Grace chuckled to herself. What now?
Perhaps she had heard from George. Which was just as well, considering there had been no sign of Lord Trevor Montgomery since the Lievedon Ball, nearly a fortnight past. It seemed he was not really interested after all in the Grange or Thistleton.
Or me.
If he were, they’d have heard from him by now. Perhaps she was a little oversensitive about him—this man who had subjected her to her rather violent first kiss, then called her a “distraction,” welcome or not. That was why she had done her best to put him out of her mind.
As for the Grange, it was easy to see in hindsight that he was only being polite when he expressed tepid interest in coming down from Town to have a look at it.
She, meanwhile, had gone and mentally married him off to Calpurnia already, like some sort of meddling mama.
No doubt Callie would end up with George. That was as it should be. The two had been best friends and worst enemies by turns since they were children; as young adults, they made quite a pair, equally headstrong, stubborn, and spoiled. They understood each other, and some might say, deserved each other. Yes, that was likely it.
George and Callie must have finally made up.
It was silly of her to have planned another fate for Callie, for surely, little Thistleton could never hold as big and bold a soul as Lord Trevor Montgomery, a dark and dangerous adventurer with an eye for blond goddesses . . .
A man like that was practically the stuff of legend, at least in her eyes, while Thistleton was the essence of the everyday world. He would go quite mad of boredom here.
“Grace!” Golden curls bobbing beneath her bonnet, Calpurnia pulled her dappled gray to a halt outside the parsonage and flung down from her pony gig more like a Corinthian than a debutante. “Grace, Grace, Grace!”
“Over here, darling!” She waved to her from the side garden.
The rosy-cheeked belle picked up the hem of her flowered muslin skirts and came barreling over with such a look of crazed joy that Grace suspected they would soon hear wedding bells.
Well, that should make Lady Windlesham happy, anyway.
“What’s the news?” she asked with a knowing smile, as Callie skidded to a breathless halt in the gravel.
“See for yourself!” She thrust a pair of opera glasses into Grace’s hands.
She furrowed her brow, but Callie had no patience.
“Look! Lud, woman, haven’t you glanced out your window? Hullo, Bitsy,” she interrupted herself absently, for the wee girl was a great favorite with both ladies. “Have you been working on your curtsy?”
Bitsy beamed at the attention and showed her, nearly tipping forward.
“Very good!” Callie said.
“What am I looking at?” Grace asked, still puzzled.
“Woman, are you blind?” the girl cried.
“No, I’ve had my head in the dirt down here in the garden. Why? Have you heard from George, then?”
“Pshaw! George who? Look . . . there.” Callie grasped her shoulders and turned her, pointing her toward the Grange. “Him.”
Grace gasped so hard she nearly choked as she spotted the tall, handsome figure in dun breeches and shirtsleeves strolling idly through a field.
She lost her power of speech momentarily. Her heart was pounding like a drum.
“Do you see him? Eeee! The most beautiful man is walking around the property! I think he’s there to buy it!” She let out another eager little shriek, laughing breathlessly.
“When—?” Grace choked out.
“Mrs. Fiddler saw him drive through town in a very nice coach-and-four, and Sally Hopkins came and told me at once—as well she might! Come!” Callie seized her hand. “We’ve got to go and meet him! You must chaperone me. I’ll drive.”
“Calpurnia.” Grace was suddenly shaking like a dimwit.
“Oh, isn’t it wonderful? Finally, someone interesting moving to our stupid little town! Can you imagine how much more lively it’s going to be around here with a handsome gentleman taking up residence at the Grange? Oh, and I’ll just bet he has lots of handsome friends!”
Grace could not find a single word to say. She stared at Callie and handed her back her opera glasses in shock, as if they had burned her fingers.
“What’s wrong with you?” Then Callie rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to go into a fit of shyness now, are you? Grace! Of all times—”
“He’s busy! He’s not going to want us bothering him—”
“Don’t be daft,” she shot back. “He might have questions! We could tell him all about the village and the local Quality. We have to help him, don’t we? Make him feel welcome. You of anyone should know it’s our Christian duty to help strangers. Besides, if he’s considering the place, this is our chance to influence his decision! I didn’t see a lady with him, did you?”
“No,” she breathed, her heart pounding. Grace feared she was in a bit of a tizzy and doing her best to hide it.
“Come on, then! Let’s go show him how friendly we are around here!” Calpurnia started to pull her toward the gig, but Grace planted her heels, striving to clear her head amid her abject panic—and stunned joy—that he had actually come.
She had given up on him days ago and now here he was! In that moment, she barely knew what to do with herself, and was rather appalled that she was nearly as giddy as Calpurnia over his arrival.
But then she recalled her half-forgotten plan to match him and the bold young debutante. When this scheme suddenly came back to her, it had somehow lost all of its appeal.
Confused, she barely noticed little Bitsy tugging insistently on her apron.
“Hurry up!” Callie urged. “If he leaves while we stand here dawdling, I’m going to throttle you.”
“Please, just—let me think for a moment.”
“About what?” Callie stared at her in bewildered impatience. “What is wrong with you? Don’t be unsociable!” Then she folded her arms across her chest as that look came into her eyes. One that Grace knew quite well, and George knew even better. The spoiled, stubborn, do-as-I-dashed-well-please look. “I am going over there with or without you, Grace,” she announced.
“Callie, come. You know that is improper. You don’t want to make a poor first impression on him, do you? Let’s just give the man a little breathing room—”
“You mean ignore him? But that’s beyond rude; why, it’s absolutely boorish!”
“Nonsense. He’ll come over here and see us when he’s ready,” she assured her, trying to sound normal.
“Why would he do that?”
Grace cast about guiltily. “Um, well, we’d be his nearest neighbors, and . . .”
Callie arched a brow in suspicion.
“Oh, very well! He’s an acquaintance of Papa’s,” she admitted.
Callie’s jaw had dropped. “Your father knows him? Gracie, why didn’t you say so?”
“I didn’t know if he’d really come. I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
Or her own.
Callie bounced and squealed and clapped her hands. “Oh, but this is perfect! You can introduce us! What’s his name? Please? You have to tell me.”
“We really must give the man some peace. He’s just back from the war—”
She gasped. “A military man?” She clutched her chest with a dreamy stare. “I’ll bet he’s gorgeous in a uniform.”
“Yes, I’m sure he is, but—”
“Is he married?”
“No.”
“Excellent! What’s his name, then, did you say?”
“Lord Trevor Montgomery,” she reluctantly revealed.
“Montgomery . . . as in the Duke of Haverlock?”
She nodded wearily. “Yes, he is a younger son.”
Callie stared at her in openmouthed delight, then
pivoted and marched back toward her gig. “Come on. We’re going.”
“Calpurnia, no.”
“Oh, don’t be like that again!” The blond belle stamped her foot. “You’re always such a spoilsport! Why can’t I ever have any fun?”
“He’s a bachelor! You’re not going over there alone.”
“Grace. I know you do not care to follow fashion, but you don’t understand. I’ve heard that name before, and I don’t mean only in Debrett’s,” Callie said with a great air of superiority. “I know exactly who Lord Trevor Montgomery is.”
“Do you?”
“I saw it in the papers! He’s an Order agent. A war hero—and a gentleman! He’s not going to harm me. Now, are you going to come along and chaperone me or not?”
Grace lifted her chin, prepared to be quite as firm with the girl as she had been with her beau, George. “No. Let the man relax.”
Calpurnia’s rosy lips pursed with determination. “Fine.” She pivoted on her heel and headed back to her gig.
“Callie! What would your mother say?”
“ ‘Well done, Daughter! But it was very wrong of Miss Kenwood to abandon you!’ ” The girl did an apt imitation of the terrifying baroness, her mother, and was on the path to becoming equally as fierce. “Now get in the gig!”
“I’m a mess!” Grace gestured down at her gown. “I’ve been working all morning! I’m covered in dirt!”
“You’re rustic. It’s charming. You look fine. Well, at least take off your apron. Hurry up!”
“God,” she whispered briefly, striving for patience. “You go storming over there like the Golden Horde invading, and you’re going to scare him off from buying the place!”
“Scare him off?” She laughed at her none too pleasantly. “That is not the usual effect I have on gentlemen, Grace. Besides, he’s a trained warrior! I hardly think he’s going to be afraid of little old me. He’ll be more fun than you are, anyway!” Callie grabbed hold of her horse’s bridle and turned the gig around, then climbed back up in the driver’s seat.
“Callie!”
“Hope to see you there!” She flashed a brazen grin and tapped her gray with the whip.
Grace took an angry step after her. “Come back here!”
It was futile. Maddening little hoyden!
As Callie drove away at a breakneck pace once more, Grace, in her flustered state, belatedly remembered that Papa had invited Lord Trevor to dine with them at the parsonage. Good God, I have nothing ready to feed the man! She flew toward the house, almost forgetting the child.
“Miss Grace!” Bitsy insisted.
“Stay right here, darling,” she said absently as she hurried to untie her apron and rushed off. “I’ll be right back—”
“But Miss Grace, I gotta pee!”
“Oh—! Well, then. Very well, come along. Chop-chop.”
Bitsy was too little to use the outhouse by herself, so Grace hurried her into the parsonage.
First she rushed to the kitchen to tell Cook to kill one of the good chickens—they’d have a guest. Then she made sure Bitsy got to use the chamber pot in her bedroom.
This was never a simple ordeal, but Grace waited as patiently as possible, still cursing her foolish heart for racing.
They both washed their hands, and when Grace glanced into the mirror, she noted the wild look in her own eyes. Get a hold of yourself, woman.
Right. She took a deep breath and slowly let it out. She could not believe the effect this man had on her!
“Now, Bitsy.” She bent down before her little friend. “You stay here at the parsonage. I must go after Miss Windlesham.”
Bitsy shook her head. “I’m coming with you!”
“No, stay and wait with Cook—” Grace paused, recalling that Cook was about to behead a chicken.
She closed her eyes and strove once more for patience. That bloody business would give the child nightmares, especially after her little story about the duckies. “All right. You can come with me,” she relented. “But try to walk fast, like your brothers.”
She took Bitsy by the hand and went back outside into the sunshine, then they set off for the neighboring farm. Bitsy walked beside her with a businesslike air, going as fast as her little legs could carry her.
Grace, meanwhile, prayed that Calpurnia did not scare Lord Trevor away—or ruin herself by acting too forward.
But maybe it was for the best that they first met this way, alone.
After all, this could be fate for them both.
Grace’s stomach was in knots as she marched toward the Grange, desperate to see how Lord Trevor reacted to Callie. A world-weary spy, a spirited young belle every bit as beautiful as the one he’d lost. A chance to start again—and he deserved that. Callie could be frightfully charming when she put her mind to it.
Anxious to avert any possible calamity—like Callie throwing herself at him—Grace walked as fast as she could without dragging little Bitsy down the road. She reminded herself repeatedly with every dusty step that a match between the handsome ex-spy and the golden belle would be a boon for the whole village.
There was only one problem with that, one she didn’t want to admit. If Lord Trevor really did marry Calpurnia, Grace feared a part of her would surely die.
And that was just absurd.
Chapter 5
Miss Calpurnia Windlesham clearly found herself adorable. Trevor didn’t, quite.
Of course, she was pert and lively, charming, and pretty enough to make a fool of many young men, but she reminded him too much of someone he once knew, and thus set his teeth on edge.
What could have got into the silly chit’s head that she should take it upon herself to approach a strange man alone in the middle of nowhere, he could not fathom.
Where were her parents? Didn’t she have a governess?
All he knew was that the little schemer was not getting anywhere near him. He kept a safe, respectable distance from her, only half-listening to her youthful prattle and wondering if she was going to be a problem should he decide to take the Grange.
But then, a welcome sight emerged in the distance on the dusty country road. Here comes Grace.
That same, odd half smile from before returned to his lips as he watched his pretty friend approach.
Somehow, he knew at once that Miss Kenwood was coming more to rescue him from the girl than the other way round, but the tot walking beside her slowed her progress.
As he watched, the little girl must have asked to be carried, for Grace picked her up and spared the wee one a bit of walking by carrying her on her hip.
Trevor was tempted to go and help her carry the load.
Miss Windlesham turned to see what he was gazing at. She slanted him a smug half smile. “I knew she’d come.”
“Who is that?” he asked nonchalantly, unable to help himself. It was second nature to slip back into spy mode, collecting information on persons of interest however he might.
“That’s Miss Kenwood,” said the blond. Then she wrinkled her too-cute little nose. “It’s funny you should ask. She said you’ve met.”
He squinted into the distance. “Miss Kenwood . . . ?”
“The Reverend Kenwood’s spinster daughter.”
“Spinster?” he asked abruptly, looking at the girl in surprise. But he understood at once. Why, you’re a horrible little thing, aren’t you? Oh yes, he knew her kind all too well: competitive females who didn’t hesitate for one moment to stab perceived rivals in the back.
Miss Windlesham nodded, dripping with sympathy. “Poor thing, she’s already twenty-five, on the shelf.”
That remained to be seen, Trevor thought, annoyed. But the girl might know something useful. Such as why Grace had not yet married. “Yes,” he murmured cautiously. “We did meet in London briefly, as I recall. I didn’t really get m
uch of a chance to talk to her.”
Miss Windlesham chuckled, edging closer to his side as she, too, watched the pair approaching. “If you first met Grace in London, then no wonder you didn’t remember her. She probably didn’t say a word. She hates going to Town, you see. She was never really one for Society.”
“Why is that?”
“Because she’s boring!” Miss Windlesham said with the merry laugh of a mischievous youngster poking fun at her governess.
“Boring? No,” he protested. “I’m sure that cannot be—”
“Well, she’s shy,” the girl amended. “Don’t mistake me, Miss Kenwood is all that’s good and kind and dear and wise. She’s always reliable. She’s just, well, a bit of an old stick!”
“Really.” Oddly enough, that was the same taunt Beau and Nick had been lobbing at him since they were lads.
Little Miss Too-Cute nodded earnestly. “When I told her I was coming here to welcome you to the village, she said we should leave you alone!”
“Did she, indeed?”
God bless her.
“Yes! Isn’t that rude? But I knew she’d follow me,” she added with a smirk.
Trevor abandoned his game and gave the chit a piercing look. “I’m glad she did.” Then he stepped past her and went to meet Grace halfway.
Wearying of carrying the child, she had put the little one down again as Trevor walked toward them.
Miss Windlesham followed, drifting a few yards behind him.
Even before they were in earshot, Trevor and Grace were walking toward each other with wide, affectionate smiles. She waved to him, then got the little girl to do the same.
He felt his heart climb at the sight of her sun-kissed locks blowing in the breeze.
The light, balmy winds made her pastel skirts swirl around her legs even as it ran hectically through the tall grasses all around and made them dance.
“Well met, Miss Kenwood!” he called as he marched toward the preacher’s daughter and her little friend.
“Lord Trevor Montgomery!” she answered gaily, pushing the blowing hair out of her face. “Imagine seeing you here.” It might’ve been just the sun reddening her cheeks, but he thought he detected a trace of breathlessness in her voice as she greeted him.
Gaelen Foley - [Inferno Club 06] Page 7