Not by Sight (36 page)

Grief lined his expression. “He died on the fourth day. From the pain, I think. His legs were so broken up there was nothing we could do.” He swallowed. “On the seventh day we ran out of food and water. By the ninth day, Richards had begun raving. I felt close to it.” He reached to touch her cheek. “But I thought of you and our father. With Ma gone, I couldn’t bear the idea you might lose me, too. I remember closing my eyes and praying, praying so hard to hang on a bit longer. I called out to God to help me, and then He answered.”

Colin’s smile was tinged with wonder. “He called me by name—several times, in fact. At first it was very faint, and I thought I must be going mad like Richards. But the voice grew louder, and then the rubble where we’d pressed our way into the cache crumbled away and I saw my savior. It wasn’t God, but a soldier. At the time I didn’t know if he was a friend or a foe, but I didn’t care.”

“Who was he?”

Colin shook his head. “I haven’t a clue. The mission was top secret. I did learn from the commanding officer he’d come for the sole reason of finding
me
.” His voice shook. “And for that I will be forever in his debt.”

“As will I,” she whispered, and reached to embrace him once more. He’d been through so much. He could have become raving like Richards or died like the others, but thanks to his angel, her brother had lost a hand instead of his life. She said a silent prayer of thanks to God and His emissary for bringing her brother home. “I wish I could thank him myself.”

Her brother nodded. “Once they brought us up to the surface and took us to a field hospital, I spent the next week and a half
in and out of consciousness. The doctor told me my savior stopped by to ask about my condition several times. He must have been a tank driver.” Colin pointed to his face. “Because he wore a mask, you see. He hadn’t taken it off.”

Grace sat forward on the seat, hardly daring to breathe. It couldn’t be . . .

“While I was in hospital, my C.O. did reveal to me how the rescue came about,” her brother said. “He was quite impressed. Seems this secret soldier had an uncanny sense of direction, having once been blind. He studied our maps of the tunnel thoroughly, then descended into an existing shaft closest to where we’d been working before the explosion. In a matter of minutes, he was able to pinpoint our location. They began digging and found us.”

Grace’s heart pounded. Jack! It had to be Jack. And he could see again? Mrs. Vance hadn’t mentioned that in the letter.

Joy filled her while a thousand questions burned in her heart. Where was he now? Did he return to Roxwood or had he gone on to London? And . . . had he married Violet Arnold?

———

Grace had her answer the next day when a private courier arrived with a post for Da.

Taking the letter into the main sitting room where her father sat across from her brother, she felt another rush of gratitude toward Jack. Grace had no doubt he was Colin’s savior.

“For you, Da.” She handed the letter to her father.

Brother and sister watched as their father opened the missive. When he scanned the lines and his rounded face turned pale, Grace rushed to kneel beside his chair. Her brother leaned forward from his seat on the sofa.

“Da, what’s wrong?” Hadn’t her poor father already suffered enough? “Is it Aunt Florence?” she asked. “Cousin Daniel?”

He dropped the letter to his lap and eyed both of them. “It’s
Swan’s.” A slow smile spread across his face. “It’s reopened for business.”

She snatched the letter from him—only it wasn’t actually a letter. She stared at a clipping from a newspaper advertisement for the tea room.
Want a Bit
of Tea and Intrigue?
the headline read. As Grace scanned the contents of the article, her heart swelled with love for the man she knew must be responsible.

Swan’s was now heralded as a place of heroism, not scandal. The advertisement described the tea room as being the scene used in cutting down a notorious espionage ring. Patrick Mabry was being hailed as the man who had saved the countless lives of British soldiers and sailors.

As the owner, Mabry had been instrumental in aiding New Scotland Yard in their ruse to catch the traitors and bring them to justice. Now fully staffed, with the doors reopened for business, Swan’s awaited his return from a well-earned sojourn to take up the helm once more.

“Incredible,” Patrick Mabry whispered. “Who could have done this?” He rose from his chair and paced with nervous excitement. “Children, we must leave for London immediately. There is much I need to do. My investors!” His hazel eyes gleamed. “I should be able to recoup what I lost and continue construction.”

He turned to his son. “Colin, now that you’re home, you’ll help me build up the franchise.” He glanced at Colin’s bandaged wrist. “You’ve paid your dues, son. It’s time to look to your future.”

“Father, I’d like to stay on with Uncle Brian. For a while, at least. It’s peaceful here.” He turned to Grace, and she noted his haunted look. “I could do with a bit of that before I return to the world.”

“Take as much time as you need,” Grace said. She under
stood. Even Jack had sought his own refuge at Roxwood. To her father, she added, “Da, I’m coming with you. Colin will join us once he’s healed.” Her brisk tone allowed no room for argument.

Her distracted father merely nodded his agreement. “Grace, my girl, get your things packed. We’re off to London on the steamer at first light.”

She nodded, feeling pensive. Jack would likely be in London by now, no longer convalescing at Roxwood.

Grace had been thrilled and relieved to learn he’d regained his sight. She hoped Violet Arnold was just as pleased for him. Once he’d returned from the Front, Jack had no doubt married her as planned, with the wedding scheduled for mid-August—last Saturday. How could it be otherwise? Grace knew it was his duty as Stonebrooke’s heir.

A familiar ache pierced her. She’d come to learn Jack Benningham understood all about duty. She thought, too, of what it had cost him. He’d risked his life for her brother and then restored her father’s livelihood. That made her love him all the more, and despite the hollowness in her heart, she vowed to seek him out and thank him for all he’d done.

Back in London, business at the tea room was brisk as Grace and her father returned to find Swan’s overflowing with customers. Da was lauded as a hero and received a standing ovation from the patrons when he walked through the front door. His bankers arrived soon after, profuse in their apologies and eager to resume work on the Mabry tea room franchise that would extend to several areas of the city.

With Alfred Dykes arrested, the only man reasonably qualified to act as Swan’s floor manager was a frazzled waiter who had nearly wept upon seeing the Mabrys’ arrival. Thereafter,
Grace assumed the role, and she was relieved no one who visited the tea room objected to a woman holding the position. Even her father’s chief patroness, the elegantly dressed Lady Bassett, gave her an approving nod from a table where she sat with a few of her close friends.

“Mabry!”

Grace turned at the sound of the chime above the door and Clare Danner’s familiar voice. She entered the tea room with several other patrons and waved.

“Clare!” Grace rushed to her, embracing her friend. “I cannot believe you’re here.”

Grace turned in time to see a disapproving frown from Lady Bassett. “We’re being watched,” she said, grinning. “Come, sit here in the alcove by the window where we can talk. I’ll order us tea.”

Once she’d seated the other patrons and their tea was on the table, Grace sat with her friend and reached for Clare’s gloved hand. “Well?” she demanded. “How are you?”

“That was my question.” Clare arched her pretty dark brows, leaned forward, and whispered, “How was prison?”

Grace made a face. She’d forgotten Clare’s candidness. “It was horrible, and I have no wish to see the place
ever
again.” She paused. “Mrs. Vance wrote to me about what happened . . . in Margate. Are you all right?”

Clare nodded, a shadow crossing her face. “I’ve never been so afraid. And poor Agnes.” Her gaze met Grace’s. “I know what she did to you, but she saved my life.”

“And I am grateful to her for that.” Grace gave Clare’s hand a squeeze. She’d finally managed to forgive Agnes. “If my own family was threatened in the same way, I cannot say what I would have done,” she admitted. “I know how sorry she must have felt for her actions. In the end, I’d like to think she made her peace with God.”

“I don’t imagine I would have acted differently if it were Daisy’s life at stake.”

“Any new developments?” Grace asked gently.

“I’m meeting Marcus here in an hour.” Tears brimmed in her gray eyes. “I told him everything, Grace. About me, and my past. About Daisy. He was furious.”

“What!” Grace leaned back, surprised. Sir Marcus had been stern at New Scotland Yard, but she’d never seen him full of wrath. “Tell me what happened.”

“He suggested I should learn how to trust again,” she said, “or I would never find happiness. Marcus also said if I had told him earlier, he could have found Daisy in half the time it took that overpriced ‘idiot’ to try.” She smiled. “Then he told me he would help me. We would first find Daisy, and then he wants to begin courting me properly so he can prove his love.”

“And you said yes?”

Clare grinned, and Grace blinked back tears. “I’m so happy for you.”

“Once Marcus gets here, we’re leaving to go to fetch my daughter,” Clare said, positively glowing. “Marcus located her at an orphanage next to the workhouse in Medway. Do you believe it, Grace? She
was
in Kent all along!”

“This is such good news.” Grace beamed. “I cannot wait to see your new beau and thank him myself.”

“Did you hear about Becky?” Clare said, her smile fading. “I still feel awful for having scolded her, always talking about going home to see her family.”

Grace nodded. “I felt badly when I got Mrs. Vance’s letter. I thought I’d helped Becky, but I didn’t do a very good job. However, I intend to correct that situation.”

“How?”

“Have you ever read
Mrs. Dymond
?” When Clare shook her head, Grace said, “In the story, there’s a turn of phrase, ‘If you
give a man a fish, he is hungry again in an hour. If you teach him to catch a fish, you do him a good turn.’” She smiled. “I’ve already spoken to Da. Swan’s is going to hire Becky to make all our baked goods. That way she’ll earn more than enough money to send home to her family.”

Clare clapped her hands. “Oh, Grace, that’s wonderful news! Becky will be thrilled and relieved.”

“I’m just thankful to be able to really help her this time, now that we’ve been put back to rights here,” Grace said. “I feel I owe it to her.”

“What’s next for you?” Clare reached for her teacup and took a sip. “Have you forgiven Jack?”

Grace nodded. “There is nothing to forgive. Bringing Agnes and the damage she caused into our lives was my fault, not his.”

“So you haven’t heard from him?”

“No, but we’ve been back in London only a few days. Still, I doubt he wishes to speak with me.” She paused. “Is he in town?”

Clare smiled. “He’s got his sight back, you know. It was quite marvelous the way he and Marcus helped the townspeople of Margate after the bombing.”

“Yes, he’s done many great things,” Grace murmured, thinking of all he’d accomplished in secret for her family. “How was the wedding?”

Clare eyed her in confusion.

“Jack’s wedding to Miss Violet Arnold? It was to have taken place last Saturday,” Grace said, trying to quell the familiar ache in her heart. Though it would be painful, she needed to see him. She owed him that much. She would even brave the haughty new Mrs. Benningham in order to thank him properly.

“He never married.”

Grace stared blankly at her friend.

“Didn’t you read a newspaper in Ireland? Jack called off their engagement,” Clare said. “Then the
Times
reported Miss
Arnold rushed off to Gretna Green and married the second son of the Scottish Viscount Moray. I believe her father was quite put out.”

Jack . . . not married? A tendril of hope took root. Why did he not go through with it? “I had no idea,” Grace said.

“Well . . . ?”

“Well what, Clare? He must know I’m back in town, yet I haven’t seen or heard from him.” She bit her lip, then said, “If he was interested in seeing me . . .”

“Grace.”

Clare’s gray gaze leveled on her. “When we were all at Roxwood together, you told us time and again about suffrage and how with the war women’s roles were changing. But more important, you instilled in us a belief that nothing was beyond our reach. We women, each of us, could become whatever we wished to be.” She paused. “Do you still feel that way?”

“Of course I do.”

“And do you love Jack?”

Grace felt her skin grow warm. “Very much,” she said softly.

Clare flashed a broad smile. “Then go to him. Tell him what’s in your heart.” The gray eyes sparkled. “Be the duchess we all know you were meant to be.”

24

Sounds of Mozart played by a string quartet echoed inside the Countess of Lindham’s cavernous ballroom. Jack nabbed another flute of champagne from a passing liveried waiter and eyed the character across the room. It was a sign of the times to see most of the servants abovestairs were older men; still, with the war raging on, there was the chance many of them would be pressed into service. He hoped for their sakes the day would never come. God willing, the fighting would soon be at an end.

Meanwhile, there were spies to catch. Jack sipped his champagne while he scanned the room for possible culprits. A very short man dressed as Napoleon looked promising. Out to defeat the British Crown yet again. And like the former tyrant, he kept a hand tucked inside his uniform jacket. Was he hiding something?

He also looked quite full of himself. Jack sighed. When would they learn?

For his own costume, he’d chosen carefully. Tonight he wore the mask of the disfigured Erik from Gaston Leroux’s
The Phantom of the Opera
. Jack thought of Grace and smiled, recalling his birthday dinner with her.

He was not to be Christina’s pitied Phantom, however. After being at the Front and witnessing bravery, as well as carnage, Jack was proud of his wounds. He had come by them honestly in defending his country. And he would hide them no longer. It was a tribute he owed, not only to himself but to every man who had experienced war. To his brother, Hugh . . .

A commotion at the ballroom entrance drew his attention—a crowd of newcomers. Jack glimpsed a swatch of green cloth, and his pulse quickened. Grace . . . ?

Robin Hood. His hope deflated as a man clad in the green tunic and tights of the legendary forest prince entered through the elaborate double doors.

The champagne felt stuck in his throat. He’d been foolish to think she would come here tonight. He’d written to her twice while she and her father were in Ireland, but had received no response. And yesterday he’d telephoned Swan’s and left a message with one of the employees, but had yet to hear back. Likely, Grace never wanted to see him again after the way he’d treated her. Still, he felt grateful for the chance to find Colin Mabry. He’d also worked tirelessly to rectify the damage done to her father, and in that regard, fortune had smiled on him. Just days after Violet sped off with her Scots groom to Gretna Green, he’d received a telephone call from her father, canceling Stonebrooke’s debt and apologizing for his daughter’s scandalous behavior.

Mr. Arnold had been surprised when, instead of being angry, Jack talked about forgiveness. He pointed out to him that Violet had already mourned the loss of one man, Jack’s brother. There was no reason she should lose the love of her father, too. Mr. Arnold should simply take comfort in the knowledge his daughter was at last happy and in love.

Jack had only recently started learning to apply forgiveness to his own circumstances. He had learned at the Front that
life was too brief to harbor grief and resentment. He’d finally come to terms with accepting Hugh’s death and dealing with his own injuries.

Faith was a new concept to him. He believed God had answered his prayers, and since his return from France, he’d visited Roxwood and met with the Reverend Price. After several hours of lively theological debate, Jack was beginning to read the Bible for the first time.

He still grappled with the concept of suffering, but the reverend had maintained its purpose was to hone the spirit and make one fully reliant upon God, trusting He would see them through.

Would God see him through this? Jack wondered. His heart felt heavy as he again looked toward the door. Was he meant to suffer for some greater good, or was he meant for Grace?

The blue gauntlets and capes of several musketeers appeared, like a flock of bluebirds in their white-plumed hats as they laughingly ventured forward.

Again Jack thought he caught a flash of green before it disappeared. His gut ached, and he turned away. She had given up on him, after everything . . .

He turned again and caught a splash of auburn behind the musketeers before a beautiful woman in emerald pushed through the crowd. She clutched a gold box and slowly approached. Jack felt as if he were in a dream. “Grace,” he said hoarsely as she came to stand before him.

Her emerald eyes gleamed, and Jack drank in her presence—from the riot of red curls bound in green ribbon to the beautiful eyes, her perfect nose, and her rosebud mouth that now quivered with mischief.

With a gloved hand, she opened the small gold box and held it out to him. When he finally tore his gaze from her, Jack glanced into the box.

A single red rose lay at the bottom.

“‘And after she’d wrought all manner of trouble on the earth,’” Grace said softly, her words reaching to the depths of his heart, “‘what remained in the box was hope.’” She moved close and reached to touch his cheek. “Hope for a better future. Hope for us.”

He grasped her hand in his. “And faith?” he asked.

She smiled, and it was beautiful and filled with love. “We live by it, Jack.”

He smiled back at her. Then, taking her in his arms, he kissed her with all the love in his heart.