Not by Sight (17 page)

“Miss Grace Mabry. She’s with the Women’s Forage Corps.” To Grace, he said, “Miss Violet Arnold is—”

“His fiancée,” the blonde interjected.

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Arnold.” Grace approached to extend a hand to the other woman.

Miss Arnold made no attempt to take it. Instead the dark-brown eyes appraised her. “And I suppose having dinner with the future heir of Stonebrooke is a part of your duty in the Women’s . . . what did you call it?”

“The Women’s Forage Corps,” Grace said. “We harvest and bale hay, then deliver it to a designated station to be shipped overseas to British forces.”

“Hay? How tedious.” She gave her palm a slap with her lavender gloves.

“I’m surprised you feel that way, Miss Arnold,” she said. “I mean, with your own country’s recent entry into the war.”

Violet Arnold seemed unconcerned as she took in Grace’s summer dress. “So why is a baler of hay up at the manor enjoying a formal dinner?”

“Miss Mabry is on my staff,” Jack said.

“Doing what?” Grace felt Violet Arnold’s second swift perusal.

“She works as my driver in the mornings. In the afternoons she is employed by the WFC.”

“Then you should have been there to fetch me hours ago,” she said to Grace.

Grace stiffened. Before she could form a proper retort, Jack asked, “Why are you here, Violet?”

“If you recall, we still have important matters to discuss. Privately.” She cut a glance at Grace before continuing, “Do you keep a lady’s maid here at the house, Benningham? Browne became ill just before we boarded at the station in London, and I had to send her home.”

“Violet, I employ only critical staff at Roxwood.”

“Which should include a suitable lady’s maid,” Violet said. She turned to arch a delicate brow at Grace. “I don’t suppose that’s a part of your job description?”

“Indeed not,” Grace said, horrified at the notion of being ordered about by such a haughty woman. She saw Jack’s fists clench. “However,” she said slowly as an idea formed, “I might offer you instead the services of my own maid.” She nearly laughed at the startled look on Miss Arnold’s face. “Agnes is here with me, working for the Women’s Forage Corps. I feel certain, with the proper incentive, she would act as lady’s maid during your stay.”

“Will it suit?” Jack asked.

“I suppose, but I wish to meet her first.”

“Done.” Below the mask, Jack’s jaw eased. He unclenched his fists, as well. “Miss Mabry, if your maid agrees, tell her I’ll double her wages.”

“I wish to speak with her directly—that is, if you’ve finished your little evening together?” Violet Arnold looked at Grace, then at Jack. “I’ve had a trying day and I’d like to get settled in as quickly as possible.”

With that, she whirled from the dining room, and Grace heard her calling orders to the frazzled butler. Poor Agnes! She had regrets about volunteering her friend to act as the woman’s maid. No one should have to put up with such arrogance. Perhaps she should demand triple wages for her friend.

She turned to Jack. “I suppose your birthday party is over.”

“I’m sorry, Grace.” He left his place beside the table and came to her. “I didn’t expect her to arrive.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I just feel badly because your celebration’s been ruined.” She noted the blond hoyden hadn’t even wished him a birthday greeting.

“It was hardly ruined.” He smiled and held out his hand to her. It was a moment before she took it. “I’ve enjoyed our evening very much.”

“It was lovely,” she said, wishing she could stay longer. She enjoyed seeing his expressions, his smiles. She wanted to know more about his grandfather and the memorable times he’d shared with his brother; about his unbending father, the earl; and what it was like being a second son and the new heir to Stonebrooke, forced to marry a woman he didn’t love . . .

“Jack,” she said, wanting some kind of reassurance this new connection between them wasn’t at an end. “Shall I call for you in the morning? I need to continue my word-painting lessons, you know. I’m certain the outspoken ones could use more color.”

“Not tomorrow,” he said, giving her hand a squeeze. “Edwards will let you know when I’m available.”

“All right.” She struggled to keep the disappointment from her voice. “I’ll send Agnes over directly. Good night.” She pulled her hand from his and turned toward the door.

“Grace Mabry.”

“Yes?” She spun around.

“Thank you.” A smile touched his lips. “Being in your company tonight is the best gift I’ve received in a very long time.”

A bittersweet yearning rose in her, touching her heart. “You are most welcome, Jack.”

As she exited the manor, Grace found Knowles lugging a large steamer trunk and several portmanteaus inside from the porch steps. Yet despite the proof of Miss Arnold’s presence, Grace’s pleasure over Jack’s words refused to fade.

12

While it was still early evening, Grace found Agnes upstairs, readying for bed. “Wait,” she called, bursting into the room. “Would you like to earn extra wages?”

“How is that, miss?” Agnes paused in pulling her nightgown from beneath her pillow.

“Agnes, you really must learn to call me Grace. However, if you take the temporary position I propose, you’ll need to remember your etiquette.” She relayed the details of her meeting with the uppity Violet Arnold. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first, and you’re certainly welcome to refuse. I just felt badly for Lord Roxwood. She seemed to harp on him with every other word. Besides, I cannot imagine it would be for more than a few days. He’s even willing to pay you double wages for your services.”

Agnes brightened. “Why, I’d be pleased to do it. Who would not, for twice the pay? And after hearing your impression of Miss Arnold, it sounds like I’ll earn every shilling.”

“Every shilling
and
pence,” Grace said with a smile. She was pleased her friend had agreed to help Jack sort this mess. “And with all the extra money, you must buy sweets for the rest of us the next time you visit Margate—and no getting lost.”

High-pitched laughter escaped Agnes, and she quickly covered her mouth. Grace grinned.

“Certainly not,” her maid said after a moment. “When does Miss Arnold wish me to come up to the house?”

“Straightaway, I’m afraid. I know it’s late, but she wants an interview. I’m certain she’ll give you the job. We’d better first gain Mrs. Vance’s approval. We cannot have Lord Roxwood bullying her again.” Grace cringed at the possibility.

Mrs. Vance sat in the small parlor, reading the newspaper. The others were in the kitchen playing cards. “Agnes and I would like to speak with you, if you have a moment,” Grace said.

Mrs. Vance looked up from her reading. “It’s just terrible,” she said, frowning. “Our men fight overseas and risk their lives, while this one”—she flashed them the printed article—“sells our country’s secrets to the enemy! Well, I don’t mean to wish anyone ill, but she’s getting her comeuppance, this Mata Hari, or whoever she is. The court just found her guilty of treason. She’s to be executed.” She shook her head. “A sorry thing altogether, if you ask me.”

Folding the newspaper, Mrs. Vance set it on her lap and looked up at them with a curious smile. “Now, what was it you wished to talk to me about?”

Agnes looked pale and anxious. Grace gave her hand a reassuring squeeze and said, “Agnes has been offered a position up at Roxwood Manor,” before she too lost her courage.

All pleasantness vanished as Mrs. Vance launched from her chair, knocking the newspaper to the floor. “So, his lordship wants to steal another of my workers. And did he threaten to run us off his lands if I refuse or simply go over my head again?”

“It’s not like that at all,” Grace said and explained the circumstances of Miss Arnold’s arrival. “There is no one at the house qualified to attend her,” she finished.

Mrs. Vance looked ready to do battle. Grace regretted her
hasty offer to Jack. Perhaps if she hadn’t volunteered Agnes’s services, Miss Arnold would have returned to London.

Yet if that were the case, Violet would have remained in the city when her own maid took ill. The woman obviously planned to stay and if possible make Jack’s life more miserable.

Grace noted Agnes’s crestfallen expression and knew her friend was counting on earning those double wages for her future dress shop. “Please, Mrs. Vance, Agnes would be needed for only a short time, no more than a few days,” she said. “Lord Roxwood regrets the inconvenience to you,” she added, believing he would echo her sentiments.

Mrs. Vance looked at both of them. “Is this all right with you, Pierpont?”

“Oh, yes!” Agnes nodded vigorously.

“Three days, that’s it,” Mrs. Vance said, frowning. “After which Miss Arnold can send to London for someone else. Are we clear?”

“Absolutely,” Grace and Agnes chorused in unison.

Mrs. Vance turned to Grace. “You’ve managed to make us shorthanded once again, Mabry. Now the others must work all the harder because you’re determined to hire out our workforce.”

“Lord Roxwood won’t need my services for a while,” Grace said with a stab of guilt. “I’m hardly as skilled as Agnes, but happy to work in her place.”

“Good,” Mrs. Vance said. “You can begin tonight. In the barn you’ll find a crate full of chaffing to be loaded into sacks. I was going to ask for a couple of volunteers, but you can have the privilege. We’ve a good hour of light remaining. Still, take a lantern just in case. After you’ve finished, we’ll go over those section reports and time sheets you’ve been working on.” She eyed Grace’s attire. “And I’d change out of those clothes if I were you.” She then brushed past them to exit the parlor.

“Well, that went well, don’t you think?” Grace spoke with
forced gaiety, trying not to imagine the long night ahead. “I can shovel a bit of fodder into sacks, that’s not so bad.”

“I think if you let Lord Roxwood steal any more workers, Mrs. Vance will turn
you
into fodder,” Agnes said, then loosed another burst of her infectious laughter that made them both smile. “But you did pull it off, miss. And I appreciate it very much.”

“You’re welcome. Now, you’d better be off.”

While Agnes left the gatehouse for the manor, Grace changed and pedaled her bicycle toward the barn.

Inside, she eyed the enormous crate of chaff. She drew a deep breath and lit the lantern, then grabbed a shovel and a burlap sack and began to work.

She’d only labored an hour when a voice called from the barn door, “I hear the future Lady Roxwood’s come to call?” Clare stepped inside. “What’s she like?”

Grace paused to swipe at a piece of straw stuck to her lower lip. “The word
duchess
comes to mind.”

Clare grinned. “I guess she didn’t make an impression, then?”

“Hardly, unless one wishes to be in the company of the most rude, ungrateful, and arrogant woman . . .” Grace bit off the rest of her tirade. “I sound like the worst shrew, don’t I? Not exactly a shining example of the WFC.”

“Well, I’m a fair judge of shrews,” Clare said, “and I think I still have you beat. Want some help?”

“I’d love it.” Grace handed her the shovel and held the sack as Clare filled it with the fodder.

“You know, Grace, I still feel awful for the way I treated you,” Clare said. “And I appreciate you keeping my secret.”

“I hope you realize by now I am no aristocrat. Though after meeting Miss Arnold, I can understand why you dislike them.” Grace tied off the full sack and put it alongside the others she’d already completed. “Have you heard any more about Daisy?”

Clare shook her head. “Mr. Pittman, the man I hired, is still
making inquiries.” She pursed her lips, then said, “I confess it’s difficult to concentrate on work, knowing my daughter might be so close.”

“I can only imagine.” Grace met her gaze with sympathy. “When will you hear from him next?”

“Tomorrow or the next day,” Clare said. “Then once we find out she’s there—”

“I’ll drive you myself, as promised.” Grace reached for Clare’s arm. “You’ll get her back, Clare. Have faith, right?”

“I can’t afford not to,” she whispered, placing a hand over Grace’s. “Now come on, let’s get this finished up. Becky, bless her, made one of her delicious desserts for supper and saved a helping just for you. And you haven’t lived until you taste her raisin bread pudding.”

———

Later, after she’d eaten dessert, Grace pored over reports at the kitchen table with Mrs. Vance.

Agnes entered the house and came to the kitchen door clad in her traveling costume.

“You must have landed the job?” Grace said.

She nodded. “I just came back to get a few clothes and my toiletries.”

Hearing her arrival, Becky, Lucy, and Clare came downstairs in nightgowns and robes and dragged Agnes into the tiny parlor. Grace and Mrs. Vance joined them.

“Well? Is Miss Arnold b-beautiful?” Lucy wanted to know. “Does she wear expensive clothes from Paris?”

“She’s very pretty to look at, though not as lovely as Miss . . . Grace,” Agnes said staunchly. “Her companion, Mrs. Grant, is older and rather plain. Miss Arnold has steamer trunks and boxes filled with the latest Paris fashions. It took me almost two hours to put things away, and another twenty minutes to press the wrinkles from her tea gown for tomorrow.”

“How does she act with Lord Roxwood?” Becky piped up. “Does she kiss him with his mask on or off?”

“I wouldn’t know.” Agnes looked appalled. “And I haven’t seen Lord Roxwood, only his steward, Mr. Edwards.” Agnes turned to Grace. “Both ladies took a late supper in their rooms and then went to bed. Miss Arnold seemed quite put out when his lordship retired after you left.”

Grace felt a spurt of satisfaction, though she knew it wrong. She could only hope in the next few days his fiancée might see beyond the scars to his charming smile, the dimple in his chin . . .

Her heart squeezed as she thought of his wit and sense of humor, his quiet generosity. Would the haughty woman grow to appreciate his true worth? And would Jack share with her his fondest childhood memories, take her to Eden . . . or would she even want to go with him?

“Well, that’s a fine thing.” Becky jerked on the belt of her robe. “I came downstairs hoping for a bit of gossip, but it all sounds very dull to me.”

“And you women will be very dull tomorrow if you don’t get some sleep,” Mrs. Vance reminded them. “We’ve a full day in the fields. Agnes, please collect your things and say good-night.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

When the others had left the parlor, Grace asked, “Is everything all right up at the house? Are they treating you well?”

“I’m fine, miss.” Agnes offered a reassuring smile. “And Mr. Edwards seems very kind. I’ll see you in a few days.”

After she’d left and Mrs. Vance turned down the lights, Grace lay awake in bed, again unable to sleep. Twilight skies had deepened to a midnight hue, and a sliver of moon shone across the bedroom floor. Restless, she rose from her bed and moved to the open window, straining in the meager light to see Roxwood Manor and discover if the man in her thoughts stood on the balcony.

He was there—Jack’s tall silhouette poised at the rail. Her pulse pounded. What was happening to her? She found she couldn’t wait to see him again, to spar wits with him, exchange ideas, learn more about his life. She loved that he supported her passion for a woman’s right to be heard, and believed in her dream of becoming a novelist. And while he’d angered her, frustrated her, and taxed her patience, Jack never talked down to her like Clarence Fowler and even her father had done. He demanded she use her head
and
her imagination, proving to him she could master her words. Yet it was more than that; his confession at dinner resounded in her mind. She had become his eyes.

She should be recording all of this in her journal: her special evening with him and the thrill of being asked to dine with a man who always ate alone. Despite Violet Arnold’s unexpected intrusion, they had enjoyed their time together tonight, both of them at their ease. Closing her eyes, Grace savored again his parting words, that her presence tonight was the best birthday gift he’d received in a very long while . . .

“He’s engaged.”
Clare’s reminder shot through her. Grace opened her eyes and stared out into the darkness. Jack had been pressured into the arranged marriage, having said as much when she confided Da’s ever-pending plans for her own future. She’d seen, too, the way he and Violet barely tolerated being in the same room together, and it saddened her. She wondered if she might feel the same way with Clarence Fowler, and knew it was true.

Turning from the window, she went back to bed. Grace had the fervent wish that Violet Arnold would conduct her business and be gone, so Jack would again call her to drive him about the countryside. She could fill his ears with pictures and perhaps read to him, as well. That way, he would have hours of images to recall and savor. She also wanted to explain to him how she
felt and why she’d pressed him into removing his mask the other day at Margate. Not out of pity, but the desire to show him the scars didn’t matter to her.