Chapter 16
Grace was more confused than ever. How could one quarter hour tête-à-tête cause such chaos in her heart?
The way Lord Gladsby had looked at her last evening was enough to undo a woman. She’d wanted to fall into his arms and never let go. Perhaps it had been the firelight and Christmas punch, but it had worked all the same. If she had not already been in love with him, she certainly was now.
“Grace, can you hand me that basket?” Prudence said, her arms full of used linens.
Plucking the large wicker basket from the other side of the table where all the goods for Chrismas boxes were gathered, she held it out for Prudence to deposit her load.
“Who are these for?” she asked.
“Mrs. Pickering,” Mrs. Gibbons answered. “She’s got a passel of children who are always dirtying their linens, so I thought an extra set would be appreciated.”
Grace nodded, impressed by the housekeeper’s knowledge of the estate tenants and staff. Already they’d filled multiple baskets for tenants and still Lady Hamdon brought more items from about the house to be donated, some of them appearing barely worn.
“I believe this is the last of it,” Lady Hamdon said at last, her arms full of a pretty rust-colored fabric.
Mrs. Gibbons’s face scrunched in confusion. “Where did that come from?”
Lady Hamdon settled the armload in a finely decorated box. “Just a few things I had lying around at Blackwell Manor.”
With hands settled on her hips, Mrs. Gibbons shook her head. “Lying around my eye. That fabric looks untouched.”
Lifting the box into her arms, Lady Hamdon smiled. “I touched it quite a lot in order to bring it here.” She held out the box to Mrs. Gibbons. The older woman’s expression fell, her eyes open in amazement.
“It’s for you, Mrs. Gibbons.”
The old woman’s lower lip trembled. “Oh, Emma.” Reverently, she accepted the box, staring down at its contents.
Then she gently placed it on the table and gathered Lady Hamdon in her arms. The movement was so natural and fluid between the two women that it opened Grace’s eyes as to how close the bond was between Mr. and Mrs. Gibbons and the Hensworth children.
Pulling back, Lady Hamdon said, “I knew you would like it.”
Mrs. Gibbons pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes, then swatted at Lady Hamdon with it. “You little conniver. I should have known you’d pull something like this.”
Lady Hamdon danced away from her reach and laughed. “You deserve it for having to put up with my grumpy old curmudgeon of a brother.”
“Who are you calling old?” A masculine voice said from the door.
Grace spun to see Lord Gladsby casting his sister a mock glare. He looked so fine in his dark blue coat and buff breeches. His eyes flitted to her a moment before he stepped into the room.
“I also called you grumpy and a curmudgeon and yet you are not protesting those.” Lady Hamdon smirked.
“Why protest a compliment?”
Lady Hamdon snickered. “Only you would think those were a compliment.”
He nodded in greeting to the other ladies in the room, stopping before Grace as he inspected the baskets. “I hope my sister is not working you too hard.”
“Not at all. She has done a majority of the work herself.” Grace smiled, but he frowned, raising his eyebrows at Lady Hamdon.
Her Ladyship held up her hands. “Do not turn into an overprotective ogre on me. It really has not been that much.”
Lord Gladsby clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin in challenge. It was obvious he did not believe his sister.
“You need to rest, Emma.”
Grace’s already skipping heart tripped over itself as butterflies filled her chest. His obvious concern over his sister’s health and that of her unborn child was clear. Could this man be any more attractive?
Lady Hamdon playfully hung her head, then turned to the housekeeper. “It seems I am being banished to my bedchambers again, Mrs. Gibbons. You will make certain these baskets get delivered today, won’t you?”
Mrs. Gibbons eyed Lord Gladsby. “I will. In fact, I believe His Lordship just offered to deliver the Pickerings’ basket himself, with the help of the Misses Lenning, of course.”
Lord Gladsby spluttered. Lady Hamdon, head held high in triumph, grinned and sauntered to the door. “That was very kind of him. Take your time, brother. I shall be resting.”
The snow had almost completely melted, leaving a muddy mess on the road that led to the Pickerings.
Thankfully, Lord Gladsby had hitched the bay mare to his curricle for delivering the baskets.
It was a tight fit with the three of them on a seat that was only meant for two, but Grace didn’t mind it, especially since she was the one sitting shoulder to shoulder with Lord Gladsby.
“Look at that,” Pru exclaimed as she pointed to a pair of robins flitting about on the bare tree branches.
“Oh, they are lovely.” Grace shifted to get a better look and her thigh brushed against Lord Gladsby’s. A rush of warmth that had nothing to do with her thick redingote filled her body.
He cleared his throat. “It seems the Christmas spirit is still alive and well.”
Prudence leaned forward to look past Grace. “Which tale do you believe in more? That the robin got its red feathers by pulling a bloody thorn from Christ’s crown or that its breast was scorched while fanning a fire for the Christ child?”
The birds trilled in the trees, adding to the clop of the horse’s hooves. Lord Gladsby remained silent for a moment.
“Neither,” he finally said. “Perhaps I am a bit of a heretic, but I do not ascribe to such fanciful notions. As a student of my uncle, I tend to agree with his theology.”
“And what is that?” Grace turned in order to see his profile.
His eyes stayed firmly fixed on the road ahead. “That folklore was created to provide comfort for people who wanted answers when there were none to be had.”
His lips compressed as if he feared he’d said too much, but it intrigued Grace.
“So why is the robin’s breast red?”
“Because that is how it is supposed to be. We need no other stories to explain it.”
Grace blinked at him, then the words tumbled out of her mouth. “Much like the rest of life. We need not wonder why things happen the way they did. They just did. Anything else would be questioning the will of God.”
Lord Gladsby’s hands tightened around the reins, and every part of him that touched her stiffened. Immediately she knew she’d offended him.
“We must also give credence to accountability.”
“I agree, but no more than is necessary in any given situation. No one should hold themselves at fault for my actions along with their own. It is not a fair accounting and so would not be just.”
Silence met her pronouncement, and her chest constricted. Had she pushed too far?
The little cottage came into view, the sounds of children drifting on the breeze. Prudence squirmed in her seat, the conversation likely growing too serious for her nature. Or was it the details they had obviously danced around in order to not speak of the subject directly?
When the curricle came to a stop, Prudence scrambled down in a rather unladylike fashion, not even bothering to wait for Lord Gladsby’s help. Several children spilled out of the front door, hopping from one foot to the other as Prudence lifted out the basket.
Lord Gladsby stiffly secured the reins. “Perhaps we should go before your sister is mobbed by a herd of little Pickerings.”
The unease in her heart lightened. Maybe he was not upset with her.
“I’m not certain she would mind.” Grace adjusted enough to give him room to climb down. “She loves children. If she could, I believe she’d surround herself with them every day. It has been a great trial having our nieces and nephews at such a distance to us.”
He reached back to help her down, his eyes directed toward the spectacle Prudence and the children were making. Grace slipped her gloved hand into his and gave it a squeeze. He glanced back.
“I’m sorry if my observation caused you pain,” she said.
His gaze softened. “Please don’t apologize, especially when there is no need to.
You are allowed to have your own thoughts and opinions, and to express them.
Just like the guilt of others should not be shared, my happiness is not your obligation, nor should anyone’s be…
even if your entire family thinks they are entitled to your comfort. ”
She tugged her hand out of his grip. “What do you mean by that?”
“Only that you often forgo your own happiness because you are trying to protect everyone else’s. You can speak your mind, especially when it is important.”
A squeal stole his attention, but Grace didn’t regret it. The distraction gave her a moment to think.
When he looked back, he said, “Be brave, Miss Lenning. Say what you want to say.”
The comment disconcerted her, and she ducked her head as he helped her climb down. What did he mean by it?
There was no time to ask, however, with Mrs. Pickering coming out and the children making such a loud racket.
Even when their visit finished, she still had no opportunity as Prudence filled the rest of their carriage ride with accounts of her interactions with the children then asked if they might take a tour of the countryside before returning to the house.
Eventually, Grace gave up and enjoyed the ride, knowing that she’d have to wait until they were alone before they could have any real discussion.
Lady Hamdon met them at the stables when they returned. “I worried you had gotten stuck, or the curricle had overturned. Does it really take four hours to deliver one basket?”
Lord Gladsby began to explain, but Prudence didn’t let him get far, taking over the discussion as the four of them walked toward the house. Grace cast him a look of apology, but he seemed not to notice.
When they reached the vestibule, Lady Hamdon took hold of her arm. “Miss Lenning, I wonder if you might help me with something.”
Prudence perked up. “With what?”
Lady Hamdon shrugged. “A dinner menu.”
Grace smiled at Prudence’s scrunched nose, knowing her sister didn’t care for the normal day-to-day tasks. They had more than enough of those at home.
Pru looked up the stairs. “I hope you both enjoy yourself. I think I shall go visit Master George in the nursery.”
Lord Gladsby finally made eye contact with Grace; his eyebrows raised as if to acknowledge her earlier statement about Pru’s affinity for children.
She grinned back at him, a sort of I told you so.
He smiled and nodded, before making his way to the upper level as well, probably to hide away in his study like he had many times before.
She was starting to see the place as his own personal cave where he went to get away from people.
What would it be like to have so much freedom?
“Now that Miss Prudence is gone, I thought you might give me some ideas on how we could make her feel special tomorrow. I gathered from your sister-in-law that birthdays are important in your family, as they are in mine, even though I know not every family focuses so much on the day of one’s birth. ”
It pleased Grace that Lady Hamdon remembered Prudence’s birthday. They shared what each of their families did to celebrate and even visited the kitchen to go over all of Prudence’s favorite dishes with the housekeeper.
An hour later, the planning drew to a close. Lady Hamdon led Grace up from the kitchens to a pretty sitting room with pink and blue accents.
“Can I ask you a question that might sound impertinent, Miss Lenning?” Lady Hamdon sat on the sofa next to Grace.
“I… I suppose so.”
“You seemed to be deep in conversation with my brother the other night in the study. By chance, did he tell you about why he gets so jittery every now and then?”
Grace pursed her lips. “No, only that he lost a friend at war and that he and your father had not been on good terms when he left.”
Lady Hamdon gave a sharp nod. “I see.”
“Why do you ask?”
A sigh escaped Lady Hamdon and her shoulders slumped.
“I had hoped that he would open up to someone. You see, my brother has a tendency to push people away because of some ridiculous notion of duty. He thinks he is protecting everyone around him with his silence, but what he doesn’t see is the burden he lays at our door.
It’s hard to see him struggle and yet not have any way to help because he refuses to speak of it. ”
Grace had no answers. She, too, had noticed the distance he placed between them when he became nervous, but she’d never had the courage to ask about it. Was that what he’d meant about being brave? She shook her head.
The rustling of Lady Hamdon’s cream-colored gown drew her attention. Her Ladyship’s gaze was unfocused, probably as deep in thought as she had been.
Grace took a chance and gently lay a hand on Lady Hamdon’s sleeve. “I’m sorry I have no more answers for you. I understand how difficult it is to have one’s help rejected. Please know that if I had any ideas, I’d be happy to share them.”
“You are a dear.” Her Ladyship gave Grace’s hand a pat. “I suppose we both will have to continue on wondering until he is ready to speak. Now, has he ever told you about his time in France or what happened while he was away?”
The change of topic was a welcome relief.
“We have spoken of it off and on over the last year, but I owe a good majority of my knowledge to my brother and your husband. They told me how you kept your home running after your father died. They claim you are one of the bravest women in the world. Did you really throw yourself in the way in order to keep your brother from getting shot?”
A blush tinged Lady Hamdon’s cheeks. “I did.”
The admission brought a dozen questions to Grace’s mind, and they fell into conversation as Lady Hamdon recounted the story of how she and Anthony met. It was a beautiful tale of intrigue and trust, but the parts that held her attention the most were the ones that included Lady Hamdon’s brother.
After hearing his name over a dozen times throughout the story, her mind latched onto it. Alan. Until now she’d used his title to place space between them, but she could not help herself as she thought of him in less formal terms.
According to Lady Hamdon’s story, Alan had also faced down danger to rescue her. He exemplified bravery in all that he did. Was that why he’d admonished her to be brave?
Her mind turned over all the things she wished to say. Would he have been so insistent if he knew that the words she held back were those of love? What would he do if she truly said what she wished?
Could she really be that bold?