to make them scream. Besides, I am also engaged to be married.”

To someone he didn’t love.
His
cage. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“I don’t need your sympathy, just your driving skills.”

He removed his arm from the top of the seat, and Grace felt a sense of disappointment.

She recalled his notoriety in London, his arrogance and penchant for vice—a man who had spent his days drinking and gambling, his nights destroying the reputation of the fairer sex.

Those exploits seemed distant now. Not for the first time, Grace wondered at his day-to-day activities after their outings.
Instead of attending parties, did he sit alone for hours in the big, empty house, listening to its settling creaks and the shuffling feet of his servants? And at night, did he amuse himself, not with drink and womanizing but with the sounds of the fox and pheasant as he stood at his balcony when he thought no one could see?

She eased out a breath, ridding the last traces of her contempt. His life these days seemed a lonely preoccupation. Despite what he’d been before, no one deserved to fall that far. Was it surprising he volleyed her with questions, living so secluded these past months?

Yes, she wanted to see his smile. She wanted to
make
him smile . . .

The main thoroughfare loomed ahead. “We’ve reached Canterbury Road,” she said, relieved to escape the path her thoughts had taken. She slowed the car.

“Turn left, then straight on until you reach the coast,” he said. “We’ll follow Margate’s shoreline a few miles before entering the city’s center. The view is quite nice. You won’t want to miss anything.”

It wasn’t long before an endless expanse of blue-green ocean came into view. “It’s beautiful,” she said. “I’ve never seen so much water in my life. Even the Thames cannot compare to the open sea.”

“There is as much seacoast in Ireland,” he said.

“But I’ve never seen it. As I told you, my father came here from Dublin when he was much younger and eventually met and married my mother. Colin and I were born in London. We’d each ventured from the city only a couple of times before my brother left for France.”

“You still haven’t heard from him?”

She frowned. “No, and I’ve already been here at Roxwood two weeks.”

“I’m certain they’re keeping him very busy at the Front. I told you how unreliable Army mail is. Worrying about him won’t help.” He paused. “Instead, describe to me this beauty you see, just as you might write it for
Women’s Weekly
.”

“All right.” She pulled off to the side of the road. He was right. Fretting over Colin wouldn’t help to bring her brother’s letter any faster.

She set the car’s brake and peered out across the coast. “The ocean seems vast, like a country all its own,” she began. “Watery arcs, tipped in blues and greens and cresting the surface as far as the eye can see. The warm air is pungent with the smell of brine, while ceaseless waves crash the shore, their foamy tide teasing miles of sparkling sand and scattering strange driftwood, pink and white shells, and bulbous tentacles of dark-brown kelp.” She took a breath and continued, “An abandoned boat lies on its side at the edge of the shore, the red-and-white paint chipped away from its hull. Overhead, an azure sky entertains a multitude of gulls wheeling white and brown and gray wings wildly as they call to one another—”

She halted as Lord Roxwood began to applaud. “Nicely done, Miss Mabry. I can see the images quite clearly in my mind.”

“Thank you.” His approval warmed her. “Shall we drive on?”

“In a moment,” he said. “The railway depot should be in the vicinity, along the opposite side of the street. And a place called Hall by the Sea. It’s been a dance hall, a restaurant, and most recently a pleasure garden with amusement rides and an animal menagerie.”

“Oh, Lucy spoke about an amusement park near the train station,” Grace said.

“The very same,” he said, a smile in his voice. “As you’re a budding novelist, you might be interested to know the Hall’s notoriety, as well. A murder was committed on the site a few years ago—a prostitute was killed by the circus strong man.”