Discovering Grace: An Inglewood Romance

by Britton, Sally

  All the while, as she went through her normal daily tasks, she tried to put together the right words to tell her father what she had done. To tell Jacob it had been her idea, not Hope’s.

  Every time she thought of Jacob, however, her memories took hold. How many times in the past year had she caught him admiring Hope? How often had she wished he would turn and look her direction instead? Everyone thought Hope to be exciting and clever, given all the interesting things she might do or say at a given moment. Some thought her brash. All would agree that she was a bold, bright creature.

  The same could not be said of Grace. Content to be quietly working in the background, Grace was calm. She was the sea on a clear day, lapping gently against the shore. Hope’s personality held the potential of a hurricane.

  When Grace settled back into Hope’s bed that evening, she still had not found the precise words to use when she spoke to Papa, or Jacob. Tucking her feet in the sheets Susan had warmed for her, she pulled the blankets up beneath her chin and tried to find some comfort. Sleep would doubtlessly elude her again.

  Had it been wrong to switch places? Every moment since the idea struck, Grace had justified her actions. She had granted Hope the ability to go off and have an adventure the likes of which she had only dreamed of before. But Grace’s motives began with selfishness. She had wanted to protect herself from that sort of upheaval as much as she wanted to gift it to her sister.

  As she tried to sleep, one thought she fought against since the beginning materialized clearly in her mind. Saving herself, and giving Hope what she wanted, had not been Grace’s only motivations.

  When Jacob took orders and moved to the vicarage, Grace knew he would ask to court Hope. He never said as much, but that would be Jacob’s way. He would wait until he had a future to offer the woman he loved, then he would make his intentions known.

  Hope wouldn’t have agreed to it. Grace couldn’t imagine her sister ever entertaining the idea of marrying a vicar, of living a quiet and simple life. But what if she was wrong? By preventing Jacob from trying, had she ruined his chance at happiness?

  Within the deepest corner of her heart, Grace knew if he only gave her the chance, she might prove herself the better match for him. Through her machinations, her deceit, she had sent Hope away and created the perfect opportunity to show Jacob what he had not seen before.

  Tears burned at her eyes and she dashed at them before they could wet the pillow. They were hot, shameful tears, condemning her selfish conduct. Did she have to confess this to Jacob, too? It had pained him to lose Hope. It was Grace’s fault he had been hurt. Confessing feelings she had only ever acknowledged in the privacy of her heart and thoughts, revealing everything to him, frightened her more than any ocean voyage ever could.

  Groaning, Grace pulled the blanket over her head. Jacob would hate her. He would despise her for lying, for her selfishness, and she would lose his friendship. Through that, she would likely lose the rest of the Birchwood Society. Isaac and Silas would not look at her the same way again, she was certain, when they learned of what she had done. When Hope returned and learned the truth, whether or not she considered Jacob a possible match, she would be hurt Grace had thought to manipulate her.

  Though Grace tossed and turned for hours, she finally snatched a little sleep. When the sun rose, she woke again. It hurt to open her eyes. She had finally given in and cried, and now her eyes ached. Susan would likely see them, swollen and red, and think Grace ill.

  Without much cheer, she rose and bathed her face in the cool water of her basin. She pressed a damp cloth against her eyes and laid back down, willing the swelling to go away. When she finally heard Susan at the door, she snatched the cloth from her face and dropped it between the bed and the table at its side.

  A whole day had passed since receiving the letter. Another day of falsehoods.

  There was no choice. She must tell Papa at the first available opportunity.

  Her stomach sank. Well. Perhaps after he had finished his morning work and she took in tea to him. Then they would be in his study, a private place away from the servants. Yes. That would be the best time. Because, she reasoned, after she told him everything, he would forbid her access to her friends. And she must confess to Jacob, too.

  Grace made plans for visiting Jacob’s home to seek an audience with him. It would be indecent to call upon his household before ten. That was when she would leave.

  Her mind made up, Grace went to breakfast and greeted her father as warmly as she ever had before. Once she told him everything, it might be some time before he allowed a kiss and embrace from her.

  Chapter 16

  Adjusting her gloves as she walked out the front door, Grace did not at first notice someone standing beside Hope’s pony and the dogcart.

  “Mr. King,” she said, unable to disguise her surprise. “Good morning, sir. I did not expect you to call today.”

  The handsome, dark-haired man turned from studying her conveyance to face her. “Miss Everly, good morning.” He came to her and bowed, a rather dapper grin in place. “I realized yesterday, Miss Everly, that you never did give me a tour of the orchards. I hoped to beg one from you today. But I can see you are going out and I am no more than an inconvenience.” He sighed dramatically, his eyes twinkling at her. “Might we arrange it for another time?”

  There would not be another time, she well knew. As anxious as she was to speak to Jacob, delaying the inevitable look of betrayal upon his face appealed to her. “I think I can spare you a quarter of an hour this morning, Mr. King. The orchard is not large, but a turn beneath the trees might do both of us good.”

  His countenance visibly brightened, and he held his arm out for her. “Nothing would be better for me, I am certain.”

  Grace took his arm, realizing she had no need to pretend with Mr. King. He did not know Hope, only the stories he had heard of her, and yet he seemed to like Grace. Perhaps being in his company would give her the measure of confidence she needed to face Jacob. Walking beneath her father’s apple trees never failed to settle her nerves, either.

  “Then we had better take our tour, Mr. King.” She waved to the groom. “I shall need the cart in a quarter of an hour.” She kept her voice cheerful and light as she explained the importance of orchards to Mr. King, who proved an engrossed audience.

  The diversion, the delay, was what she needed before she sought out Jacob for a much less lighthearted conversation.

  * * *

  Jacob had spent the whole of the previous day pondering his feelings for Grace. Now, on the second day since the picnic, he needed to speak to her. Not to make any sort of hasty decisions, but to see if he had imagined the possibility of more between them.

  The uncomfortable conversation wasn’t something he looked forward to, but what was a little discomfort if it led to lifelong happiness? Even if Grace did not see things as he wished, it would be best to find that out before he spent any more time romanticizing a friendship.

  He asked Matthew to borrow the hunter and wasted no time in leaving once permission was given. What would he do when he could no longer use his brother’s mount for his own errands? While the vicarage afforded a fine living, and some farmland came with it, he certainly couldn’t afford such a fine horse. Whatever mount he used would have to pull a gig and likely a plow.

  The bubble of pleasure in his chest, knowing the vicarage would be his in less than a fortnight, nearly burst within him. He would leave for a meeting with the bishop soon, to be ordained. Then, finally, his life would be on an established path where he had a place that belonged to him and a vocation to work upon.

  As much as he had attempted to delude himself, entertaining the idea of courting Hope, Jacob easily recognized his folly now. Hope, though one of his dearest friends, could never be content with the life of a country vicar. She longed to see the world, to never be still, and she tended to act without thinking. He admired her fine spirit, and always would, but they would make each other miserabl
e as husband and wife with their disparate ways.

  He urged the horse into a longer, smoother gait, enjoying the summer air.

  Grace, thoughtful and kind, aware of the people around her, and content in the familiar, would be an excellent wife. They were two of a kind, really. Often, Jacob had shared a look with Grace and instantly knew her thoughts were his own. He had attributed that strange phenomenon to their many years of friendship. How had he not seen how perfect they were for each other?

  Jacob arrived at the Refuge and could not help grinning when he saw the pony and dogcart waiting for its mistress, a groom standing by. He dismounted and took the reins in hand.

  “Is Miss Everly going on a visit?” he asked the servant.

  “Yes, sir,” the young man answered. “After she shows t’other gentleman the apple trees.”

  The other gentleman? Arching his eyebrows, Jacob tied his horse to the post near the front door. Who could possibly want to see the orchard? At least they would be easy to find. He took the path around the house, skirting the gardens. He came to the hedge, the orchard in sight, and heard Grace’s laugh.

  “I am in earnest, Miss Everly,” an unfamiliar voice proclaimed, sounding anything but earnest. Jacob paused, the hedge keeping him out of sight. “You would far prefer London if you knew it as I did. I should love to see you try and convince a room full of peers to play games in the park.”

  Grace laughed again. “I cannot imagine it should end well, for me or the peers, if I were to make such a suggestion. You were fortunate to be part of that afternoon, Mr. King. To have grown men and women cheerfully playing those games is a rare sight, even in our quaint little neighborhood.”

  Of all the people he had thought of taking a stroll with Grace, Mr. King’s name had not been one of them. Since he was friends with Isaac, and had fought in the war, Jacob had not stopped to consider the gentleman much beyond their initial introduction, except when irritated with him for flirting with Grace during her picnic.

  They would come upon him eavesdropping in another moment. Jacob took the final steps around the hedge and raised his hand in greeting. “Miss Everly, Mr. King. Good day to you both.”

  Grace, on Mr. King’s arm, drew up short and turned pale, no greeting passing her lips. Mr. King grinned hugely, however.

  “Ah, Mr. Barnes, good day. We just took a turn about the orchard. Beautiful trees. I begin to wonder why my family never planted fruit trees. We have too many patches of vegetables.” He sighed and lowered his head with an unnecessarily dramatic air.

  Grace’s color returned and she regarded Mr. King with a raised eyebrow. “We grow those too, Mr. King. Having one does not necessitate doing away with the other.”

  Mr. King, with his dark good looks and easy charm, regarded Grace with an overly familiar fondness. “I thank you for the education, Miss Everly. As you have another guest, I will take myself off and call upon you again another day. Perhaps you might show me the vegetables next time.” He released her arm and bowed. “I shall say farewell to you both.”

  “Good day to you, Mr. King.” Grace curtsied politely. She kept her gaze pointedly away from Jacob.

  “Yes, good day.” Jacob had to remind himself not to glare as the man took his leave. Grace stared after Mr. King, until he disappeared around the hedge. Then she dipped her head, not meeting Jacob’s gaze.

  “Jacob, what brings you here today?”

  Had he bungled everything between them that terribly? At least he knew where he must begin. “I have come to apologize to you.” He clasped his hands behind his back and then bent, enough to glimpse beneath her bonnet’s brim. “I did not behave well at your picnic.”

  Her cheeks reddened and she shook her head. “Let us not speak of it, Jacob. I would rather we both forget about the whole thing.”

  “Forget?” He repeated the word stupidly. How could she wish to forget the moment that had made him rethink everything? Change everything? “Grace, you must at least let me explain.”

  She turned from him, folding her arms across her middle. “I would rather not hear another word about it. There is nothing to forgive because nothing happened. You see? Now we can go on as we always have.”

  That was the last thing he wanted. To contradict her might be impolite, but after all the time he spent preparing his speech, he could not remain silent. “You don’t understand, Grace. I need you to know—”

  “I received a letter from Hope.” The words tumbled from her mouth, cutting off his attempts at an explanation. “She has left England. The letter says as much, that she would leave it with a servant to post after they boarded ship. Hope is gone.” She shuddered and her arms tightened still more.

  The news did not disturb Jacob. Not in the least. He did not feel sick, nor did he experience the horrible clenching in his gut as he had when he first learned Hope might leave. Love was not meant to be that fleeting and changeable. His own response to Grace’s news served as evidence that he had come to his senses about Hope at last. She was not the woman for him, and he had never truly been in love with her.

  But the news disturbed Grace. As her friend, first and foremost, he must do what he could to comfort her. “I see. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. I was hoping to speak to you, to ask your opinion.” She shrugged and opened her arms, then untied the reticule at her wrist. “She does not say much.” Grace withdrew a folded paper—the letter from her sister. “But she is well, and happy. Would you like to read it?” Grace thrust the letter toward him with nearly as much vigor as she had thrust him away from her the day of the picnic.

  Jacob looked from the letter to Grace’s clear blue eyes, noting the way she stared at him when she had avoided looking at him moments before. She was searching him, a slight tremble to her lips as she pressed them together.

  He slowly shook his head. “I don’t need to read it, Grace. I’m glad that Hope is well.” He steadied himself and relaxed his stance, hardly realizing how stiff he had become in his urgency to speak with her. As the tension left him, he managed to curve his lips upward again. “Would you like to take a walk to talk things over?”

  The line appeared at the top of Grace’s nose, her lips fell open again in that look of surprise he had seen when he came upon her and Mr. King. “A walk?”

  “Yes.” He stepped closer, gazing down at her. “To the orchard? Unless you grow tired of that particular path.”

  “No.” She put the letter back into her little bag, then moved in the direction of the apple trees.

  Jacob took two quick steps and snatched up her hand, startling her. He threaded it through his arm, then continued on as though nothing was amiss. They had not walked that way very often. Most of the time, if he offered an arm to Grace, Hope took the other. Alone with her now, her hand upon him, he took a moment to enjoy the sensation. How often had he touched her, as her friend? Helping her in and out of carriages, escorting her across a ballroom floor for a dance, and playing together as children, there must have been thousands of times in the past. Lately, however, he’d become more aware of her. More aware of the peace which settled in his heart when near her.

  Distracting her with conversation struck him as the strategic thing to do, lest he give something of his feelings away too soon. “When did you receive the letter?”

  She stared up at him almost plaintively, then turned so the brim of her bonnet blocked his view of her eyes. “Yesterday morning.”

  “Yesterday?” That surprised him. She had let another entire day go by without admitting the truth to her father. “Are you afraid of what your father will say?” Grace had never exactly been timid. Only quiet. Yet she had done her part in a trick that would lead to great heartache and disappointment for her parents.

  “Not precisely.” She paused a moment, and then spoke her next words clearly. “I think whatever punishment he gives will be worth the peace I have won by remaining home.”

  That did not sit well with him. “Wrongdoing is to be weighed
against the consequences? You do not care about the response to your deception because you feel it was worth it?”

  Grace sighed as though disappointed. “You cannot understand. You are a man.” Her hand tightened briefly upon his arm, as though to soften her words. “You have choices. And I, even though I am of age, have none. Were I a son, my father would not attempt to send me away against my will. As a daughter, I am to be moved about as a pawn on a chessboard.”

  Jacob’s feet scuffed to a stop. “A pawn? Grace, your father loves you.”

  “I know,” she said. “But that does not mean he always does what is best for me. Sending me with the Carlburys was a punishment. But does a year away from all I love seem like an appropriate response to something Hope did wrong? He did not ask if I wished to go, or how I viewed the situation. He demanded it of me.” Grace spoke softly, adopting a tone he had heard used before, by nurses and mothers when they explained difficult concepts to children.

  “You have taken part in a lie, Grace. An act of disobedience. You may not have wished to go, but your father must have had his reasons for sending you.” Jacob shook his head and began their walk again, though her steps seemed reluctant to match his.

  Grace released a deep sigh. “Whatever wrong I have done does not compare to the wrong my father would do to me. He made a pronouncement when he was out of temper and no one would speak against him. I acted as I felt I must, and I am not sorry for it.”

  He had not expected such a response from Grace. While she had never been a contrary child, or a willful one, she had been stubborn. Just in a gentler way than most. “Very well. Then you will not apologize to your father?”

  “No. But I will tell him the truth.” They were nearly to the shade of the orchard when their progress halted again when Grace tugged at his arm. “And I must tell you the truth, Jacob.”