Chapter 14
Lord Gladsby’s muscles bunched under Grace’s fingertips. Why she’d not removed her hand from his shoulder, she still did not know. He was obviously distraught. Would her touch comfort him or distress him more?
“It is not your fault,” she said softly. “Lord Ratford was to blame.”
Lord Gladsby’s dull eyes blazed to life, and he stepped away from her touch. “It is my fault. I was the one who convinced Harvey to go to war. I was arrogant and impetuous and utterly stupid. If I’d been standing guard that night, Harvey would never have died.”
“You don’t know that. Besides, if you had died, who would have saved your sister from Ratford and Sancerre?”
His eyebrows lowered over icy blue eyes. “That’s just it. If I hadn’t become a spy, they would never have gone after her. Perhaps my father would have been spared the stress of not knowing whether I was dead or alive.”
She frowned. “Yes, because he would have known you were dead.”
Lord Gladsby stared at her, his expression blank.
Not knowing what to do with her hands, she clasped them behind her back. “It is very likely he would have died years earlier from a broken heart. At least he had hope that you might return; that there was a chance Engalworth would not fall to the cousin he and your sister despised so completely.”
Lord Gladsby’s mouth, which had hung slightly agape, slowly closed and his jaw firmed.
Was that good or bad? When he turned his back to her, she decided it was the latter.
She had offended him, but she was not sorry for what she’d said.
If he could not see the hand of Providence, then she would show it to him.
“Life does not always turn out how we think it should.” She peered down at the flickering flames.
“Nor can we adequately predict the future. If you’d died, your father could have gone to his grave sooner and your sister would have been forced to accept your cousin’s hand in marriage.
Or if you’d stayed in England and married, your wife could have died in childbirth, leaving you a broken man.
Mr. Smith could have even bought a commission and still died.
No one knows what life will bring, so it does no good to look back at the past and say with certainty that others would be better off if we had chosen differently. ”
His head hung down, but he didn’t turn. “But the watch. I was better at hand-to-hand combat and my skill with a blade was far superior to Sancerre’s. I might have survived.”
“You don’t know that.” She stepped away from the hearth and closer to him, the heat of the fire a bit too much for her as beads of sweat formed on her forehead. Or was it the strain of stepping beyond the invisible boundary they’d danced around in their friendship for over a year?
She knew there were things in his past that he was not comfortable talking about, just as she had her own secrets, but something had shifted with his admission. A wall was crumbling; one she worried would either crush her or make it hard to keep her distance.
“I wish I’d had more time.”
She wasn’t sure if she’d heard him correctly. “More time?”
He finally turned. “Yes. Time to repair things with my father, more than what little I was able to write in my rushed letter. More time with Harvey, so I knew what he wanted me to do should he not make it home to his family. More time to…”
He stared at the floor.
A soft knock sounded on the door and Lady Hamdon stepped in. “I thought I might find you here.”
Grace bit back a sigh. More time to what? She had a feeling whatever Lord Gladsby was going to say was important.
He straightened. “Do not act so innocent, Emma. You are the only one who could have sent Miss Lenning as an emissary. No one but the servants know where I hide.”
Lady Hamdon smirked. “It is not that difficult to figure out.”
Lord Gladsby harrumphed and his sister grinned.
Grace liked the easy camaraderie between the siblings. Lord Gladsby showed no animosity toward his sister, even though it was obvious she’d been meddling. Maybe he wouldn’t be as upset as she’d previously assumed. Was it possible he’d even welcome help from their families?
“We thought to sing a few Christmas carols before retiring for the night. Would you both care to join us?” Lady Hamdon glanced between them, the firelight glimmering in her eyes.
Lord Gladsby looked at Grace, a slight lift to his brow.
A battle waged within her. She wanted to stay and hear the rest of his concerns, to talk about what was really at the heart of his frustration, to ask after his reaction in the drawing room.
But she was also weary. The day had been filled with ups and downs that had left her confused and a bit frustrated.
Maybe it was time to join the others, if only to give her space to think about what he’d shared.
Finally, she nodded. “I would enjoy a few songs. It might help me sleep better.”
He frowned, and she wondered if she’d chosen wrong. Did he wish her to stay so he might explain further? Then, in a flash, his expression changed.
“Carols would be lovely, Emma. Lead the way.”
Grace was so confused. One moment he seemed distraught at her leaving, and the next he didn’t care. It had been that way the whole of their friendship. He would be open and inviting and then shut down. It twisted her around so she never knew if she should stay or go.
But oh, how she wanted him to ask her to stay.
Forever.
Alan awoke to the sound of birds chirping and sunlight spilling in through the drapes. When was the last time he’d slept until the sun rose? He couldn’t remember.
Maybe Emma had slipped something into his second cup of cider last night. He would not put it past the little meddler. She’d not even tried to deny her part in sending Grace to coax him out of a bad mood, and it had worked.
Not only had it worked, but it had somehow stopped the strain in his mind enough to allow him to sleep.
What if Grace was right? What if nothing could have saved Harvey?
As a second son, he would have been required to find his own way in the world and he’d always intended on joining the Royal Army. What if he’d been one of the commanders Ratford had marked to be killed? Sancerre would have dispatched him anyway.
He let out a long sigh. Perhaps Harvey’s death had been unavoidable, but his arguments with his father were absolutely his fault. Returning home had only reinforced that to him.
There were so many people who relied on Engalworth for their support and it had almost fallen into his wastrel cousin’s hands.
Mr. Weazelton would have gambled away the property, let the tenant houses fall into disrepair, perhaps even closed the church so he did not have to pay Mr. Clayton’s salary.
Throwing back the covers, Alan rose. Why had he not deferred to his father’s age and experience?
Then again, his work behind enemy lines had saved a multitude of people.
What if he’d not been there when British soldiers had tried to mistreat the servants of the manor where he’d been working undercover for over a month?
He never would have known the men and women well enough to feel it was his duty to intercede on their behalf.
And then there were all the officers he’d saved by uncovering Ratford’s and Sancerre’s plans. Their evil scheme would have decimated the leadership of the Royal Army.
His head fell into his hands. Why couldn’t life have a clear right and wrong? He knew real living was more nuanced than that, it was something his uncle would not let him forget. “God works with the mess He has,” he would always say. “And that is what makes life so beautiful.”
If only he could see the beauty as Mr. Clayton did.
A knock at the door stopped his mental wanderings and forced him to face the day as his valet entered. It was for the best. He really needed to stay out of the past if he wanted Christmas to be a success.
As part of the festivities, he donned a reddish-brown coat, a snowy white cravat, and black waistcoat and trousers. To complete his appearance, he tucked a sprig of holly in his lapel.
Lifting his timepiece from the bureau, he pursed his lips. Christmas services would begin in three quarters of an hour. He’d have to hurry if he wished to break his fast before attending.
In the breakfast parlor, he found Miss Prudence, her face bright and her gown festive.
“Good morning,” she chirped before returning her attention to the eggs and sliced ham on her plate.
“Have the others already eaten?”
“Mmhm.” She hummed around her mouthful of food.
He should have known she’d answer in the affirmative, but the rebellious part of him wanted to have some time with Grace before they set out. He filled his plate and sat. Thatcher, his footman, came in and handed him a note. Turning it over, he recognized the writing.
“Please excuse me,” he said to Miss Prudence before opening the message. Worry clung to the back of his mind. Had his uncle’s illness intensified?
Instead, he found a cheerful note proclaiming Mr. Clayton’s recovery and his intentions to give the Christmas sermon.
He smiled. Growing up, his uncle had always filled the position of vicar, but he’d worried with his illness that a curate would have to give the Christmas address.
It was nice that one thing would remain unchanged this year.
Tradition brought comfort, something he rarely had these days.
“Is everything alright?” Miss Prudence dabbed her lips and set her napkin back in her lap.
“Indeed. My uncle is simply informing me that he will be able to join us for our regular Christmas festivities.”
A vision in soft green stepped into the room. “Pru, we really need to…” Grace’s words died away as her gaze met his.
Alan swallowed the bite of food he’d been chewing, his eyes glued to her.
His gaze trailed from the tip of the black boot that peeked out from under the intricately beaded gown to the cascade of curls expertly arranged on her head.
She looked like Christmas should feel. Beautifully colorful, completely composed, and full of gentle happiness that graced her face in a shy smile.
Grasping onto his senses, he finally stood. “Good morning and happy Christmas. Might I say you are looking quite well today, Miss Lenning.”
Her cheeks pinked and she dipped her head. “Thank you. Happy Christmas to you as well.”
“I’m done,” Miss Prudence said, throwing her napkin on her plate. “Are we walking or riding?”
Grace shook her head. “The sun is out and doing its best to create a great deal of mud. I believe the plan is to ride in the carriages.”
Alan glanced out the large window to confirm her words. The snow had indeed begun to melt. Even so, he’d not have had the ladies walking to the church otherwise.
A commotion in the entry alerted them to the impending departure. He dabbed at his lips, regretting the need to leave so much of his breakfast behind, but that was the result of sleeping longer than he’d intended.
He did not regret the sleep, though. His head was clearer than it had been in months and his hands were steady. He didn’t even jump when the footman pulled out Miss Prudence’s chair with a terrible screeching sound.
When was the last time the effects of his dreams only lasted one day? He did not remember.
At the door, he found Mr. and Mrs. Lenning, Hamdon, and his sister holding little George adorably bundled up and ready for their little excursion.
He bent a little to be on eye level with the toddler. “Happy Christmas, Master George.”
The boy grinned, reached out a hand, and grabbed his nose. He chuckled. The last time he’d visited the lad in the nursery, he’d pretended to steal his nose. It had led to endless amounts of laughter and apparently his nephew had not forgotten.
“I believe he may just like you,” Emma said, a cheeky smile on her face.
Alan freed himself from the toddler’s grasp. “Nonsense. He is simply trying to exert dominance, as most of us men do.”
“And is it working?”
“Unequivocally. I shall soon need to bow to him.” He raised a brow at his nephew and the boy giggled.
Mrs. Lenning’s eyes were bright with adoration as she took in the interaction. “You will be a great father one day, Lord Gladsby.”
He straightened. “What makes you say that?”
“You have a way with children.”
Pressing his lips together, he couldn’t stop his gaze from straying to Grace as the butler helped her on with her redingote. When she turned in his direction, he jerked his eyes away.
“I only have a way with this one,” he said. “I believe he’s put a spell on me and now I shall be his devoted servant for the rest of my days.”
All the ladies tittered except Grace. Her brow furrowed and her lips flattened. When they locked eyes, she quickly set to work pulling on her last glove. Something in the comment had upset her. Knowing how perceptive she was, he did not doubt she understood his meaning.
He had no intention of fathering his own children, and yet now he wondered if the decision was a hasty one.
It had only taken one moment of vulnerability, one time of finally opening up about his past to help him sleep better. He knew it wouldn’t work every time, but maybe Hamdon had been right. Maybe it was time to let others in.