Jacob sat across from her, and when she glanced in his direction, she found him staring rather bleakly at his plate. Doubtless he was thinking of Hope, too unaware of his feelings to yearn for his company as he must yearn for hers. Grace might be the one to share knowing glances with him from time to time, but it was Hope’s approval he looked for.
Had it always been that way? If she could show him, prove to Jacob she could be sociable, capable of putting people at ease, he might see she had the qualities he admired in Hope.
The picnic she arranged would need to be perfect. In fact, it needed to be the very best outing she had planned. That way, when all her friends and neighbors realized it was Grace and not Hope who had done all the work, they might pause long enough and reconsider whether they truly knew the Everly sisters at all.
Chapter 12
No one in the neighborhood appeared to possess the ability to truly observe another person. The previous evening, Jacob had watched, with mounting frustration, as not a soul at the dinner table had noticed something wrong with Miss Everly. Were the sisters so interchangeable to everyone else that they did not see how quietly she sat? How stiff she grew when they spoke of Grace Everly as though she was of little consequence?
He walked the dusty road to the Everly house, as early as propriety allowed, to meet with Grace. She could not be expected to organize her picnic alone, especially since it was his fault she had to plan it.
Grace’s grip had tightened around her fork, her expression had turned wooden, while the people who claimed to know both sisters discussed her unobtrusive nature.
She had rarely spoken the whole evening. Yes, it was more than typical for Grace, but far less than Hope. Usually at such a dinner party, Hope would regale them with stories and keep a great deal of the attention upon herself. She thrived with all eyes upon her, while Grace contented herself in joining the audience rather than be its focus.
“How does no one else see it?” he muttered as he kicked a particularly irritating pebble out of his path. Isaac should have noticed the difference. He knew Grace and Hope nearly as well as Jacob. They had all grown up together.
Though he waited all night for a word from Isaac, watched for a look of confusion or sudden comprehension, he never saw it. Which led his mind down another disturbing path. Isaac, even with his generous attentions as host, had been distracted. Catching up on all his estate business did not seem a suitable reason for such a neglectful frame of mind, either. The war had to have altered more than Isaac’s physical appearance and abilities. As his friend, and the man about to be made shepherd over the local flock of Anglicans, Jacob ought to find a way to help.
Everly Refuge, though made of somber gray stone, never failed to bring Jacob peace when he set eyes upon it. Even with his thoughts muddled, the house did its duty that morning. The deep green shutters at the windows and the fine gardens surrounding the house made it a cheerful prospect. It helped that Jacob had visited the Refuge enough to practically call it his second home.
He went to the front door and gave his customary knock, removing his hat before it even swung open.
“Good morning, Garrett.” He greeted the butler with easy familiarity. “How is everything at the Refuge?” He tried to keep his tone light, as chipper as ever.
“Entirely too quiet, Mr. Barnes.” Garrett took the hat and gloves away, giving Jacob barely any time to glimpse the puzzled frown the butler wore. “Miss Everly is in the upstairs parlor, organizing the picnic.” Garrett disappeared without another word or backward glance.
“Thank you, Garrett,” Jacob called to the butler’s retreating form. With Mrs. Everly and Hope gone, and the younger children away at school, the house seemed most forlorn. Jacob quickened his steps as the silence thrummed in his ears. As unsettled as he was by his thoughts and the difficulties of his friends, the strange, empty air of the house made him irrationally uncomfortable.
He fairly vaulted up the stairway and into the hall, as though outrunning the silence was an actual possibility. The door to the parlor was shut, but he pushed it open without thought of settling his nerves first.
When he entered rather more like a hurricane than a gentleman, Grace jolted to her feet. She stared at him with wide eyes and open mouth.
“Jacob?” she asked in her customary, soft voice. A tone he had never heard from her sister. “Is something wrong?” She came three steps toward him and stopped, not quite within arm’s reach, and her clear blue eyes swept him up and down with concern.
“Yes—” He cut himself off, putting a hand to the back of his neck. “I mean, no. Nothing is wrong. A bit of foolishness on my part is all.” He dropped his hand and tapped his fingers against his thigh. “I am not entirely sure what came over me.”
Her dark eyebrows drew together and one corner of her mouth pulled back, her confusion tempered with amusement. “After being near Isaac last night, I think it must be something catching. None of us have been ourselves lately.”
“You less than anyone,” he added, trying to tease her. But his words fell flat, and somehow sounded like an accusation to even his ears.
Drawing herself up, though her height was nothing impressive, Grace gave him a most indignant glare, but said nothing. She merely turned and went back to her table, sitting as she must have been when he rushed into the room. She took up her pen and dipped it into the ink.
As she had not invited him in, Jacob hovered uncertainly in the doorway. Why did it always feel as though he was wrong-footed of late? It had started when he learned Hope planned to leave on her voyage. At least that no longer stung as it had before. He could think on her being away and wish her well. After speaking with Mr. Spratt, Jacob’s heart hadn’t been troubled by Hope’s absence.
Truly, his only present difficulty was the role he played in Grace’s deception. That reminder brought him back to his purpose for arriving at such an hour. It was barely past breakfast for most households.
“I am sorry for my part in the conversation last night,” he said at last.
Grace’s pen stilled but she did not look up. “Your part? I cannot think of anything you said that you need apologize for.”
Encouraged by even that much consideration, Jacob stepped further into the room. “I believe it is my fault you are now proving yourself with a picnic.”
Her nose wrinkled as she looked up at him. Most would think that wrinkle a sign of disgust, but Jacob knew well enough it indicated her confusion.
“A picnic is hardly an imposition. I have planned dozens of them, after all.”
“You have?” He took another step and tucked his hands behind him. “I thought the picnics were Hope’s ideas.”
“Some were.” Grace stared at him as if he were spouting ridiculous nonsense. “But whether I planned an event or she did, Hope sends the invitations, then she plays the hostess. I always do everything else. That is how we divide all our projects, because people are more keen to do a thing if Hope suggests it.” She went back to working on her list, completely unaware as to what her explanation had done to Jacob.
All their projects, she had said. Not just picnics and parties. All. Perhaps like the Sunday school for the village daughters, or the sewing club for the orphans of soldiers killed in the line of duty, or the lending library meant to benefit those who could not afford to purchase books of their own. Hope had voiced each of those ideas within his hearing, and Jacob assumed they had been her ideas.
Before he could decide whether or not to discover the truth, Grace sat back in her chair, laying her pen down upon her paper. “Can you think of any picnic you enjoyed in particular?”
Asking him a question regarding his opinion ought to be as good as an invitation to stay. He settled himself on a spindly-legged chair near where he stood. “There was that one where we all played games. That was so long ago, we were only children. I don’t suppose that it is a helpful memory, but it is one of my best.”
Grace’s eyes gleamed and her lips turned upward. “Can
you imagine ladies and gentlemen running about in the gardens, having three-legged races?” The amusement in her manner turned to enthusiasm. “Oh, this is a wonderful idea. Thank you, Jacob.”
“I cannot see how it helped you at all.” He had to admit, though, that imagining his brother playing leapfrog, at his age, would be cause of amusement. Yet the humor in the situation fled when he noticed Grace’s expression.
Grace stared at the floor, nibbling at her lower lip, her blue eyes distant.
“Is there something else troubling you?” he asked, studying the weary tilt of her head. If planning the picnic had not worried her, what did? Acting as Hope? How much longer would she have to play that role?
Grace emitted a deep sigh and the wrinkle on her nose appeared again. “Everything is changing, Jacob. I knew it must happen, but that does not mean I have to like it. Silas is married and spends part of the year in London, Isaac has not really come all the way home from the war, Hope is gone, and you are to be our vicar.”
“What of you?” he asked when she did not continue her list. “How are you changing?”
The corner of her mouth tipped upward again, but it was more sardonic than amused. “I suppose I am going to have to change from a dull, quiet woman into someone more interesting. More like Hope, perhaps. Without her here to amuse and entertain, someone must take up the position.” Her shoulders slumped and she lifted her pen again, rather listlessly.
Frankly, Jacob thought one Hope was enough, no matter where she might be in the world. And Grace—they needed her, too. Did she really wish her nature away? He knew of no one more kind, no one as thoughtful and gentle, as Grace Everly. When she was a child, she helped calm temper-fueled spats and found compromises in their games. Hope blew through their years together as fierce as a sailing wind. Grace twirled about them like a summer breeze, familiar and temperate.
“I cannot think you would enjoy living that way.” He made certain he spoke kindly, so she could not mistake his meaning. Her grip tightened on the pen, but she made no effort to write.
“Might it be too difficult for me to be like my sister?” her voice rose unnaturally, making the question sharp.
Without thought, he picked up his chair and moved closer to her. So close, their knees nearly touched, and he could use the writing desk as easily as she. “Grace.” He spoke firmly, and honestly. “I have seen you do incredible things, good things, without betraying your true self. There is no one like you, and it would be a shame if you cast off those parts of yourself when there are so many who admire and love you just as you are.”
She drew in a slow, deep breath, not meeting his eyes. “Thank you.” Grace shifted, turning fully to her paper and dabbing her pen into the ink again. “You are a good friend, Jacob. I know it is difficult for you to sit by while I pretend to be Hope.”
It hadn’t been. Yes, it smote his conscience when he was required to act as though he did not know of the subterfuge, but Grace had somehow managed to keep him from needing to say much. The dinner party had proven trying. He’d wanted to speak up for her, to defend her or keep the others from commenting in a way that implied Hope held the position of favored twin. Yet he could say nothing without it seeming strange to others. He had spent most of the evening thinking of all the things he wished to say, and some of those thoughts cropped up again.
“Do you miss her very much?” Grace’s question drew him out of his thoughts.
“Hope?” She could mean no one else. Did he miss her? She had left a week ago. “I suppose I find it strange to know she is not about.” But he did not pine for her. After his initial frustration with the way she manipulated her sister into deceit, after the momentary pain of being left behind for grander things, he had accepted her absence.
Grace’s pen moved swiftly across the page. “Perhaps when Hope returns, she will not wish to go away again. It will only be a year.” She bit her lip again and bent slightly over her page, so he could not see her eyes. “She may finally settle down.”
Again, Jacob wondered where Grace saw herself in a year’s time. What would she do with her sister away for a year? Grace’s next birthday would bring her to four and twenty. Most young ladies would be married or betrothed at her age. Yet neither of the sisters had ever entertained suitors. But Grace had told him they thought upon it, that they spoke of marrying for love.
“Do you wish to settle down?” he asked, less interested in Hope’s future than he had been days before.
Her cheeks turned pink. It appeared she had entertained the notion. “I have not given it much thought. Papa seems to think no one paid us any attention before because of the oddity of being twins. I’m inclined to think that there is a lack of suitable young men in the neighborhood who could tell us apart long enough to express an interest.” She finally looked up at him, amusement in her eyes. “And I must say, I could never entertain a suitor who might confuse the two of us. Can you imagine? What if he came to call and took the wrong young lady by the hand?”
Jacob chuckled and leaned closer still, his nose only inches from hers as he pretended to confide in her. “Such a man would be a great clod, not to recognize the woman holding his heart. I never understood why people have such a difficult time telling the two of you apart. Even I, who know nothing of women’s fashion or hair, can see your personalities in your curls.” He reached out and caught one of the spirals peeping out from behind her ear and gave it a gentle tug.
Grace’s lips parted as she inhaled sharply. Jacob stilled. He had not been so familiar with either of the Everly sisters in many, many years. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew the offending hand. The tip of one finger grazed her cheek, which blossomed with a dark blush.
He sat as far back in his chair as he could without tipping the thing over. “What are you writing?” The question came out desperate, and had he been a few years younger he knew his voice would’ve broken on every syllable.
Something had shifted. He did not know what it was, or how to put a name to it. But somehow—with one casual touch—he’d thrown their friendship off balance. He felt it. Given Grace’s glowing cheeks, she had too.
“I am writing a list of possible activities for the picnic.” She pushed the paper at him, heedless of the wet ink her finger smeared on the page. Perhaps his action left her as befuddled as he was. The sooner they stood on familiar ground, the better.
Taking up the list gingerly, Jacob tried to focus on what she had written. The slant of her hand was quite like her personality. Subtle, but elegant. After he stopped thinking ridiculous thoughts, he studied the list and nodded with approval. “All fine activities. Except Blind Man’s Bluff. I do hope you will not play that one.”
She raised her eyebrows. “It is a children’s game.”
“Will children be playing? I was under the impression this would be a picnic for the young people of our community.” He looked over the sheet of paper at her, frowning. He had heard of even innocent games growing compromising, but a game with an individual chasing about members of the opposite sex while blindfolded sounded like a sure way to disaster.
Grace plucked the paper from his hand. “We shall see.” She pointed at another item with her ink-stained finger. “I also thought we might have an informal archery tournament. Yet I wonder—Isaac always loved the bow, and I should not want to remind him of his inability to shoot.”
“He will not expect everyone to forgo that pleasure merely because he cannot join in.” Jacob folded his arms across his chest, leaning away from her again. “Why not include Charades?”
“Because it will be a glorious day and charades is a game for inside a house when it is miserable without.” Grace spoke with decision. “We could play hide and seek.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Can you not think how that could go wrong?”
“Stag Out, then?” she asked playfully. “King of the Castle?”
Jacob groaned. “Must we play games at all?” At least the awkward, strange moment between them had passed.
/>
“You sound like a vicar of sixty, instead of a man not yet six and twenty.” Grace laughed, and he could not help but join her.
“I am going to have to be an upstanding, stodgy sort of fellow after I take my orders.” He pretended to adjust the lapels of his coat. “Who would take a vicar playing Leap Frog at all seriously?”
“I suppose you might be right. Although I am more likely to trust a vicar who jests and laughs than one who is perpetually gloomy.” She tapped his arm with the tip of her pen, then immediately put it down on the table again.
Rather than allow another difficult moment between them, Jacob threw out his own suggestion. “What if you let some of your guests name their favorite games? We might get more variety that way.”
“That is not a terrible idea.” Grace tapped her bottom lip with her inky finger, and he watched carefully to see if it left a mark. The ink had already dried, so her lips remained perfectly pink. For some reason, that disappointed him. “I will ask for suggestions but keep my selections at hand in case people are not quick to remember their nursery days.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully.
Jacob started, realizing he still stared at her mouth. What had come over him? He had thought the strangeness in the air a product of their conversation. But now, meeting her gaze, Jacob came to an incredibly different conclusion.
No. He couldn’t allow his thoughts down that path. Wouldn’t allow them to wander in that dangerous and tempting direction. Changing affections from one sister to another—Grace would be insulted. Besides, it had been folly to allow himself feelings greater than friendship for Hope. He’d known both Everlys too long.
Prudence urged him to leave, before he said or did something to cause any more strange tension between them. He cared about Grace too much to make her uncomfortable. He needed to get hold of himself and stop acting like a fool.
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