Not by Sight (25 page)

It was all the talk that night. The story of how one particularly rude and mouthy soldier was banished from the village of Roxwood for his alleged ungentlemanly behavior.

Only three of them lying on their beds and brushing their hair knew the particulars: Grace, Lucy, and Clare gazed at each other with conspiratorial smiles.

Grace believed Sir Marcus Weatherford would eventually break down the wall Clare had erected around her heart. His behavior had been heroic beyond measure. In fact, she’d written in her journal how he took the miscreant by the collar and dragged him into the town hall. Most of the villagers just stared while a few followers tried to eavesdrop—unsuccessfully, of course—once the doors closed behind Sir Marcus and the young man.

Emerging a short time later, the soldier no longer smirked; in fact, he looked rather nervous as he called for a cab and made a hasty departure from town.

Sir Marcus returned to Roxwood Manor, then sent his regards to Lucy with the assurance the soldier would cease troubling her further.

“He’s still leaving for London in the morning.”

Clare’s whispered voice beside her broke into Grace’s thoughts. Her friend had come to sit on the edge of her bed. With the lights dimmed, the others were settling down for the evening.

“He asked me to write to him.”

“Will you?” Grace asked.

Clare nodded. “I still can’t believe what he did for Lucy.”

“No, Clare.” Grace smiled. “He did it for you.”

Even in the faint lamplight, she could see Clare’s cheeks bloom.

“I still wonder what all the fuss was about this morning,” Agnes called from the doorway, fresh from her bath. “Sir Marcus looked ready to take a birch rod to that young man’s behind.”

A few chuckles sounded, and Grace glanced at her maid. She still felt bad they’d missed each other at the dance. She would have stayed if she hadn’t spoken with her cousin and learned
the truth about Jack. “I think they call it ‘military discipline,’ Agnes,” she said, smiling.

“The soldier must have done something awful to make Sir Marcus so angry.” Becky spoke from across the room as she rubbed her palms together, the oolong-colored eyes bright. “Anyone want to take the first guess?”

“Whatever it was, I’m certain Sir Marcus had his reasons,” Grace said, hoping to put an end to the questions and Becky’s insatiable penchant for gossip. “He isn’t the type to jump to false conclusions.”

She didn’t dare look at Clare. How could she when she was guilty of the same thing?

The next morning, Grace awoke to the sound of Clare leaving the room. As it wasn’t yet time to rouse for breakfast, she lay in bed a few minutes more.

Today she would confess her crime to Jack. She’d even had a nightmare about it. After she told him about having shamed him and ultimately destroying his life, he’d ordered her locked up in London’s Tower for attempted murder.

Grace rolled over and covered her eyes with a forearm. She longed to postpone their outing together. Perhaps if she had more time to think . . .

You’re waffling, Mabry
. Already she’d procrastinated too long in telling him how they had really met. After all her talk of demanding women’s voices be heard, what would her WFC sisters think of her continued silence?

The wall clock ticked away the seconds and minutes until soon the others were stirring. Grace arose and began to dress in her uniform, slipping into the boots Clare had polished to a glossy sheen. She sat on the bed and was about to lace up her gaiters when her friend returned and rushed over to help.

“You don’t have to do that, Clare. Shining my boots is more than enough.”

Clare smiled serenely as she bent to cinch up the laces of Grace’s leggings. “I pay my debts, Mabry.”

“You seem in a rather good mood this morning,” Grace said. “I also know you got up half an hour before anyone else.” She arched a brow. “Was it a good-bye kiss that put the color in those cheeks?”

Clare jerked hard at the laces and almost pulled Grace off her bed. “Quiet! I don’t need Becky overhearing and making it public.” She finished tying off one legging then began on the other. “I’ll tell you, though, Grace.” She paused and looked up. “Marcus did kiss me, just a quick peck on the cheek, mind you, but . . . I’ve never felt this way with anyone before.”

Clare seemed more bewildered than pleased. Grace smiled despite her own misery. “Perhaps Sir Marcus Weatherford might be worthy of you, after all.”

“When I write to him, I’ll tell him about Daisy and also my circumstances.” She finished tying the other gaiter. “Then I’ll likely never hear from him again.”

“I believe Sir Marcus has more character than you give him credit for.”

“Time will tell,” Clare said, standing.

Grace stood too. “Thanks.” She took a deep breath. “This morning I’m supposed to take Lord Roxwood on another outing.”

“Remember what I said.” Clare shot her a meaningful look. “Watch your heart. It’s much too tender and easily broken by a man like him.”

Grace smiled wanly. “I appreciate the advice, but you needn’t worry. After today, I doubt I’ll even have a job.”

“What do you mean, miss?” Agnes walked over to them, having just finished dressing.

Grace shrugged. “I think I might have stepped on his toes
while dancing Saturday night.” She wasn’t about to admit to them the real reason he would toss her out. She winked at Agnes. “See, you should have been there with me. You’d have kept me out of trouble.”

Agnes dropped her gaze to adjust the belt on her trench coat. “I’m sorry we missed each other.”

Grace smiled. “Well, I’m glad you were able to enjoy at least a bit of the dance, anyway.”

Clare said, “We’d better get downstairs before Becky eats all the porridge.”

“After breakfast, I’m off to post my letter,” Agnes said. “Miss, I saw you still had one in your bag. Shall I mail it for you, as well?”

In all the excitement with Lucy yesterday, Grace hadn’t written the postscript to her father. “I did want to add a note to Da and ask about Colin,” she said. “But Mrs. Vance needs those time sheets finished before I leave for the manor.”

“You can always write another letter,” Agnes said.

“You’re right.” Her poor father
had
waited overlong to hear from her. “Please post it along with yours,” Grace said, “and I’ll start a new letter tonight.”
Unless I get fired and end up on
tomorrow’s train to London
, she thought.

Grace’s feeling of gloom continued as she pedaled her bicycle toward the manor. The others were working in the fields today. She envied them as she considered her upcoming confession.

“Chin up, Mabry,” she muttered while she brought the Daimler around front minutes later. Taking a deep breath, she mounted the steps to the massive oak door.

“Welcome, Miss Mabry. Fine day for a drive, isn’t it?”

She’d never seen Knowles so enthusiastic. “Why . . . yes,” she said, perplexed by his jovial mood. “Is Lord Roxwood ready to leave?”

“Indeed!” His chuckle caused Grace to blink. “In fact, I believe his lordship has been most anxious for another outing. Breathing in the fresh country air has been most beneficial.”

He reached back behind the door and produced a large wicker basket. “Mrs. Riley has prepared a picnic lunch. If you’ll come inside, I shall put this in the car. His lordship will be with you presently.”

Bewildered over the butler’s behavior, Grace entered the foyer. She heard the familiar sound on the steps before she caught sight of him—long, powerful legs clad in fine gray linen, followed by his lean torso and broad shoulders. Today he sported a single-breasted gray jacket, gray-and-black-striped satin waistcoat, and a blue-striped tie. Shades she knew would have enhanced the color of his eyes . . .

Her mouth went dry when his face and the mask came into view. “Lord Roxwood,” she managed to utter.

“Good morning, Grace.” He paused on the stairs. “Are you unwell?”

She cleared her throat. “I’m fine. And you?”

“Excellent.” A smile played at his mouth, and she felt her breath hitch. Those smiles of his were so rare, each one she received from him like a gift. Yet after today she would likely never see another.

As he continued down the steps, Grace noted that instead of the motoring cap he carried a wide-brimmed straw hat, the same hat she’d requested the day they traveled to Margate. Unerringly he crossed the marble floor to her. “After all, I plan to spend the morning with you and enjoy our picnic lunch in the country. Who could ask for more?”

His gentle tone only increased the ache in her heart. “It sounds wonderful.”

He donned the hat. “Shall we go?”

Her anxiety grew as she turned and led the way outside.

“I should like to feel the sun on my face today.”

That brought her up short. “But . . . you forbid the car top to be removed.”

“I’ve changed my mind. And I’ve come prepared.” He touched the brim of his hat. “As I no longer wear the steel mesh, the sun’s heat won’t bake me alive.” He added softly, “And I have you to thank for that.”

Grace didn’t want his gratitude. “As you wish,” she said, and with Knowles’s help they collapsed the car’s top and secured it with straps, leaving the Daimler’s interior wide open to the air and sunshine.

Jack opened his own door and slid onto the seat. Grace might have been pleased but for her overriding sense of trepidation. She slowly rounded the car and slipped back behind the steering wheel. “Where shall we go today?”

He cinched the cords holding his hat in place. “Surprise me.”

Eden
, she thought, comforted. As this was undoubtedly their last day together, why not take him to his favorite place in the whole world? Grace let off the brake and eased the car forward.

“You’re very quiet today. I trust you enjoyed the rest of your evening Saturday night?” He propped an arm against the back of the seat as she maneuvered the Daimler around the turn at the gatehouse.

“It was . . . interesting,” she hedged, thinking of her conversation with Daniel.

“Such a cryptic word,
interesting
. Am I to take it the townspeople were agog with gossip once I left? Enjoyed seeing the lord of the manor bumping and banging along as he danced to the music?”

“I heard no gossip,” she said heatedly, angry at herself as much as at the ignorant villagers. “And I thought you danced beautifully.” Despite her inner battle, Grace took solace in re
alizing Jack wasn’t left helpless. With his uncanny ability to discern his surroundings, his innate sense of direction, why wouldn’t he be graceful on the dance floor? She remembered being held in his arms, his steady strength guiding her in the intricate steps of the dance. Her toes had been completely safe with him. “It was most enjoyable,” she said quietly.

He reached out his hand to squeeze her shoulder. “For me as well, Grace.”

His touch pierced her like a blade, and she struggled to focus on the road ahead. They passed the familiar verdant valleys, partitioned only by low stone walls or rows of plane trees, and farmhouses with their dilapidated barns and flocks of black-faced sheep. Hawthorn, alder buckthorn, and hornbeam formed hedgerows like islands amid a green sea, and the occasional majestic oak stood with spiky leaves swaying in the soft breeze. The images only deepened her yearning for this place, knowing all too soon she must leave it.

Harmon Lake came into view, and she turned the Daimler onto the familiar track that ran parallel to it, heading for the place Jack called paradise. She spied the gravel shoulder where she’d parked before. Would her description of Eden do it justice? They no longer played a game—not now, not when she knew the enormity of her mistake, the destruction she’d brought upon him. She must be his eyes, and it was important, urgent, that she get it exactly right. She owed it to him on their last day together.

“We’re here,” she said, and brought the car to a halt. Grace killed the engine. “We must walk a short way. Will you come with me?”

“Depends.” He lifted his face to the sun as though trying to discern its direction. “Is this place a good spot for a picnic?”

Grace couldn’t think of a better one. “It’s perfect. I’ll grab the basket.”