Chapter 6
The evening fire crackled in the hearth, and the smell of pine and cinnamon wafted in the air. Their dinner of white soup, partridge and turnips, and a nice bread pudding had left Alan full and content.
“Where should we place this piece?” Emma asked, holding up a holly branch.
The house was now festooned with pine boughs down the balustrades and across every mantel, red and green holly interspersed within. Every inch of the house seemed to be covered. Even so, they had more greenery needing a place for display.
“Have we made a wreath for the door?” Mrs. Lenning asked.
“No.” Grace tied a string about several branches meant to decorate the entrance to the drawing room. “Do any of you know how to make one? I am not very skilled at it. Our mother always does the one for Fallow Hall.”
Curious looks were passed between the room’s occupants.
Mrs. Gibbons spoke up from the doorway. “I can. I’ve made a wreath or two in my day. I’d be happy to help.”
Alan smiled at his housekeeper. She really was a gem.
He didn’t know what he would do without her.
His thoughts flitted to her husband. If he let Gibbons go on a pension, he’d be losing Mrs. Gibbons as well.
The idea rankled him. They wouldn’t be going far; he’d make certain of that.
He was too attached to the both of them.
Everyone again took up the subject of the last bits of decor, and Mrs. Gibbons silently made her way to his seat, quietly handing him a missive.
His uncle’s bold script stared up at him.
Why had Mr. Clayton written? The vicarage where he lived was a short ten-minute walk.
Could he not just come to Engalworth for dinner if he’d had something to say?
Then again, he was not as young as he’d once been, and the snow had started in earnest again.
Knowing Mr. Clayton would not have written if it was not urgent, he excused himself for a moment. Taking the letter to the court, he opened it.
Dear Alan,
I find myself unwell at present. Please forgive me, but I’m unsure I’ll be able to attend any of the dinners for which you have invited me.
The doctor says my illness has been spreading among the village of late, and I would hate to get little George sick.
Do not fret, though. It is only a cold of the head.
Please give my regards to Emma and tell her I shall visit when I am well.
Alan refolded the square of paper. If his uncle was sick enough to call for the doctor, he must truly be suffering. He tapped the folded note on his leg. He could not leave the man completely on his own during the holidays, but he agreed that little George should be kept far away.
“Is everything alright?” Grace asked from behind him.
He whirled to see her brow lowered in concern.
“It is my uncle. He is unwell.”
“The vicar?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need to go to him?”
“Not this evening, but I should like to take him a basket in the morning. Perhaps some of Mrs. Gibbons’s herbal tea will help him.”
“A warm cup of tea always soothes my throat when I’m unwell.”
He nodded, his mind far from the tea they were discussing. A small piece of holly had somehow lodged itself in the red curls about Grace’s face.
He stepped closer. “Hold still.”
Her eyes widened as his hand came up to the side of her head.
Softly he grasped the sprig, but it did not release easily from the coppery curl.
Bringing his other hand up he held the piece of hair in place as he untangled the sharp points of the holly leaf from her tresses.
It finally pulled free. Glancing down, he realized how close they stood, the warmth from their bodies lingering in the air between them.
Merry voices faded into the background of his mind as he became acutely aware of his own breathing. Grace studied his face, her chest rising and falling almost in rhythm with his. The pull that he always felt when she was near seemed more like a push. One that had him leaning closer to her.
“Grace, come see,” Miss Prudence called from the doorway. “I’ve finally found the perfect place.”
He sucked in a full breath as Grace turned.
“Coming,” she said.
As his mind cleared, he realized where his intentions had been.
Had he really been tempted to kiss her? Yes, that is exactly what would have transpired without the timely intervention.
Disappointment and relief warred within him.
He should be grateful for the interruption.
Grace did not need a reprobate like him accosting her in the public areas of the house.
They were friends, that was all. If he stepped beyond that line, there would be no going back, and Grace did not need to be saddled with a broken man like him.
Grace sat before the fire in her room, a mix of emotions keeping her from sleep.
The day had been delightful with good food and even better company.
Yet her mind could not relax after the moment she’d shared with Lord Gladsby.
Memories of his piercing blue eyes holding her captive would not fade from her mind even for a moment.
The energy between them had crackled like a roaring fire, and she briefly wondered if he meant to kiss her.
Was it really possible that the baron had feelings deeper than friendship for her?
They’d never spoken of such things, staying strictly within the bounds of propriety.
Yet the longer she thought, the more she recalled interactions that seemed out of place.
How many times had he been the one to help her up the stairs or into carriages, even though multiple gentlemen were present?
Or how they’d never missed dancing together any time they attended the same assembly.
Then there was the time when he’d inspected the spring lambs.
Grace sighed. That was when she’d truly fallen in love with him.
She’d always thought him handsome, with those dashing curls and a firm square jaw.
Everything about him was masculine and strong, but it was his tender heart that had pulled her in, a characteristic that became even more apparent with his generosity toward her brother.
Last year, when her brother had been on the brink of financial ruin, Lord Gladsby had offered to lease two of Bradley’s tenant cottages and run his flock of sheep on the land they were not using.
In exchange, His Lordship would leave half the spring lambs for Bradley to start his own flock.
The offer had already been generous enough, but when the lambs were split, instead of dividing them equally, he’d left nearly all the ewe lambs for her brother.
Bradley had been ignorant of it since he’d not observed the flocks at weaning time.
But she had noticed. She’d visited the little creatures every day after that and noted the number of females to males. When she’d tried to ask about it, Lord Gladsby had dodged the subject with an expert compliment about her knowledge of sheep.
That was another thing. He was never short of compliments for her.
He insisted she was the most accomplished harpist he’d ever heard and often asked her to play when he came for a visit.
She’d assumed it was only an example of his generosity of spirit, but now…
now she wondered if there was more behind his words than mere kindness.
It was both exhilarating and a little humbling.
Maybe his enjoyment of her talent was skewed by his attraction to her.
Gooseflesh skittered up her arms. On second thought, it was completely exhilarating. Was it really possible that Lord Gladsby was drawn to her? Her lips curved into a silly grin.
A soft knock interrupted her mental wanderings.
“Who is it?” she called softly.
“Prudence,” her sister replied, as she opened the door and rushed in.
“You know you are supposed to wait to be invited in.”
“It’s too cold to wait. The open hallways are so drafty I’m surprised we do not freeze every time we step out of our rooms.” Prudence rubbed her hands in front of the fire. After a moment, she turned her backside to the flames and rubbed there too.
Grace giggled.
“What? It is not like your rump has not grown cold a time or two.”
“I will not refute that, but you could have warmed yourself in front of your own fire.”
Prudence marched to the bed, snatched a blanket, then she flopped in a chair, pulling the brightly colored throw about herself. “How can you be so easy about sleeping in a room all by yourself? Especially in this big house. Some of the noises are downright eerie.”
When Prudence slouched forward and brought her legs up, Grace realized the crux of the problem. All her life, she and Prudence had shared either the nursery or a room. They’d never slept apart. Was Pru terrified of being by herself? It made sense.
Her propensity for people always exhausted Grace, but she should have realized that need would transfer over to every part of the day, including bedtime.
“I’d not noticed any strange noises, but you are welcome to stay as long as you like.”
Pru’s eyes strayed to the large four poster bed.
Grace’s gut twisted at the thought of giving up her space, but the droop to Prudence’s mouth chipped away at her resolve. “Would you like to sleep in here with me?”
“Yes,” she said in a rush. “I promise I’m not usually such a ninny, but I swear every night I hear creaks and groans coming from the room next to mine. I think it’s inhabited by ghosts.”
Grace tossed her braid over her shoulder and slumped in her seat.
The Yew Room did seem like an odd inclusion to the other guest rooms. Named after the wood their furniture had been made from, many held odd superstitions around it, but Grace didn’t believe in ghosts.
“Probably just a friendly Christmas ghost come to wish you a good year.”
“Or scare me into more circumspect living,” Prudence huffed out.
“That too.” Grace snickered.
They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound that filled the room.
“Why did you follow Lord Gladsby to the inner court?” Prudence asked when the silence had stretched too long.
Why had she? Honestly, Grace was not sure. She’d simply felt something was amiss, so she’d followed her intuition, something she did often. Usually, her intuition was right.
Something had upset Lord Gladsby, and she was glad she’d listened.
“I see that glow in your eyes, Grace.” Prudence grinned.
“You only see the firelight’s reflection,” she argued.
“Not so. You know it is completely obvious you are smitten with him. I even heard Bradley and Diana speaking of it when I passed their room.”
“You were eavesdropping?”
“It’s not eavesdropping if you do not stay to listen. It was circumstantial listening. I was making my way here.”
Grace wanted to reprimand her sister, but her curiosity warred with her sense of right. After a short internal battle, curiosity won out.
“What were they saying?”
“That if everything goes as planned, the vicar will be reading the banns for you and Lord Gladsby by Twelfth Night.”
Grace bolted upright. “They did not.”
“They did.” Prudence preened. “The man is just as besotted with you as you are with him, Grace. Can’t you see that? Why else would Bradley make sure you were here for the holidays?”
“Make sure? I assumed...”
Grace’s face suffused with warmth. Her brother was trying to play matchmaker.
How humiliating. She adjusted her position, hoping the movement would dispel her discomfort.
No wonder Diana had not attended them when they went in search of the mistletoe.
Did Lord Gladsby suspect their scheme? Likely not.
He seemed the type of man who’d be quite upset at the prospect of being forced together with anyone.
“Pru, I need you to do me a favor.”
“What is that?”
“Do not tell anyone what you overheard.”
Prudence’s chocolate-colored brows furrowed. “Alright. But why?”
“I think it would make Lord Gladsby very upset.”
“I do not know why. I’d think the man would be grateful since he’s moving slower than a half-frozen snail.”
Grace smirked at Pru’s declaration. If he was indeed interested, then yes, he was moving slowly, but she did not begrudge him the time. In the year she’d known him, there were three very important things she’d learned about Lord Gladsby.
First, he was cautious about everything.
She supposed that was a result of all the years at war.
Usually it was a simple sweep of the room with his eyes before he entered, or a hand at the ready when they were outside.
But sometimes he could be quite skittish.
Once she’d even seen him draw a knife from his boot during a walk.
The crash of the deer bounding through the underbrush had been a little frightening, but not enough to merit the way he’d jumped to protect her.
That caution would surely seep over into his decision to take a wife.
Second, he felt a great obligation to build upon what his father had left him.
They’d not talked about it often, but he’d once admitted he felt a duty to make up for not being present when his father died.
Everyone knew that the best way to build an estate was to marry well.
And she was the farthest from marrying up in Society.
Third, and probably the most important, was his need to come to a decision on his own. He’d never confessed as much to her, but she’d observed him enough times to know he was very independent. No one would push him into a match.
She let out a sigh. “Just trust me on this, Pru.”
“Is this one of your intuitions?”
“I suppose we could call it that.”
Prudence exhaled slowly. “I suppose I could keep it a secret, but it’s far less fun.
Imagine what a lark it would be to turn the whole thing on Bradley and Diana’s heads.
Of course, then you would not get Lord Gladsby, which is probably why you do not want him to know.
” She stopped and looked Grace up and down. “Or is there something else?”
Her sister was fishing for information and she knew it. Instead of answering, she stretched and let out a big yawn. “I’m exhausted, Pru. Can we just go to bed?”
Prudence sighed. “I know your fabricated yawns from your real ones, Grace, but I suppose it is time for us to turn in.”
Grace smiled. As much as she complained about sharing a room with Prudence, it was nice having her here tonight. Perhaps she’d actually get some sleep after all.