At last, they came together on the dusty drive below the Grange and stood beaming at each other like old friends.
It was strange how you could meet someone and feel as if you’d known that person all your life. He nodded and put his hands in his pockets, warmed to the core by her presence.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Neither was I. But here I am.”
“Well—it’s nice to see you again,” she said shyly. “We are so sorry to intrude on your deliberations—”
“Not at all. Truthfully, it was a bit of a whim. But your father piqued my curiosity about this place.” He shrugged. “Besides, I can only stay in London for so long before the place starts to drive me mad.”
“Ah, I know exactly what you mean,” she agreed with a small, self-conscious laugh. She sounded nervous to see him again, and Trevor found that entirely endearing.
“Well? What do you think?” she asked, nodding at the rambling old farmhouse behind him.
He glanced over his shoulder at it, then looked deeply into her eyes. “Interesting possibilities,” he said.
She held his gaze and seemed to lose her train of thought.
Miss Windlesham did not like being forgotten. “You see, Grace?” the girl taunted as she caught up to him and joined them presently. “Lord Trevor doesn’t bite.”
“You don’t know that for certain,” he remarked, and Calpurnia giggled, but the flirtatious remark was meant for Grace.
“I see you’ve met our beautiful Miss Windlesham, the toast of the county,” Grace said without a hint of irony—which startled him.
“Yes.” He managed a noncommittal nod at the hoyden, but then smiled at the little ragamuffin. “And who’s this little princess?”
Grace and the child, still hand in hand, exchanged a glance. “This is my friend Bitsy Nelcott. Bitsy, can you give the gentleman a curtsy?”
Bitsy stuck her finger in her mouth and stared imploringly at her minder to be spared this request.
“Go on, it’s all right,” Grace urged gently. “You wanted to come with me to meet him, didn’t you? Well?”
“Show him how you can curtsy, Bits!” Miss Windlesham insisted.
But Bitsy shook her head, finger firmly planted in her mouth.
Trevor grinned and bent down to meet her. “It’s all right, Miss Nelcott. I’m not one for standing on formalities. We all get stage fright now and then.” He picked a small white daisy and offered it to her. “For you.”
She accepted it with a cautious smile.
“What do you say?” Grace prompted.
“Thank you,” the little girl mumbled, barely audibly.
“You’re welcome.” Smiling, Trevor straightened up again.
Miss Kenwood seemed to shake herself out of a trance, gazing at him. “Well! We won’t, er, bother you while you’re considering the house, Lord Trevor. I just wanted to pay a quick call to remind you, you have a standing invitation to dine with us at the parsonage—”
Before she could finish speaking, Miss Windlesham clapped her hands, cutting her off. “Oh, yes! Excellent idea! You must come to Windlesham Hall for supper, my lord, and Grace, you and your father must come, too, since you’re already friends. Gracious, our dining room is bigger than the whole parsonage, so at my house, we can all be together and get to know each other more! It’s perfect! Mother will be thrilled. Our man-chef is divine . . .”
While the girl prattled on, Grace and Trevor both looked at her, then exchanged an awkward glance, each trying to think of a tactful way to decline.
For his part, Trevor had no desire whatsoever to meet these Windlesham people, at least not now. Having dinner with the amiable Kenwoods was half the reason he had made the long journey in the first place though he supposed he probably should have written to them first.
“We can tell you all the gossip about the local Quality, because of course, we know everyone—”
“Callie,” Grace spoke up tactfully at last, “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.” Her diplomatic tone would have impressed his Foreign Office colleagues, Trevor mused.
“Nonsense!” The girl gave Grace an insistent sideways glance that she probably thought Trevor didn’t see. “Mother will be distraught if he doesn’t dine with us!” Miss Windlesham said through gritted teeth, and when Grace blanched, understanding dawned.
“I don’t wish to be any trouble,” he interrupted.
He had no desire to land Grace on the enemies’ list of the local ruling matron. Every village had one such domineering local queen, and Calpurnia’s mother, the lady of Windlesham Hall, must be it here in Thistleton.
He certainly did not wish to cause a rift between Her Ladyship and Grace, or run afoul of the local gentry’s pecking order.
“I’m not sure how long my business here will take,” he explained in soothing tones of regret. “I brought provisions with me in the carriage, anyway. Soldier’s habit. I’ll be on my way back to London before dark,” he added earnestly. “I can feed myself, but thank you both, ladies. You’re more than kind.”
“Whatever’s easiest for you, my lord.” Grace offered a smile that almost hid her disappointment.
But Miss Windlesham pouted.
“Come, Calpurnia. If His Lordship decides to take the Grange, there will be plenty of time for socializing later. Give us a ride back to the parsonage in your gig, won’t you? That’s a long walk for Bitsy’s little feet.”
“All right,” the debutante grumbled.
“Good day, ladies,” Trevor said with a polite nod in farewell, and while the moping chit climbed back onto the driver’s seat of her gig, he sent Grace a wink.
She stopped and stared at him in surprise, just as she was about to lift Bitsy up onto the back of the pony cart.
“Let me get her for you.” He did the honors, whisking the tot high over his head before floating her down onto the backseat.
Bitsy laughed wildly at this, then Trevor stepped aside and offered Grace a hand up.
Brushing her wind-tossed hair out of her face once more, she turned and hesitated, accepting his offered hand with a tremulous smile. “Sorry about this,” she whispered with a slight nod at Calpurnia, who was distracted, gathering up the reins.
“Not your fault.” He leaned closer. “I’ll see you later. You don’t have to feed me, but I do want to stop and pay my respects to your father.”
Her eyes were wide as she gazed up at him, and he was flooded with the luscious memory of kissing her in that darkened room. “All right, then,” she forced out barely audibly. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”
He glanced at her lips as she licked them in innocent self-consciousness. Biting back a moan, he took her elbow and helped her up onto the back of the open carriage.
Grace put her arm around Bitsy to keep the child from falling out. They waved good-bye as Calpurnia tapped her dappled pony with her whip, and the light, two-wheeled carriage set off down the drive.
Trevor watched them go, his arms folded across his chest. Then he pivoted and walked back toward the farmhouse, ready to tell the agent his decision.
“I don’t see why he wouldn’t come to dinner,” Callie fretted, as they drove away. “Mother is not going to be happy.”
She never is, Grace thought, beyond annoyed at Calpurnia’s interference. Just once, couldn’t the bullying Windleshams stay out of it and mind their own business?
The possibility of dinner with Lord Trevor had been the one thing she had been looking forward to ever since she and Papa had returned to their sleepy village.
Nevertheless, good sport that she was, she let out a sigh and attempted to smooth things over. “Callie, you can’t just tell a man like that what to do. He’s not like George. He knows his own mind.”
“He’s nothing like George,” the girl agreed. “Did you see his muscle
s? His arms and shoulders are huge.”
“Callie, don’t talk like that in front of the child.”
“She doesn’t know what we’re saying. Besides, it’s true! Hercules himself didn’t have so manly a physique!”
“Calpurnia Windlesham!” Grace looked away, red-faced. “I should tell George you said that.”
“Do! Lord Trevor Montgomery puts him in the shade, that useless boy. Come, Grace. You’re a woman—you know he’s a dream as well as I do. Did you see how adorable he was with Bitsy? I bet he’ll be a wonderful father.”
“Callie, if you don’t stop, I am going to throw myself off the side of this carriage, I swear.”
Bitsy found this threat hilarious.
Callie looked askance at Grace while the tot laughed uproariously. “What is wrong with you?”
“I just—can’t believe you did that!” Grace burst out. “Running to him like a hoyden. Why didn’t you just fling yourself into his arms?”
“I wish I had,” Callie drawled. “Thought about it, truth be told.”
“This is not a joke! Don’t you ever think about your reputation?”
“Landing the son of a duke would only improve it,” she answered with a defiant shrug.
“Oh, landing him?” Grace exclaimed. “You think you could?”
“I don’t see why not. I have half a mind to have him for my own,” the spoiled debutante declared.
“Really.”
“You must be made of stone, Grace. Did you see his eyes? They are gray like storm clouds. He’s beautiful.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered, as Callie waxed poetical. “We’ll be lucky if you haven’t frightened the man away and ruined yourself in the meanwhile.”
Callie lost patience. “You are no fun at all! No wonder you’re an old maid!” she snapped.
Grace flinched as if she had been struck, then looked away; she pursed her lips to stop herself from responding in a manner that neither Papa nor his Employer would condone.
It was then, scanning the countryside while avoiding Callie’s glance, that Grace spotted Bitsy’s twin brothers near the tree line of a meadow belonging to the Grange.
Two little heads were peeking over a thick fallen log.
What are they doing? It seemed the twins’ adventure of the day was spying on the spy.
Grace rolled her eyes and all but despaired. He’s going to hate it here even if he does take the place.
In a village of less than five hundred souls, everyone knew everything about everyone else, or found out eventually. The ex-spy was completely unprepared for the loss of anonymity he was about to experience.
“I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss over my going to meet him. I was only trying to be friendly.”
“You and every other woman on the earth,” Grace muttered.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Callie, when I saw him in London, the man was under siege from a dozen ladies all making cow eyes at him, much like you were doing today—”
“Was not!”
“And he hated it. When we talked privately, he made fun of them to me. He called them carnivores. Is that how you want him to see you, too?”
“Carnivores?” she exclaimed, but finally a glimmer of understanding about her overreach seemed to dawn on her, and she began to panic. “But I wasn’t throwing myself at him!” she cried.
“That’s certainly what it looked like,” Grace said evenly.
“You’re just jealous because he was paying more attention to me than he was to you!”
Grace glanced at her in surprise. “Couldn’t you see you were annoying him?”
“Well, I never!” Callie said with a gasp. “How could you say such a thing to me? For your information, sorry to say, he told me he didn’t even remember meeting you!”
Grace paused in shock. “He said that?”
The hurt was swift and terrible—but she looked away, rather stunned, then told herself it was of no consequence.
She had no daft romantic imaginings for herself about Lord Trevor. None that she’d admit to, anyway.
She’d be a fool to expect anything more than the sort of warm, cheerful friendship that she had with George.
Of course, George had never kissed her passionately in a darkened room . . .
Callie cast her a nervous, sideways glance, a trace of guilt in her eyes after her spiteful comments.
Bitsy looked from one lady to the other in concern, then took hold of Grace’s hand.
After a moment, Grace found her voice again. “I don’t think you understand the situation, Calpurnia. As I’m sure you’ve noticed from going on the charity calls with me, many of the peasant men around here are out of work. If Lord Trevor takes the Grange and gets the farm operational again, he’ll need all sorts of laborers and servants. The poorer families in our village will be able to make a living again. You see? It will be best for all of us.
“That’s why I didn’t want you scaring him away by acting too forward. We must show more decorum.” Grace hesitated but decided to share her heart. “Frankly, Callie, you’re our best hope of a man like that settling down in Thistleton. You’re the most beautiful girl in the village. If anyone could give him a reason to move here, it would be you. But he’s not going to want you if he thinks you’re just a cake-head. He’s been everywhere, done everything; he’s seen it all. He can’t be bothered with immaturity. Do you understand?”
With a rare, troubled look, Callie slowed the carriage, drawing her pony to a halt when they reached the bottom of the shady drive up the parsonage. “I never thought of it like that. That I might have . . . a responsibility.”
“I know.”
“Do you really think I’ve ruined it for the whole village already?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“But I didn’t mean any harm!”
“Of course you didn’t. Darling, it’s lovely to be friendly, but all I’m saying is that we must not be intrusive. The man’s been through a war. If he moves into the village, we’ll need to respect his privacy, not crowd him. Let him come to us, if and when he’s ready. We’re going to have to be patient.”
Callie winced. They both knew this was not her strong suit. “I am sorry; I didn’t mean to bother him.” She lowered her head with a chastened pout but finally seemed to get the point. “You really think I made a fool of myself?”
Grace said nothing for a moment, letting her draw her own conclusions. Then she shrugged. “Maybe a match is possible between you; maybe it’s not. Only time will tell.”
The young belle seemed bewildered. “Gentlemen don’t usually find me annoying! I’m sure that one little visit from me would not have chased him off, surely.”
“I suppose we’ll soon find out. What’s done is done. Until then, we won’t know his decision about the farm until he makes it.” Hoping that this small taste of rejection would not simply spur Callie to chase him harder in the future, Grace glanced toward the drive up to the parsonage. “I’ll walk from here. Can you take Bitsy home on your way? Her mother will be wondering where she is.”
Callie nodded absently, still pondering the error of her ways with a look of distraction.
Grace said good-bye to Bitsy with a gentle half hug around her shoulders. “You go with Miss Callie, little duck. See you tomorrow?”
Bitsy nodded, still twirling the daisy that Lord Trevor had given her.
“Don’t drive too fast,” Grace instructed as she got down from the gig. “One good bump, and this little one could go flying.”
“I know.” Calpurnia turned to make sure Bitsy was safe in the back, then hesitated, eyeing Grace reluctantly. “I didn’t really mean it when I called you an old maid. You know that, right?”
Grace forced herself to nod as she cupped her hand over her brow to
visor her eyes from the sun. “Of course.”
A pastor’s daughter had no choice but to forgive.
“Good.” Callie nodded back, avoiding her gaze, then clucked to her horse. “Well, good-bye, then.”
Grace remained standing for a moment in the intersection of the country road and the drive up to the parsonage. She watched them go jaunting away, and after a moment, glanced back at the Grange.
Did he really forget even meeting me?
Every shy, plain, too-tall bone in her body tended to believe it, but her heart argued that such a claim was impossible. Don’t forget, we are dealing with a spy, she reminded herself. What he says is not necessarily what he thinks or what he means.
Which was troubling in itself for a woman who valued honesty. On the other hand, he had been rather forthright with her ever since she had jabbed him with her hairpin.
She smiled at the memory.
Finally starting to recover from the verbal punch in the gut Callie had given her, she certainly didn’t think he had acted like a man who had forgotten her.
Indeed, she dared to think he had seemed as happy to see her again as she was him. But maybe that was just vanity on her part, wishful thinking . . .
Grace heaved a sigh, then she turned and started walking up the drive, wondering if he was really about to become her next-door neighbor.
It was going to be agony waiting to hear his decision, but she vowed that whatever happened, she’d wear the mask of her usual decorum, never mind the fact that inwardly, she felt as giddy over his arrival as Callie had outwardly behaved.
Chapter 6
Dinner was pushed back as late as possible at the parsonage, and still Lord Trevor did not come.
Grace nearly jumped out of her slippers every time she thought she heard him at the door, but it was only the night breeze. She could not seem to settle down. She tried to quiet her mind by sewing, but nerves made her all thumbs, until she finally cast her needlework aside.
Lud, she hated waiting for a man. It was a lowly, vulnerable feeling. First, she had waited a week and a half for him to appear, and now here she was once more, sitting around wasting time and hoping he’d show up soon.
Gaelen Foley - [Inferno Club 06] Page 8