“I had best go, now that you have this sorted out.” He stood before she could respond. “I have other visits to make today.” Not precisely true, but he could stop in and see Isaac or Mr. Spratt. Or any number of people. Paying visits to others, looking in on his neighbors, was precisely what he needed to put his thoughts back in order.
The wrinkle appearing just above her nose again, Grace rose from her chair. “I am sorry to see you leave so soon, but thank you for stopping in. I will see you at the picnic tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course. Tomorrow. Good day, Grace.” He bowed and fled the room. Almost immediately after clearing the doorway, he skidded to a stop.
Mr. Everly stood in the passageway, spectacles on the end of his nose and hands behind his back. He did not appear surprised to see Jacob.
“Mr. Barnes,” he said, more precise than usual. “I did not know we were to expect a visit from you today.”
Unaccountably, Jacob’s stomach dropped in the manner it had when he was a boy, about to be taken to task for misbehaving. Had Mr. Everly heard Jacob use Grace’s name instead of Hope’s?
“Mr. Everly.” He bowed after a brief hesitation, his heart thudding rapidly with his guilt. “I only meant to see if Miss Everly needed help with the picnic. It seems she has things well in hand.”
“Does she?” Mr. Everly glanced over Jacob’s shoulder to the open parlor door, then back to Jacob. “I am pleased to hear it. You are a good friend to her, Mr. Barnes. A good man. Thank you for coming.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you.” It did not feel like the correct response but remaining in the hall another moment would likely lead to disaster. “Good morning, sir.” Jacob bowed again and stepped around the older gentleman, hurrying down the steps.
The day had turned strange, and his mind with it.
Chapter 13
Despite Grace’s confident conversation with Jacob, she could hardly stop her fingers trembling given her nervousness on the day of the picnic. She stood in the garden to greet her guests, who were brought through the house by the butler and a footman. Wearing one of Hope’s day dresses, the color of which reminded her of a cherry tart, Grace prepared for her place at the center of all the attention.
The servants had worked all morning, under her direction, setting up tables for lemonade and refreshments, and laying out blankets, cushions, and chairs beneath the apple trees for those who wished to rest out of the sun.
Mr. King and Sir Isaac were among the first to arrive, the two of them nearly as fidgety as she was. Perhaps it came from being in the army so long; they were used to movement and action, not the quieter life of the country.
“You will enjoy the orchards,” Isaac said to his friend. “They are the finest old trees.”
“It is a pity it is not late enough in the year to pick apples.” Mr. King glanced in the direction of the orchards and then back to Grace. “I wish to sample their fruit for myself, after hearing Sir Isaac talk of spending every fall eating his fill of them.”
Grace did not even try to conceal her amusement, one of her favorite childhood memories immediately coming to mind. “He made himself rather sick one year. He challenged our friends, Lord Inglewood and Mr. Jacob Barnes, to see who could eat the most apples in one afternoon.”
“Not one of my finest hours,” Isaac admitted, his eyes dancing merrily. “That was the same summer Inglewood fell out of a tree after challenging us to see who could climb the highest.”
“The summer of young male stupidity,” a new voice said, drawing their attention to Jacob as he came down the steps from the house.
The trembling started up again, necessitating that Grace swiftly take hold of her skirts to keep her fingers hidden. Jacob came closer before making his bows, then shook hands with the other gentlemen. “Mr. King, I hope the day is to your liking.”
“It has been far too long since I have enjoyed a country picnic. I look forward to putting myself in our hostess’s capable hands.” Mr. King’s tone, warm and genuine, did nothing to ease Grace’s anxiety. What if she muddled the whole thing by being an inferior hostess? Then the gentleman turned to her. “Miss Everly, I hope you will give me a tour of the orchard this afternoon.”
The question startled her, but Grace nodded her agreement without reservation. “Of course, Mr. King. It would be my pleasure.”
His eyes lit up and he touched the brim of his hat before following Isaac out of the garden and to the orchard.
Jacob stepped closer to her side, turning to face the house. “He seems a good sort of fellow.” He spoke the compliment with an odd lilt in his voice.
“I suppose so. If Isaac likes him, that speaks highly of his character.” Grace faced the house as well, waiting for her next guests. Why was Jacob standing so close? Why had he not gone with the other gentlemen? His nearness did nothing to alleviate her anxiety.
Tucking his hands behind his back, Jacob shifted as though settling into his stance. “No parasol for you today?” he asked.
“Hope abhors parasols even on days when they are necessary,” Grace answered, watching him from the corner of her eye. “And this bonnet ought to be all the protection I need.” She reached up to touch the wide brim with her gloved finger. “I produce all my own shade while wearing it.”
He met her gaze a moment, amusement twinkling in his eyes, before he turned his attention back to the house.
The chattering of more guests announced the arrival of Jacob’s sisters, his elder brother, and his brother’s particular friend, Mrs. Muir. When would Matthew get on with it and ask the beautiful widow to marry him? She greeted everyone properly and they went on to the orchard, but Jacob remained at her side.
Miss Parr and the Ashworths, a brother and his two sisters, arrived next. Then the Kimballs and the Keyes. There were seventeen young people in all, including Grace herself, and her guests were divided evenly between men and women. A few parents had come as well, including Mr. and Mrs. Parr, Mrs. Keyes, and Mrs. Kimball. They would act as chaperones for the group, taking their ease beneath the trees with glasses of lemonade.
After the last guest arrived, Grace gathered all her courage and confidence.
Jacob had remained at her side. “You look as though you are marching into battle.” His words were colored with humor, though he spoke them gently.
“I feel as though I might be.” Forcing a cheerful expression, Grace touched the ribbons at her neck nervously.
“Come now. Everything will be fine.” Jacob offered her his arm. “We will enjoy the afternoon with our friends. Everyone will have a splendid time.” Grateful for his encouragement, she rested her hand upon his arm, accepting his escort. At last her fingers stopped their anxious shaking.
The familiar sight of the hundreds of trees, planted in neat rows years ago by her grandfather, lightened her step. This was her home, her land, her beloved orchard. The weather was glorious, and friends surrounded her. It did not matter that everyone, saving Jacob, thought she was Hope. She was perfectly capable of giving them all an afternoon to remember.
They started with refreshments as Grace made certain everyone had been introduced to Mr. King, the only new face in their midst. Jacob remained at her side, walking with her from one guest to another, his presence steadying her as it had in the past. His pointed attention would likely go unnoticed by the others. Most of the neighborhood was used to seeing him in company with Hope and Grace. Grace appreciated the kind gesture and unspoken support.
“Let us come to order,” she said at last, raising her voice as Hope would, to be heard over all their conversation. “Thank you all for coming. The order of the day is to recreate our fondest childhood games. On the table over there—” She pointed to a smaller side table beneath a tree. “—there are slips of paper and a bowl. Please write down your favorite game and put it in the bowl to be drawn out at random. Some of our entertainment will come from the suggestions, and other activities I have planned for later.”
The little crowd made its way to t
he table, the ladies chattering with pleasure while the gentlemen began to brag of childhood achievements. No one had thought the idea silly, it would seem.
It took time for everyone to think of something and scribble upon the slips of paper with their pencils. At last Grace took up the bowl with sixteen suggestions waiting inside. She eagerly took out the first and read aloud, “Two Hats.” She blinked at the paper. “I am afraid I am not familiar with that one.”
“Ah, it is my suggestion.” Mr. King stepped forward. “It is one we played all the time in the village where I grew up.” He glanced around, but no one else appeared to know the game. “I am happy to teach it to the group. It is best if we sit in a circle.”
“To the trees, then.” Grace pointed to the cushions, chairs, and blankets prepared for their use. “Mr. King can teach us a game about hats.” There was a smattering of giggles, but everyone complied. The Misses Ashworths hurried to claim places on either side of the gentleman about to explain the game.
They all took seats upon the ground or in chairs, Mr. King standing in the middle of their ill-formed circle. “This is a game in which you are required to be contrary.” He pointed to his hat. “And it is called Two Hats because two people play at a time until a winner is determined. Everyone need not take part, but I think you will all be amused. Miss Everly, as our hostess, would you assist me in demonstrating how to play?”
Grace, on the ground between Jacob and his sister Mary, pretended to consider. “I suppose it is my duty. Very well.” She held her hand out and Mr. King came forward to take it, assisting her to her feet. He led her into the center of the circle again.
“This is how the game is played. There is one person who is the first hat.” He touched his chest and bowed theatrically, the little group clapped their hands while Grace shook her head. “And another who is the second hat.” He held his hand as if presenting Grace to an audience, and she curtsied.
“The first hat says a common phrase, or performs a gesture, and the second must react in a manner completely opposite of what is expected and proper.” He took two empty chairs and placed them in the middle. “For instance. If I sit—” He demonstrated. “—Miss Everly stands. And if I stand, she sits.” He stood, and Grace did as he directed.
“If I say good day to you, miss, you say—”
Catching the idea, she did not hesitate to answer. “Good evening to you, sir.”
His expression was most approving. “That is the game. The winner is the last player who can be contrary every time. Should Miss Everly respond appropriately, instead of contrarily, she is out. Would you like to try a real round?”
Grace glanced about to make certain the others liked the game. Miss Keyes appeared bored, and Jacob… He was frowning. But as everyone else seemed interested, she agreed. “Very well. Everything contrary. I am ready.”
Mr. King grinned and began at once. “The weather is fine today.”
That one was easy. “I believe it shall rain tonight.”
He looked up, she cast her eyes down, he moved to the left, she to her right. He commented that the lemonade was refreshing, she told him it was boiling, he asked her to dance, she refused, he bowed and she saluted as she had seen military men do. Grace, while enjoying herself, began to fear that no one else might have a turn.
“Do not shake my hand,” he said, holding out his. She quickly put her gloved hand in his palm. Then he bent and kissed her knuckles.
Grace froze. The impertinence! Yet it was a compliment. Or was it part of the game? She did not know what to do and stood, gaping at him, until he grinned and turned to the others at the same moment he released her hand. “I won. She hesitated too long, would you agree?”
There was laughter and applause. No one seemed to think the moment strange. Grace went back to her seat, still uncertain. She met Jacob’s eyes to see his frown had deepened.
He leaned toward her to mutter, “I’m not sure I like this one.”
Although she agreed, she knew Hope would most likely laugh such an awkward moment away. She must endeavor to do the same. “It was entertaining.”
He made a sound in the back of his throat that did not sound like an agreement. Mr. King had another gentleman up next, and then allowed others to take turns as first hat. Everyone who wished a turn had one, and Grace clapped along with the rest when someone at last could not keep up. Sometimes it was the first hat who ran out of ideas, most often it was the person playing second hat. The best moment was when Sir Isaac and Matthew Barnes faced each other.
“Would you like a punch in the nose?” Sir Isaac asked, all politeness.
Matthew hesitated. The truthful answer must be no, the contrary answer would be yes. He tilted his chin down, as though presenting a better target, and said, “I would very much enjoy one, thank you.”
Everyone burst out laughing and Isaac gave up with a wave of his hand.
They played a rhyming game after that, and then a short game of riddles. Most of the group seemed to be in good spirits when Grace suggested they play a game of Fox and Hounds.
Jacob’s frown reappeared, but she studiously ignored it. A game of chase could not be nearly so improper as a game of Blind Man’s Bluff or one that necessitated hiding in tucked away places. It had been a favorite in the neighborhood for as long as Grace could remember, but she explained the rules for Mr. King’s sake. She retrieved a handkerchief from the reticule she had kept tied to her wrist.
“The game starts with one hound and the rest of us are foxes. The foxes all carry handkerchiefs in their hands by the corner, like this.” She demonstrated, holding just the corner of the linen square between thumb and fingers. “The hound chases the foxes and, if he catches their handkerchief, turns them to his side. If a fox makes it back to where the game began still in possession of his or her tail, the fox is safe and wins the game.” She pointed through the trees. “Foxes must run to the brook and back to this spot.”
“I elect Mr. Ashworth,” Miss Parr said, “as the first hound.”
Matthew Barnes seconded the election, and the grinning Mr. Ashworth started to preen. “I shall have a pack of hounds on my side in next to no time. What are the limits of the playing field?”
“The orchard. No other place will serve,” Elizabeth Barnes said with a clap of her hands. Everyone agreed, as it had been the proper place to play many years before.
“The hound must count to ten before he begins his pursuit,” Mr. Barnes added as he helped a smiling Mrs. Muir to her feet. “And no cheating. Everyone must have their handkerchief where all can see it.”
Jacob stepped close to Grace, standing just over her shoulder and close enough she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. “I am not certain this is the best idea,” he said. “We ought to play in an open field. There are too many trees—”
Grace did not immediately answer him, but instead her gaze took in all of the people around her. Thus far, her party had been a triumph, without Hope. Calling a halt to this game, one that every miss and gentleman about her did not mind, could undo the success she had thus far enjoyed.
She looked over to where the chaperones were seated, talking and laughing amongst themselves, and then stepped away from Jacob, making her way deeper into the trees. “I think the orchard will do splendidly.”
Without waiting for his response, she called out, “Begin your count, Mr. Ashford.” Then she darted into the trees, smiling all the while, her handkerchief clasped in one hand. She glimpsed the others darting about on the paths marking the rows of apple trees. The orchard rang with laughter and challenges issued by her guests.
She looked back once, seeing no one behind her, then forward to the line of trees. The brook was not far. One could walk through the orchard to the water, from this position, in five minutes at a stroll. There was a shout somewhere to her right, startling her, before it was followed by laughter. Had the hound caught someone?
“Miss Everly,” a voice shouted. She looked behind her, one hand clutchi
ng the handkerchief and the other holding her skirt.
Mr. King, handkerchief in hand, cut through the trees toward her. “I thought that was you. I neglected to ask where the brook is located! And I—”
“King, I have you,” another voice shouted. It was Mr. Ashworth’s voice.
Grace hesitated, but Mr. King grinned and motioned for her to run before he took off in the opposite direction. The man was drawing his pursuer away from her. She almost laughed at the show of gallantry in the midst of a children’s game. Giving it no more thought, she continued to the brook. Breaking from the trees, she went to the bank and then turned, not hesitating before running back beneath the branches.
She took a serpentine route. If someone caught sight of her, someone not wearing a dress, she had no hope of outrunning them. She went around one of the older, larger trees a trifle more slowly, endeavoring to make her feet fall lightly.
A hand snatched at her wrist, above her handkerchief, and she stumbled sideways. The hand kept her upon her feet, and another came around her waist, halting her downward momentum.
Her chest constricted and her gaze shot up to identify her captor.
Jacob held her; his eyes so dark in the shadows they were more black than brown. They stared at each other, he still and firm as the tree at his back, and she trying to make sense of their predicament.
Hurried footsteps from the other side of the tree made her head turn at the same instant Jacob pulled her toward him. His back hit the tree and she bumped into his side. Miss Kimball ran by, pursued by a laughing Miss Parr and Isaac. They were too intent on their chase to see Grace and Jacob standing there, pressed against the tree and each other.
Grace slowly tilted her head to peer up at Jacob. He was staring into the trees, and she could see his pulse beating rapidly in the strained vein beneath his jaw.
“Jacob?” she whispered, aware of his hand at her waist. “They are gone.”
He dragged his attention back to her, apparently with great effort given the amount of tension she saw in his expression and felt in his body so near hers.
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