Not by Sight (23 page)

“I could ask the same about you. Sir Marcus seems a decent man. You should consider taking a closer look, Clare, before you tar him with the same brush you use on every other titled and affluent man in Great Britain. Did he tell you he’s a lieutenant with the Admiralty?”

Clare nodded. “He does seem very nice,” she agreed. “He’s quite attractive, too.” Her frown returned. “But you’ve changed the subject. Are you and Lord Roxwood . . . ? I mean to say, do you care for one another?”

Grace couldn’t deny her feelings. She bent her head to the rose, again breathing in its heavenly scent. “I think so.”

“He’s
engaged
.”

“I know that,” Grace snapped. “But he isn’t happy about it, and neither is she.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Clare’s tone gentled.

“You’re right, Clare.” Grace’s brow creased. Even though Jack and Violet likely wished to be worlds apart, there remained some mysterious obligation holding them together.

“He’s also a member of the royal peerage,” Clare added. “Good heavens, Grace. He’ll be an earl one day.”

“Jack and I are not entirely out of each other’s social realm,” she said, bristling. “I would imagine my father is just as wealthy as Miss Arnold’s, and she is hardly royalty, after all. Times are changing. We’re in the midst of a new age
and
a war, with women expanding their roles in society. I believe separation of class will continue to shrink.”

Clare snorted. “One of your pretty suffragette speeches?” Then compassion lit her gray eyes when she said, “I live in the world, Grace, and right now it hurts badly. Don’t let him break your heart.”

“I won’t, Clare. I promise.” Grace leaned to touch her wrist. “And you should give Sir Marcus a chance. He seems like a good man.” She smiled. “Being knighted isn’t so lofty, is it?”

Clare’s expression eased as she took up her glass of lemonade. “Perhaps not,” she said with an offhanded smile.

15

Grace stood at the edge of the dance floor, watching couples sway to the music while Clare went off to find the others.

Already she’d agreed to dance with two young soldiers, yet her enthusiasm waned. She couldn’t stop thinking about Jack, or what Clare had said—an impossible situation, though her heart felt otherwise. Closing her eyes, she reveled in the romantic music of John McCormack singing “Roses of Picardy” on the gramophone. She imagined Jack once more leading her smoothly about the floor right in the very spot she was standing, feeling the warmth of his hand against her waist, breathing in the scent of his Bay Rum cologne, and delighting in his smile.

Opening her eyes, she touched a finger to her lips. How would his smile feel against hers . . . or his laughter? The image of his mouth laughing against hers rose in her mind, and she felt another pang of yearning. She would give anything to feel his laughter, his happiness.

When the song ended, Grace headed with her empty glass to the refreshment table for more lemonade. She wasn’t surprised to find Becky heaping several ginger biscuits and a wedge of mince pie onto a plate and happily eating away.

It seemed to Grace the young woman was always hungry. Maybe opening a bakery wasn’t such a great idea. Becky might just eat all of the profits. Yet despite her stocky build she hadn’t an ounce of fat, likely from loading all those bales of hay.

Lucy was nowhere to be found, but Clare stood beside the other food table, nibbling on a slice of strawberry pie. A soldier was trying to strike up a conversation with her. Clare nodded from time to time, but didn’t seem at all interested. Grace grinned. Perhaps Sir Marcus had made an impression, after all.

At the sound of hearty greetings behind her, Grace turned to see Mr. Tillman had arrived. The farmer looked quite resplendent in his old British uniform, the vintage red jacket with its badge rank of corporal from having served in the Anglo-Boer Wars. He swept off his cap, and she noticed he’d combed his sparse thatch of salt-and-pepper hair into some semblance of order. He’d even trimmed his mustache.

Grace waited for Agnes to come through the door, then soon realized her friend wasn’t with him. Perplexed and somewhat concerned, she intended to ask Mr. Tillman about her, but then he was surrounded by several soldiers, each shaking his hand. Though she and the farmer had yet to make peace with each other, it pleased her that these younger men recognized his contribution from past wars.

“Have you seen Agnes?” she asked once he’d greeted everyone and approached the refreshment table.

“I called back at the gatehouse, but Miss Pierpont said she had an aching head and wasn’t up to dancing.” He moved to grab a cucumber sandwich and popped it into his mouth.

Grace felt disappointment. She had hoped to spend some time with her friend tonight.

Mr. Tillman reached for a glass and ladled out a cup of the pink lemonade. He began to drink, having neglected to notice hers was still empty.

“Why, I would love some, thank you.” She thrust her cup at him. The man simply had no manners where women were concerned.

He blinked, then grunted before snatching up her glass and refilling it from the punch bowl. Grace nodded her appreciation, taking a sip while she surveyed the room.

The next song to play was a slower melody. As couples approached the dance floor, Grace spied Mrs. Vance near the window, casting surreptitious glances at Mr. Tillman.

She sighed. It seemed the farmer lacked insight as well as manners. Having only been at Roxwood three weeks, even Grace recognized Ida Vance’s attentions toward him. The look of longing in the woman’s face was there for all to see.

Casually she reached for a ginger biscuit from a plate on the table. “Enchanting music, isn’t it, Mr. Tillman?” she said, before taking a bite.

He turned from piling a plate with two slices of potato pie and a wedge of apple cake to look at her. “It is indeed, Miss Mabry.”

“And you look very fine in your uniform.”

His expression turned guarded. “Thank you, Miss Mabry.”

“In fact . . .” Grace cast a purposeful glance around the room. “I imagine several ladies here might enjoy a dance with a man in uniform. I see one or two over there in that corner.” Her gaze settled on Mrs. Vance, and she waved.

“Maybe,” he said without looking and continued to fill his plate, this time topping the apple cake with another cucumber sandwich.

Thickheaded.
Grace pursed her lips, tugging at his sleeve. “See Mrs. Vance there, by the window? And my, doesn’t she look grand! That rose-print dress is perfect with her skin. What do you think, Mr. Tillman? Isn’t mauve her very color?”

The farmer paused in the act of placing a ginger biscuit on top of his already huge pyramid of food to follow her gaze.
Grace took hope as she saw him color faintly. “Perhaps she would care to dance?”

He turned to Grace. “You mean . . . you want me to ask her?”

Grace bit back her exasperation. “I think she would happily accept.”

“Why would she give the likes of me the time of day?” Yet he shot another hopeful glance in Mrs. Vance’s direction.

“Well,” Grace confided, “as it happens, I saw her looking your way a few times.”

Blinking, he held on to his enormous mound of food. He darted another glance at Mrs. Vance. Then, as if making a battle decision, he thrust the plate at Grace. He straightened the tunic of his uniform over his slight paunch and marched in her direction. They had an exchange of words, in which her supervisor’s rosy features positively glowed, before Mr. Tillman led her onto the dance floor.

Grace looked on as the couple stepped lively to the music of “Daisy Bell,” and her heart warmed at the sound of Ida Vance’s laughter. She’d lost a husband, and having endured her share of grief it was about time she discovered joy again.

Grace found her own thoughts returning to Jack. Even now he could be standing alone on his balcony. She gazed at the rose still in her hand. Had she been a fool to accept the token from him? And was that all it had been, a commemoration of their truce, or had he meant something more? She sensed he did, yet it didn’t change their circumstances. He was bound to another, whether there was love between them or not.

“Enjoying the dance?”

Grace whirled at the familiar male voice behind her. A middle-aged man dressed in a chestnut-brown suit and holding a fashionable straw hat grinned at her.

“Cousin Daniel!” She threw her arms around him. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten this old man.” He chuckled and returned her squeeze with a bear hug of his own. “I heard you were at Roxwood, and since I have patients in the area, I decided to seek you out tonight, hoping you couldn’t resist such an event.”

“You know me well,” she said. “And I hardly think after only a year I’d forget Mother’s cousin.” The last time she’d seen him was at her mother’s funeral.

He must have read her thoughts. “How are you and your family doing, Grace?”

She made an effort to smile. “Da works long hours at the tea room. And I’m involved with the Women’s Forage Corps here at Roxwood, trying in my own way to support Colin while he fights in France.”

“Have you had word from your brother?”

“Not in a while.” She fought to keep the concern from her voice. “Though I’m told letters can be delayed from the Front.”

“No doubt about it.” He offered a smile of reassurance. “You’ll get word any day now.”

The tightness in her chest eased. “Thank you, Cousin Daniel. It’s really so good to see you again.” She had been lonely for her family. Thank heaven her cousin had come to Roxwood to be with her. “You said you have local patients?”

He nodded. “I have several regulars in the village and a few temporary workers in the area.” He nodded toward the dance floor. “Now, tell me, why aren’t you out there breaking hearts tonight? I would have imagined several of these young lads asking for a dance.”

She smiled at his teasing tone. “I have danced with a few of them, but none were as enjoyable as my first.” She fingered the rose in her hand. “Now he’s left, and my heart’s gone out of it.”

His amused look turned to consternation. “What young man is this? Is he from around here? How did you meet him?”

She laughed. “You sound like Da. Or like Lord Roxwood, who enjoys interrogating me at every opportunity.”

“Lord Roxwood?” Her cousin’s features relaxed. “Ah yes, he told me you work for him.”

Grace blinked. “You spoke with him?”

“He happens to be one of my new patients. I was surprised to hear you’ve been driving him all over Britain. Does your father know we now have a lady chauffeur in the family?”

Grace ignored his question. “Can you tell me about him, Daniel? Do you think he will ever see again?”

“Now who’s asking all the questions?” His eyes narrowed. “If I didn’t know better, Grace Mabry, I’d say you had feelings for the man.”

Grace’s cheeks warmed.

He scratched his head. “Well, I never would have guessed a woman could manage to look beyond his atrocious mask long enough to admire the man beneath,” he said, looking nonplussed at her reaction. “Still, his old London reputation aside, he seems a decent enough chap these days, though somewhat reclusive.”

“Oh, I believe he’s actually quite changed, cousin. I know what he was like in London. I met him once, before he received his injuries, though I’m certain he doesn’t remember me,” she said, which was true enough.

“When I first arrived here, I thought him quite insolent.” She smiled. “He questioned me incessantly about Da and our family, without the benefit of sharing any information about himself. But after much persistence, I did get him to satisfy my curiosity. He told me about his childhood with his grandfather and how he and his brother enjoyed their summers together. Nowadays he has me describe our location to him, and if he can guess correctly, I know I’m improving with my word skills. He even let me take him to Margate. We had candy floss, and I watched a bear walk the beach.”

“You’ve had a grand time of it, then.” Her cousin’s voice was soft, yet she detected the sadness in his expression. “You know he’s to marry soon?”

An ache pierced her, and she nodded. “To Miss Violet Arnold. Though it doesn’t change how I feel.” She met his gaze. “I would like to know if there is a possibility he will see again. I wish that for him with all my heart.”

“Ah, Gracie, you’re a good girl.” He gave her a tender smile. “As to your question, I examined him yesterday for the first time and I feel hopeful he’ll regain his sight. The explosion did no real damage to the retina—”

“Explosion?” Grace eyed him curiously. “The townhouse exploded?” She frowned. “I don’t recall reading that in the
Times
.”

He shifted as color touched his cheeks. “Yes, well, I mean . . . not an explosion, per se . . .”

Grace had never seen him so ill at ease. “What aren’t you telling me, cousin?”

“I shouldn’t say anything. The information was relayed to me in confidence.”

“Please, I beg of you.” She reached to grip his hand. “I need to know what happened.”

He searched her face a long moment. Finally he said, “Come, let’s go sit in another room where it’s quieter.”

He led her to a small office near the back of the hall that housed a desk and a couple of wooden chairs. When both were seated, he took her hand again. “My dear, there was no townhouse fire. The Admiralty kept the real story out of the newspapers. Jack Benningham got those injuries while on duty aboard a munitions ship leaving for the open sea. A German U-boat attacked with a torpedo and blew it up.”

Grace sucked in a breath. “I had no idea . . .”

“It’s a miracle he’s alive,” her cousin said, shaking his head. “He was only one of four on the entire ship to survive—and
with no more bodily harm than the scars on his face, and of course his blindness.”

“When did this happen?” she asked.

“April, I believe.”

She closed her eyes. The same month she’d attended Lady Bassett’s ball. Images flew through her mind: the white feather she’d given him, his laughter and then his fury, Jack storming from the mansion without a backward glance.