Discovering Grace: An Inglewood Romance

by Britton, Sally

  “As was my intention,” Mr. King said. “But first, will you introduce me to your mother?”

  After the proprieties were seen to, Grace allowed Mr. King to take her into the line of couples preparing to dance. Reflexively, she looked down the rows to find Jacob. He immediately met her eyes, as though he had sensed her look, and winked at her.

  Winked. At her. In a public room full of people. There went her excusing his conduct due to stringent decorum.

  Mr. King proved an apt partner in dance, but Isaac appeared to take the second half of the set. The usual gentlemen took their turns leading her about the room, too. Jacob did not seek her out again, though every time she glanced in his direction it seemed his eyes were upon her.

  Tomorrow, she would ask him about his behavior. Tomorrow, she might even summon the courage to tell him something of her own heart.

  Chapter 22

  Mr. Spratt’s belongings were loaded into a wagon, and his son-in-law had arrived in a coach to take him away. Jacob bid farewell to his predecessor and had not been surprised, not in the least, when Mr. Spratt took him aside for a moment.

  “Grace Everly,” the old man said, a glimmer in his eye. “You mean to wed her?”

  Jacob could not help the laugh that escaped him. “I must be the most transparent of all men. Yes, Mr. Spratt. I do. If she will have me.”

  “Good. I worried you might be blind to her still.” Mr. Spratt gave him a pat on the arm. “God go with you, Mr. Barnes.”

  “And with you, sir.” Jacob had stayed at the house, walking through the rooms that were now his. It was a simple house, with simple furnishings. There were two levels, a cellar, and the smallest of attics. But it was his. He would bring his clothing to hang and stack in the wardrobe. His books would go on the shelves in his study. Someday, there would be children in the second largest bedroom, which might be easily turned into a nursery.

  Looking out the window of the study, it afforded him an excellent view of the path that led from the road to his front door. He could also see the garden, not as well tended as it had been under Mrs. Spratt’s care.

  Would Grace like seeing to the garden?

  The sudden thought made his heart trip and the tips of his ears go warm. He had promised himself to keep an open heart and open mind. Ever since that moment, Grace strayed often into his thoughts. He sensed her making inroads in his heart as well.

  When Jacob walked through the small parlor, he noted that Mr. Spratt had left his wife’s pianoforte behind. It was a small instrument, perfectly suited to its humble surroundings.

  Humble. That was a good word for it, though the house was certainly comfortable. It was not as large as his brother’s, or Isaac’s, and the Earl of Inglewood’s castle-like manor dwarfed the vicarage completely. Would the small house and modest income be enough for Grace?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Jacob went to the yard where he had tied up his horse, a handsome gelding gifted to him by Matthew. The horse had been raised to take a saddle and pull a gig. He was a handsome chestnut with black mane and tail. Though not a golden hunter, Jacob had immediately felt a kinship to the animal.

  After mounting the animal, he made his way to Everly Refuge, all the while thinking on Grace and how best he could put the question of courtship to her. They knew each other so well. He did not have a closer friend than Grace.

  Dancing with her the previous evening had reminded him of many other times he stood up with her. But it had been different, too. His eyes had never strayed from her lovely face, her enjoyment the deciding factor in his own. The way she smiled was familiar, and endearing, and beautiful. She had always looked like that. Why hadn’t he taken notice of it before?

  Birdsong filled the trees along the lane, lifting his spirits and his hopes. Clouds rolled in above him, promising a summer rain. The drizzle started when he came to the Everlys’ property, light enough he felt no need to race up to their door.

  As he drew closer to the house, he looked up at the windows. There, framed perfectly, stood Grace. Watching for him.

  Jacob hurried the horse along. There was no sense in them getting too damp, after all. He went directly to the stables, allowing one of the grooms to see to the animal. He hurried to the house, going for a back door.

  This call was different. Though he had visited the Refuge more times than he could count, this occasion must stand out from that day forth. The anticipation building inside him churned his thoughts, muddling the careful words he had planned until they were nearly forgotten.

  One thing he knew for certain, based upon his reactions to even the thought of Grace: Jacob must apologize for ever thinking himself in love with anyone else.

  * * *

  When Jacob looked up through the rain, seeing Grace in the window, she momentarily forgot how to breathe. Something was different, had been different the last two times she had seen him. Her mind recalled the moment in the orchard, when he had come so near she thought he might do something extraordinary.

  She told herself that his mind was full of Hope, and Grace was a convenient substitute for her twin. Believing that had worked. It kept her safe.

  Her lips parted, staring down at him, as though she might say something he would somehow hear. Then he looked away and nudged his horse into a canter, riding out of sight around the house.

  “Mama?” Grace turned, brushing aside the curtains that half-concealed her from the room. “Jacob is here.”

  “Is he?” Mrs. Everly barely glanced up from her sewing, but she wore a neutral expression. “I always enjoy his visits.”

  At any moment, the door would open and Jacob would come in. He would sit down and chat about nothing in particular with her mother while Grace’s insides twisted and spun. In front of her mother, she could say almost nothing to Jacob. Nothing that would calm her troubled mind.

  “This visit is different,” Grace said, voice almost a whisper.

  Needle and thread paused in mid-air, Mama’s whole body went still. Lowering her hand to her lap, she looked up at Grace with eyes full of understanding and sympathy. “I know. You must be calm, Grace.”

  A frightened laugh escaped from Grace. She hurried to cover her mouth.

  “Oh. Grace.” Her mother put her sewing down and came to Grace’s side. “Dear girl, it is all right.” She put her hands on Grace’s cheeks, steadying her daughter. “This is Jacob. He is your dearest friend. Would it be a comfort to you if I told you how much I hoped for this to happen?”

  Grace shook her head. “No. How could you want this? He is a vicar, and will be poor, and mothers want their daughters to marry lords and rich gentlemen.” She bit her tongue, wondering where the nonsense came from.

  “Mothers want their daughters to be happy.” Mama stood on her toes to kiss Grace’s forehead. They were both short in stature, so Grace bent enough to allow the token of her mother’s love. “And Jacob has always made you happy.”

  They heard the steady rap of riding boots in the passage. Mrs. Everly gave Grace one last encouraging look before gathering up her sewing. Grace stayed near the window, watching the doorway. She would see it all when he entered. She would see that she was wrong. Nothing had changed. Jacob would bow in his usual way, take his customary seat, and speak of the inconsequential.

  The door opened, Garrett bowing as he entered. “Mr. Jacob Barnes.” Then Garrett’s glance darted to hers, but she had no time to puzzle over the servant’s knowing expression before Jacob strode into the room.

  Jacob had never looked so happy as he did at that moment. An energy came into the room with him, setting her senses to buzzing.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Everly.” He bowed to her mother. “Good morning, Grace.”

  Had her name sounded different on his lips?

  “Good morning, Jacob. Come in, sit down.” Mama acted as though everything was completely ordinary, and the moment Jacob sat she asked after his family.

  “I am reading the banns for Matthew and Mrs.
Muir this Sunday,” Jacob informed them, his eyes glittering with excitement. “You will all be there?” He looked at Grace, expectant.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, somehow maintaining an even tone of voice. “We would not miss it. It is your first sermon.”

  He stared at her, his expression falling somewhat. Had she said something wrong? How could she have? She answered a simple question.

  “You two ought to go for a walk.”

  Grace blinked at the strange pronouncement, turning to stare at her mother. “In the rain?”

  “Yes.” Mama folded her hands in her lap, appearing most serene. “We have umbrellas, after all, and the fresh air is good for young people. Jacob, I charge you with making certain my daughter does not catch cold.” Mama arched one eyebrow at Jacob in a manner Grace hoped she would one day learn.

  Though a grown man, and now the vicar, Jacob hastened to obey the command. “Yes, Mrs. Everly.” A grin stretched across his handsome face and he hurried to open the door.

  Though she did not dare look at her mother again, guessing that Mama likely wore a most satisfied smirk, Grace hurried out the door and past Jacob. “I will get my spencer, and my bonnet.”

  “Grace,” he called after her in the dim light of the passageway.

  “I will meet you downstairs,” she said over her shoulder. Grace was not going to have any sort of conversation with him in the house. It might be raining, but the relative privacy of standing outside was better than being in a corridor where anyone might come upon them.

  She ran into her room and rushed to her wardrobe, hurrying to find a suitable spencer. Her hand landed upon a deep green shawl first, and she decided that would do well enough. Then she found a bonnet and fairly crushed it upon her head. Her hair had not been done in such a manner as to make a bonnet stay on easily. She found gloves in her bureau drawer and darted out with them still in her hand. Then she recalled her slippers and turned back to find her half-boots.

  Why did one have to completely change one’s costume just to take a turn in a garden? She grumbled to herself as she tugged the boots on and tied up the laces.

  Finally, Grace made her way down the stairs to find Jacob. He was standing in the entry, with Garrett, hat on his head and gloves on his hands.

  “I am sorry, Mr. Barnes,” Garrett was saying. “But I could only find the one. The others must be lurking in the wrong closet somewhere.”

  When she took the last step, Jacob turned and she saw he held one umbrella. It was a large, black umbrella. The same one her mother would have two or three children use when they had need to walk in the rain from the carriage to the church.

  Grace looked at Garrett, who appeared perfectly at ease with his lie. Interesting. She had seen the umbrellas in the downstairs closet near the door, where they always were, just the day before. Garrett pulled his shoulders further back and left, without even a backward glance.

  Jacob cleared his throat, then went and opened the door. Garrett had forgotten that duty, it would seem.

  With her head held high, Grace walked out in front of him. The rain was gentle; they hardly even required an umbrella. Jacob caught up to her and held it overhead with his left hand while he offered her his right arm.

  Grace accepted his escort, her free hand balling into a fist at her side. The air smelled of rain, wet grass, and damp earth. She took in a deep breath, trying to anchor herself. On days like today, though they were three miles inland, she even fancied she could taste the salt in the air.

  Several moments passed, the silence disturbed only by the smattering of raindrops thumping onto the umbrella.

  They walked on the path around the house, in the direction of the orchards. Grace could hear the blood coursing through her ears, steadily beating in time with her heart. Her mouth had gone dry.

  Had she not promised herself to be honest? And brave?

  “Jacob,” she said, keeping her eyes ahead of them. There was the hedge. They would turn around that and be nearly out of sight of the house until they were halfway to the orchard.

  “Yes, Grace?” He sounded curious, not uncertain.

  She stopped walking, pulling him to a halt as well. “I need to tell you something.” She studied the buttons on his coat a moment, noting how evenly they were spaced, before she could look up into his eyes. They were so gentle, coaxing her to speak without him saying a word.

  “You are my dearest friend.” There was a flicker to his expression, but she pushed onward. “If I said something, or did something, to damage our friendship, I should regret it all my days. But there is something else I would regret if I left it unsaid. And I know this isn’t proper—” She stopped, biting her lip as she tried to find the right words. She had thought of them days ago, repeated them over and over since realizing she must say something. Where had the words gone?

  Jacob cocked his head to one side, his eyebrows lifted and his lips pressing together. She recognized the expression as the one he wore when he grew impatient but was too polite to interrupt. He would wait all day for her when he wore that look. Even if a thunderstorm burst overhead.

  “It is not proper,” she repeated firmly. “But I cannot continue our friendship unless I tell you how I really feel. About you.”

  His eyes darkened, and he took in a deep breath. “It just so happens that I came here to ask that very thing.”

  “Did you?” She had not dared even hope for his curiosity on the matter. “Then perhaps it is not improper.” She glanced down, ready to gather her courage.

  “Grace.” Jacob released her arm. The soft leather of his glove touched her chin, guiding her to look up at him. “We have been friends all our lives.”

  She nodded as though unable to speak a word. The breeze picked up, ruffling her dress and throwing more rain down from the sky. They both ignored it.

  “It is frightening to think of us as anything else,” he added, his hand lingering at her jaw while he spoke.

  “Terrifying,” she amended, and his lips twitched upward briefly. “But I—”

  A gust of wind hurtled around the hedge, blowing fiercely about them and taking Grace’s bonnet with it. She gasped and turned to watch it fall, yards away. What had she expected? She had not taken the time to tie the ribbons properly.

  “The umbrella,” Jacob said, giving her the handle. When she took it, he bounded toward the bonnet—but the wind came back and sent the headpiece tumbling down the hill toward the orchard.

  “Oh, bother the wind,” she muttered, following after Jacob while he chased the horrid bonnet. “Jacob,” she shouted after him.

  He slipped on a patch of wet grass, nearly falling. Grace hurried after him, and he went for the bonnet again.

  She hurried along, and he finally caught her hat. Jacob held it up triumphantly as Grace approached. Perhaps the weather itself was against her, interrupting as it had.

  The bonnet was in no fit state to go back upon her head, and she did not care. When Jacob handed it to her, she clutched it by the ribbons with one hand and held the umbrella over him with the other.

  Before anything else could happen, she made her confession. “I love you,” she practically shouted, loud enough to be heard over the rumbling weather. The wind blew by them again at that moment, taking her words with it. Jacob grabbed her hand and pulled her the rest of the way to the orchard, nearly at a run.

  When they stood beneath the trees, the wind stopped snatching at them. Jacob placed his hands on her arms and he bent closer to her. “Grace, did you say you love me?” His body was tense, he wore a serious frown.

  There was no point in denying it, even if it displeased him. “Yes,” she choked out. “I love you. I am sorry if that ruins things, but—”

  Jacob leaned down, closing the distance between them, resting his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes, and Grace stood perfectly still.

  He whispered her name as though it was a plea, a prayer, a wish. “My Grace. You are jumping ahead of me.”

  Tho
ugh she did not expect him to return her affection right away, it still pained her to know he could not say those three words in return. But his endearment made it hurt less than she thought it would. She took in a shuddering breath, tears gathering in her eyes without her permission. They stood so close, and all the world around them had faded away to nothing. If only he loved her back. It would have been the perfect moment.

  “I came today,” he whispered, “to ask if I might court you.”

  Stepping back, Grace opened her eyes and stared at him. “Court me?”

  His expression turned sheepish. “After what happened at the picnic, when you pushed me away, and then when we argued after Hope’s letter came, I did not know if you could care for me. Or if you should.”

  Grace dropped her bonnet and lowered the umbrella, closing it as she did. She leaned the cumbersome thing against the trunk of the tree. “I pushed you away because I thought you wanted me to be Hope,” she admitted.

  Jacob shook his head. “I give you my word, I was only thinking of you. Admiring your determination, your beautiful eyes, and your mouth.”

  A warm, gentle swell began to gather in her chest. “My mouth? Not my sister’s? I have been told we look a great deal alike, you see.” She tried to laugh, but all that came out was a breathy squeak.

  “Not to me,” he said firmly. “I have always known which sister is which. And I have never been tempted to steal a kiss from Hope. From you, though? That is another matter.” He closed the small distance she had put between them and tucked a loose curl back behind her ear. “May I kiss you, Grace?”

  She did not need to consider her answer. “Yes.”

  The same hand that brushed aside the curl cradled the back of her head. She felt the warmth of his breath upon her cheek, and then his lips touched hers—gently, cautiously.

  Lack of experience did not impede her in the slightest; Grace instinctively knew how to return Jacob’s kiss. Her hands took hold of his forearms to steady herself, and she repaid his kiss as ardently as she could.