by Sahara Kelly
“Who me?” His expression was one of shock. A tiny bit too much shock.
“I thought so.” With a smug look, Grace left the dais and headed for the ballroom door.
*~~*~~*
“I am so impressed with how you’re keeping everything going, Mrs. Mallow.”
Grace sat at the kitchen table, with a cup of tea by her side.
“Oh now, then, Ma’am, ’tis not a hardship. Not here in this house, where there’s been such happiness over the years.”
“And then we arrive, closely followed by a large family, and you’re faced with unexpected guests in the middle of a horrid storm.” Grace sipped again. “Yet you manage to handle it all with a smile, and still make one of the best cups of tea I’ve enjoyed in quite some time.”
“Yer too kind, Ma’am.” The cook blushed.
“It looks as if you’ll be put to the test once again,” sighed Grace. “The Muirs won’t be able to travel tonight. That’s absolutely certain. Nor will Sir Peregrine and I, not that we’d leave them here alone anyway. So that brings up the question of food. Can you manage dinner for all of us? You have no scullery help…it’s a lot to ask…”
Mrs. Mallow shook her head. “Now you don’t go worrying about this, Ma’am. Although I will say ’tis very kind of you to think about it at all.” She nodded approvingly. “Shows a kind mind, that does, Ma’am, if you’ll forgive my impertinence.”
Grace’s casual gesture brushed it aside.
“Now as to dinner, I can certainly put a few more pies out, as I know the gentlemen are right partial to ‘em.”
“They are indeed,” grinned Grace. “And they’re not the only ones.”
“I got some good root vegetables that’ll simmer in a bit of wine broth, and there’ll be a fresh loaf or two if I get right on it and they prove up nice. Got a plentiful stock of taters.” She pursed her lips. “Apple compote for pudding. Biscuits for the wee ones, too.” She cast a doubtful look at Grace. “Would that suffice?”
“Oh my goodness, yes, of course. I’m sure that would be ideal. I just worry that it’s all on your shoulders, Cook. I don’t want you wearing yourself to the bone.”
“I wouldn’t do that, Ma’am. I have one lass I can call on, and if you’re not wanting Edward—and seein’ as nobody else is likely to arrive on our doorstep today, he won’t have that much to do—I’ll borrow him if I need an extra hand.”
“Borrow away.” A thought struck her. “What about the lads in the stables?”
“They do for themselves, Ma’am. Mr. Standish always worried about ‘em, too. So they have really nice quarters with a good fireplace and sort of a kitchen where they can cook up a mess of soup if they feel like it. I took this morning’s extra loaf over, not knowing we’d have company of course, but they should be all set.”
“Excellent,” approved Grace. “I have a feeling Sir Peregrine will want to check on our driver anyway, so if there are any other requirements he can look into it.” She finished her tea and stood. “I should leave you to it then, but please know I’ve cooked before. You can always ask me for a hand too, if you need to.”
Mrs. Mallow seemed appalled. “Ma’am…goodness. No. No, that’s not right.”
Grace patted her on the shoulder. “The world is changing, dear lady. We may all be doing our own cooking someday.”
“Never say so, Ma’am.” She shuddered at the thought.
Grace left with a grin on her face and headed back up to the main floor, wondering how shocked the woman would have been if she knew that Grace did quite a bit of her own cooking in the country.
It wasn’t until she passed a rather dusty mirror at the top of the stairs that she once again noticed her scars. Touching them, she frowned at herself. Why wasn’t she keeping her face covered? What had happened to her common sense since she’d been here?
They were still there; the skin puckered beneath her fingers, tracing the pattern she’d learned so thoroughly over the past two decades.
Had they faded? Why was nobody commenting on them? Other than the natural curiosity of a young child, no one had said a word.
What was wrong with them? Were they all blind? Couldn’t they see her disfigurement?
A thunderous avalanche of sound made her jump and distracted her from her personal reflections. It would seem that either the Duke of Wellington was recreating the Battle of Waterloo in the front hall, or the Muir family were dressing for a sortie into the snow.
It turned out to be the latter, and Grace gladly accompanied them as they paraded through the ballroom and out through the French windows.
The screams of joy were infectious, and for a few moments she wondered what it would be like to romp with them in the snow, carefree, heedless of wet boots or tumbles onto the freezing grass.
“Come play with me, Grace.”
There he was, too close for comfort, breathing wicked invitations into her ear and making things low inside her turn heated.
She turned her head to see him near her, dressed for the outdoors, complete with a rather ancient knitted cap pulled down over the tips of his ears. Her chuckle popped out before she could stop it.
“I know. But it’s cold out there. My ears might freeze, so I really need to wear it.” His look was beseeching. “They wouldn’t if you were there…”
“My presence would not affect your ears either way, Perry, and you know it.” She sighed. “I have a brother, don’t forget. If I put one foot outside, I’d be hit with a barrage of snowballs you’d accumulated during the time it took me to put my boots on. Thank you, but no. I’m staying indoors for the moment.”
“Damn Max. He’s betrayed our gender.” Perry rolled his eyes. “Never mind, love.” He leaned even closer. “Let’s play later. Much later.” His breath teased her ear as he closed the gap and dropped a quick kiss on her cheek.
“Play?” she whispered.
“A game for two, Grace. You and me.”
With a waggle of his eyebrows he took himself off, opening the French doors, ducking a snowball cleverly aimed by Jonathan Muir, and bursting into laughter.
Grace pressed her hands into her bodice and tried to quell the leap of her heart. Along with the urge to run after him and answer yes, please. I want to play. With you.
Chapter Seven
It was bloody cold, thought Perry, as he stepped outside and his nostrils began to freeze in the icy air.
Wrapped up as best he could, he missed his own personal fur-lined cap he’d become attached to over the years. It was large enough to pull down either side of his face, thus covering not only the tips of his ears, but the rest of them as well.
However, a solid snowball landing dead centre of his back distracted him, and within moments he was engaged in an exhilarating battle.
The children had managed to build a sort of fortification and were surprisingly organised. The youngest made the artillery, the older lads fired it off.
Which left Mr. Muir and Perry to return fire, which they did with enthusiasm, if not accuracy.
The entire process involved a lot of laughing, running, squawking, yelling and occasionally tripping over something and falling flat on ones’ face.
That was just the two grown-ups.
The children were having even more fun, making Perry wonder where their energy came from. He watched little Elizabeth, who showed no signs of flagging in her determined pursuit of more snow for snowballs.
He paused for a moment beside their father. “I’m guessing this lot will sleep deeply tonight.” He ducked, managing to avoid a well-aimed shot from Jonathan behind his wall.
“I think you may be right.” Muir returned fire. “I probably will too,” he grinned.
Opening his mouth to answer, the back of Perry’s head took a direct hit from a smirking Anthony, who had crept around to outflank the enemy.
“Why you…” Perry shook the worst of the snow out from his collar, grabbed some of his own supply of snowballs and took off, throwing missiles after the retreating lad. Non
e of which connected, but did give him a certain amount of satisfaction that the attack had not gone unanswered.
The friendly war continued for some time until the skies darkened. It was December, and daylight was in short supply.
“Time’s up, warriors. Surrender and leave in peace.” Perry bellowed over the now heavily rutted lawn.
There were some boos and one weak cheer from the opposing team, but obediently they appeared, red of cheek and damp of foot.
“I’m cold,” said Margaret with a shiver.
“It was a lot of fun, Papa, Sir Perry,” added Jonathan with a grin. “But my feet are getting cold too.”
“Then we have declared an end just in time,” answered his father, with a quick brush of his hands through his son’s hair. “Good fight, my children. Well played.”
“Of course we won,” added Perry, curious to see what sort of response he’d elicit with that provocative comment.
The noise lasted until they reached the French windows and continued as they made their way back into the ballroom.
“Right then,” Mrs. Godfrey awaited them. “Coats here, gloves here and boots off. Now.” She gestured to chairs and her voice brooked no disagreement.
For a second, Perry wondered if she meant him as well.
“I think we can leave our boots on, Sir Perry.” Mr. Muir shot him a quick grin.
“Glad you said that. I wasn’t sure, to be honest. My entire childhood just flashed before my eyes.”
“She’s an absolute blessing.” Mr. Muir watched the nurse marshal all five children into order. “But she scares the life out of me sometimes.”
“A good nurse should always have that power,” replied Perry. “And since we are allowed to keep our boots on, perhaps it would behoove us to head out to the hall and hang up our garments.”
“Right behind you.”
Together the gentlemen strode down the length of the house to the front hall where they were met by Mrs. Muir and Grace who had apparently just come downstairs.
“Excellent timing,” smiled Perry.
“Agreed. Tea, gentlemen?” Grace smiled back.
“I think something a little more warming for us, perhaps. What do you say, sir?” He turned to Mr. Muir.
Who raised an eager eyebrow. “An excellent notion, sir.”
Grace turned to Mrs. Muir. “When they start getting polite, you’ll discover brandy is involved.”
“Ah. That’s how it works, is it? Well I appreciate the hint, Mrs. Chaney. It will come in handy in the future, I’m sure.”
Perry sighed. “Parlour. Beverages. Fire. I have cold feet and a thirst. Shall we leave it at that?”
“Of course, dear sir.” Grace smoothly led the way. “I take it the excursion into the snowy battlefield was a success?”
“A complete rout. We had them out-gunned at every turn, right Muir?” Perry chuckled.
“Absolutely. Sir Peregrine’s aim was astounding.”
“Your stratagems were incredibly successful, too.”
Mrs. Muir looked at Grace. “They’ll go on like this for a bit, won’t they?”
“I expect so,” she sighed. “Perhaps we should take brandy instead of tea, as well.”
*~~*~~*
Perry found, somewhat to his surprise, that he was enjoying himself.
He’d anticipated doing so with Grace, but had everything gone according to plan, they’d be on their way back to London, if not be there already.
Depending on the success of their time together, he’d intended to suggest she join him for the concert, after making sure the ticket Max had obtained for his sister was close to the Hawkesbury box.
All very sophisticated and proper, and exactly what he thought would be the best way to further his intimacy with the reclusive Mrs. Chaney.
However, a cosy evening meal with just one other couple—the children having been tucked into bed by this time—had turned out to be a delightful experience, and now, in front of a blazing fire and with more brandy, he was content to sit and listen and laugh.
The Muirs might not have been listed amongst the Ton, but their intellect was superior to that of many who were. They were charming company, and with the ice broken between them and their hosts, they freely shared amusing anecdotes about their lives in the country with five children to manage.
Grace joined their mirth and his heart warmed at her joyful laughter.
She was a beautiful woman, although she would never see that in her mirror. But he had a suspicion that if she could see herself now as he saw her, her face lit softly by firelight and candles, a half-empty snifter of brandy in her hand and a smile of delight curving those luscious lips of hers…well, she would be forced to admit that yes, there was beauty there along with so much more.
Mrs. Muir was winding down, he could tell. Her head leaned back against the couch more often, and her eyes were growing heavy.
Mr. Muir shot her a quick look, then turned to Grace. “Much as I hate to say it, Mrs. Chaney, Sir Peregrine, I fear both my wife and I are feeling the effects of a long day, a superb meal and an even more superb brandy.” He tossed off the last dregs from his glass.
Perry nodded. “I cannot express any surprise, sir. Only sympathy for your exhaustion.”
Grace rose. “After tonight, I have the utmost respect for any parent, my dears.” Those ripe lips curved once more. “Let alone those with five youngsters. I trust you will all manage to get at least a little sleep.”
Perry rose with the others. “I know Edward has set a good fire for you, but do not hesitate to ring if you need anything else.”
Mrs. Muir sighed gratefully. “You have been the pinnacle of kindness, both of you. I have no words to express my gratitude. Truly this has been an extra holiday for our family; unexpected and delightful. I’m sure we’ll rest well, never fear.”
With additional words of thanks and a brief curtsey from Mrs. Muir, they left the parlour.
Perry looked at Grace. “A few more minutes? I need to finish this. It is, as Mr. Muir said, a most excellent liquor.”
She readily agreed, taking the opposite chair to his across the hearth. “I did enjoy this evening, Perry. Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For persuading me to come with you today. Yes, I know we did not anticipate all that has happened, but truly—I have had a great deal of fun.” She paused. “I can’t really remember the last time I had fun.”
“You deserve more.”
“Oh I am happy, don’t mistake my meaning. I have a nice home, friends to visit should I wish, Max and Kitty, and now my new niece Margaret. Those are my blessings and my joy. But fun? Well, that hasn’t been part of my life for a while.”
“The music changes, doesn’t it?” He gazed into the flames. “We venture out into life accompanied by the lively sounds of an energetic country dance. It softens, mellows around us, until—until here we are, moving to the slow and stately measures of a minuet.”
She thought about that, her expression contemplative. “It would seem so, yes.”
“’Tis a shame that we expect that. Almost as if we set ourselves on that path without question,” he mused. “Why am I not out and about, doing more things, pursuing more goals? Instead, I linger within my house, letting my mind and my books take me to other places. Other times.”
There was silence for a few moments after his words, and only the crackling of fire disturbed the peace.
Grace shifted, a rustle of silk against the chair. “I think it has to do with not only our expectations, but our choices, Perry.”
“How so?”
She paused, then met his gaze. “I believe we are now at a point where we can choose for ourselves what we truly wish to do, and where we truly wish to go. We are, as you said earlier, free and independent adults. We’re blessed with enough funds to see us comfortably established, and we have no family looking to us for advice or guidance, or a home, or anything along those lines.”
He nodded. “Ye
s, that is very true.”
“And so you have found pleasure in your quiet life, surrounded by the books you know you enjoy and exercising your mind in a way you might not have been able to in earlier years.”
“Again, all quite true.” He sipped his brandy. “And you, Grace. Have you found pleasure in your self-imposed solitude?”
Her hand moved toward her face, but he could see her halt the move. She was fighting the impulse, bless her. He was very proud of the strength she showed in that moment.
Her eyes drifted to the flames in the hearth. “A measure of contentment, Perry. There are times when I am delighted to be able to sink into a good book beside my own fire. I do not miss the chaotic whirl of the Season in town, nor do I miss the gossip, the inane chatter, the endless husband-hunting stream of debutantes whirling past at every ball or social event. None of those things were ever really to my taste.”
“I sense a ‘but’ coming…”
She sighed. “I cannot but confess that there are also times when I miss the company of good friends. A chance to exchange opinions on things that matter, not on the style of the latest bonnet. Yes, there are times I pine for intelligent conversation, and perhaps that explains my delight this evening.” She looked up, a smile on her face. “This has been exactly the sort of thing I’m talking about. Friendly and lively discussions, laughter…all the features that I find so exhilarating. And those I admit I miss.”
“You could have them, you know,” he observed.
That brought her chin up. “You understand full well why I cannot.”
He took a breath. “Tell me about it, Grace? Tell me about those scars? I believe some burdens become lighter with the sharing. You’ve carried a heavy burden yourself for far too long.”
Her neck moved as she swallowed, and he watched her shoulders rise and fall with several deep breaths.
“I don’t think…I’m not sure if I can…”
Her hesitation touched him, so he rose, put his glass on the mantelpiece and walked over to her, holding out both hands. “Stand up, my dear.”