Chapter 3 #3
“I do indeed.” Blake patted her hand with genuine affection.
They entered the hallway where a small sitting room was situated adjacent to the family bedrooms. Mrs. Powell stood by the door.
“I’ve set out some tea for both of you while we ready your room, Mr. Blake.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Powell.” He nodded toward her as Grace brought him into the sitting room, newly refurbished in the east wing. He’d always preferred this part of the house. Large windows. Substantial fireplaces.
And for his purposes, quick and easy access to other rooms in the house by way of both main and back stairs.
Perfect placement for a man who needed to move about undetected.
Grace settled him into a chair and poured tea, slowly filling a plate with various items from fresh fruit to sandwiches. As she moved, her dress shifting as she worked, the way the fabric tightened in certain places only confirmed his suspicions about her condition.
“And how have you been?” he asked as she sat. “It cannot have been easy to contend with things here on your own.”
She took a bite of sandwich before answering. “Apart from missing Frederick terribly and learning how to manage a hospital, I’ve been well, I think.” She shrugged. “Now, anyway.”
“Now?”
“Well, I’m beginning to feel more like myself.” She nodded, humming contentedly as she took another bite. “Running a hospital is rather more exhausting than I anticipated. The first three months after Frederick left were absolutely dreadful. I could barely keep my eyes open past teatime.”
The first three months. Blake did the mathematics quickly. Nearly five months since Frederick’s last furlough. Which meant …
If his calculations were correct.
Good heavens, the woman was well into her pregnancy and had no idea.
“And your appetite?” he asked as casually as he could manage, gesturing toward the strawberries on the table. “I recall you being rather fond of strawberries, but I noticed you didn’t place any on your plate.”
Grace made a face of pure disgust. “Oh, don’t mention strawberries. I can’t bear them lately. Or the smell of morphine. Or—” She stopped suddenly, her eyes going wide as she looked at him. “Why are you asking about my appetite?”
“No particular reason.” Blake kept his expression carefully innocent.
She was utterly at sea about the whole thing.
No one had told her.
And five months?
He swallowed the growing lump in his throat. “It is my duty in Freddie’s absence to ensure you are taking proper care of yourself.”
And would it also be his duty to divulge his suspicions about her … condition? Dash it! He’d done many dangerous things in his life. Most ending in some painful injury or his near demise. But this?
Heat rushed into his face until his scalp tingled.
This was decidedly not something spies were trained to handle.
“As well as I can manage, but”—Grace leaned forward, holding his gaze with that particular intensity that meant she’d latched onto something interesting—”if you are so concerned about my welfare and the well-being of Havensbrooke, your timely arrival could not be more providential.”
Why did he suddenly feel nervous?
“In fact, you’re perfect for what’s possibly happening around here.”
“Tending patients?” He raised a brow.
“No.” She grinned, leaning close, those eyes aglow. For some reason, it put him more on edge than he already was. “A possible mystery.”
He released a long sigh. Ah well, let her bring on all her mysteries. He preferred something familiar to the entire telling-your-cousin’s-wife-she’s-with-child business. Completely outside his area of expertise. “Is there?”
She glanced toward the door and back at him, eyes narrowing. “Would you happen to know the items Frederick kept in his grandfather’s bookcases?”
Well, that was unexpected. “Some of them, I would think. Why do you ask?”
“I know you have a very good memory and an uncanny ability to notice things.” She nodded, studying him as if attempting to decipher his thoughts.
His grin only crooked wider. Let her try.
“But we’ve had some rather odd occurrences lately.
First, a painting went missing from the morning room.
Then, a few nights ago, someone broke into Frederick’s study. ”
Blake’s amusement faded instantly. “Broke in?”
“Smashed one of his glass bookcases, rifled through papers, pulled books from shelves.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially despite the empty room.
“A thief from among the patients, perhaps?”
“I thought of that initially, and it may still be the case.” Grace lowered her voice even further. “But here’s the curious part—they didn’t take anything of obvious value. The silver was untouched. Frederick’s medals were still in their case. Even the money in his desk drawer remained.”
The ease Blake had been feeling suddenly evaporated. “They were searching for something specific.”
“Exactly!” Grace’s eyes lit up with that particular enthusiasm she reserved for mysteries.
“That’s precisely what I thought. And what’s more curious—the new maid, Miss Gale, was remarkably knowledgeable about the break-in.
She noticed the dust pattern where something had been removed from the shelf and recognized that the intruder either must have been let in from outside or was already within the house. ”
Blake’s pulse quickened. “Miss Gale?”
“I’m sorry to cast aspersions on our staff, Blake.
” Grace’s nose wrinkled with her frown. “You know very few of them are mystery novel readers, if readers at all. But Miss Helen Gale is either an avid reader of detective fiction, an amateur sleuth in her own right, or”—Grace’s eyes widened dramatically—”the thief herself.
” She paused. “She arrived just last week, supposedly from a London household.” Her lips pressed together, expression growing more determined.
“I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something about her that doesn’t quite fit. ”
No doubt Grace was talking about Evie.
Dash it all! It would have been far better for everyone if Evie hadn’t piqued Grace’s considerable curiosity.
Until Blake knew the true nature of Evie’s presence here, the less Grace suspected about her, the safer everyone would be.
“If she’s from London, dear Lady Astley, there is a very good chance that explains her behavior entirely.
Londoners are notoriously peculiar and suspicious by nature. ”
She studied him, her frown deepening in a way that suggested she wasn’t buying his explanation in the slightest.
“Perhaps we should take a look at Frederick’s study,” Blake suggested, hoping to redirect her attention. “I might recognize if something specific is missing.”
She shook her head. “No, you need to rest first. We can investigate later.” She took another bite of sandwich, brow creasing as she chewed thoughtfully. “Besides, there’s been nothing new for nearly a week, so perhaps they found what they were searching for.”
Or they were waiting for suspicion to fade before trying again.
“You know your way around, so I’ll leave you to rest.” She stood, her smile returning with its usual warmth. “I’m so very glad you’re here … and safe.”
His heart expanded at the sweetness of her. Oh heavens, if there was anyone in the world worth protecting with everything in him, it was this vision of pure goodness. And here she was, possibly right in the midst of something terribly dangerous.
At least Blake could act in a manner worthy of Freddie by doing his utmost to protect his cousin’s bride and home.
His gaze dropped to her middle.
And the possible next heir of Havensbrooke.
She stepped back toward the door, and he caught her wrist gently, pausing her movement. “Grace.”
Her eyes flashed to his face, and he realized his slip. He’d used her Christian name. He released a quiet sigh, loosening his grip. “I think it would be wise for you to see a physician.”
Her eyes shot wide. “Why do you say that?” She lowered herself back into her chair. “It’s normal to be tired sometimes.”
“Yes, but it could also be a symptom of something else, and Freddie would never forgive me if I didn’t ensure you were well when I had any concerns whatsoever.”
Something flashed in her eyes. Concern? Dawning awareness?
Oh.
She knew something was amiss with her health.
“Perhaps ask Aunt Lavinia for a visit?” he offered, hoping an older female relative might be the proper person to handle this delicate situation.
Her brow creased. “She’s been in London the past two months helping with the war effort.” She studied him with uncomfortable intensity. “Blake?”
“Set my mind at ease then, will you?” He held her gaze steadily. “Call for the doctor as soon as you’re able. Please.”
For a long moment, Grace simply looked at him, and Blake could practically see her brilliant mind working through the clues he’d inadvertently provided. The questions about her appetite. The suggestion to see a physician. His uncharacteristic use of her Christian name.
Then her hand moved, almost unconsciously, to rest against her middle.
And Blake knew—with absolute certainty—that Grace Percy, Lady Astley, was about to have a very interesting conversation with her physician.
He only hoped the doctor was better equipped to handle the revelation than Blake.
Because explaining to one’s cousin’s wife that she was carrying a child while said cousin was fighting a war in France?
That was decidedly above his pay grade.
Even for a spy.