Not by Sight (22 page)

“Good evening, Sir Marcus, Lord Roxwood,” Mrs. Vance said.

“Ladies.” Sir Marcus turned to Clare. “Miss Danner, you look enchanting this evening.” He offered a polite bow.

Clare seemed frozen in place. Finally she found her voice. “I thought you returned to London.”

“Margate.” He smiled beneath the dark mustache. “I had to deliver someone to the train station this morning. And while I was there I purchased a new hat. Do you like it?”

Clare pursed her lips, eying the boater as if it might bite.

“Why, it’s very smart, isn’t it, Clare?” Grace said, moving forward when her friend remained silent.

“Very” was all Clare said, and she cast a wary glance at Sir Marcus.

“Miss Mabry?” Jack had obviously heard her speak and moved closer. With a slight incline of his head, he held out the red rose. “Would you do me the honor?”

Grace’s thoughts flew back to the night of Lady Bassett’s ball. He’d handed her a rose then just like this one. She’d been angry with him because he’d laughed at her.

He wasn’t laughing now. “Thank you,” she said softly, taking the flower from him.

“Miss Danner, would you care to dance?” Sir Marcus waved
toward the dance floor. The ragtime had ended, with the piano player leaving in search of refreshments. Now a gramophone and records provided the music, the first notes of the song “Missing You, Dear” echoing in the hall.

Clare shot Grace an anxious look. Grace sympathized . . . then nudged her friend toward Sir Marcus. One could not let fear rule, after all. “It’s just a dance,” she whispered. “An evening of fun, away from the nasty, loud steam baler. Nothing more.”

Her friend’s resolve seemed to weaken as she looked toward the couples moving back and forth to the music. “All right.” She nodded at Sir Marcus. “One dance.”

“Excellent!” Looking pleased, he held out his hand to her, and they headed off to the dance floor.

“Excuse me, Lord Roxwood. I must have a word with a co-worker.” Mrs. Vance sketched a brief curtsy and departed in the direction of Millicent Foster. A wide-eyed Lucy followed.

“Thank you for letting me use the Daimler this evening,” Grace said when she and Jack were alone. “The ladies were quite thrilled to finally have a ride in the car, and for two of them it was their first experience.”

“I am pleased to bestow so much pleasure with such little effort,” he said quietly. “And I imagine attending a dance is a special occasion.”

“Very much so, especially for these women. Baling hay from farm to farm doesn’t allow for much entertainment. It’s all rather a quiet, rural existence.”

“And does it suit you?”

Grace brushed a finger against the outer petals of the rose. “I love the tranquility and the natural beauty of Kent, though I do occasionally miss being in London with its amusements. I’ve always enjoyed visiting the galleries and museums. Even the bustling atmosphere at Swan’s is to my liking. For the research,
you understand,” she added. “Patrons always manage to provide me with interesting story ideas.”

“Yes, I’m certain gossip must abound in a tea shop filled with women.”

“Indeed, it does.” Grace wondered if he knew of all the nefarious tales regaled about him.

“What did they have to say about me?” he asked uncannily, and she debated whether or not to tell him.

Grace decided to be truthful. “They said you were quite the reprobate. That you gambled, drank, and had an affair with a different woman each day of the week.”

His chuckle delighted her. She was also surprised at his reaction. “Doesn’t it make you angry to be discussed in that manner?”

He smiled and said, “In my former line of work, a disreputable reputation was essential.”

“What occupation was that?”

He shook his head, and his amusement waned. “I can only tell you the stakes were extremely high”—he turned away from her—“and very costly.”

Curiosity burned in her. What kind of work would create such risk? She thought of his notorious gambling in the past. Surely he hadn’t made a profession out of it?

Grace wanted to know more, but he seemed reticent. She decided not to press him, at least not directly. She was enjoying his company far too much to risk his getting angry enough to leave. “Was any of it true? The gossip?” she asked instead. He hadn’t actually denied any of it.

“I admit to being a bit reckless from time to time.” The smile returned to play along his mouth. “But I was hardly the Don Juan they made me out to be.”

No, but you made a
very believable Casanova.
Grace gazed at the rose in her hand, lifting the bloom to breathe in its fragrant scent. “This rose has a lovely smell. Is it from your garden?”

“One of the few your piglets didn’t ravage.” His teasing voice made her insides flutter. “It’s called William Morgan, after my great-grandfather, who created the rose for his garden.”

“How can you tell which one it is?”

“By its scent,” he said. “I chose it myself.”

Pleasure filled her. “Thank you.”

“Have you danced yet?”

Startled by his question, she responded without thinking, “Are you asking me?”

His smile waned, and she regretted her words. “I don’t dance anymore.”

“Why not?”

His jaw set. “You really need to ask, Miss Mabry?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, deciding to press on. “Because your legs appear to be in good working order, and with your exceptional sense of direction I’m certain you won’t step on my toes. Care to give it a try?”

“Here?” His mouth went slack with surprise before drawing into a thin line. “I don’t care to entertain the crowds any more than I have already.”

“They have plenty of entertainment,” she said softly. “They’re dancing, laughing, taking refreshments. They won’t even know we’re here.”

She reached to take his hand. “No.” He pulled back from her, his voice low, terse.

“They aren’t gawking at you. Please, give me your hand?”

He hesitated for an instant, then relaxed and slowly offered his hand. Grace took it, thrilled over his willingness to trust her. “We’ll dance right here, if you like,” she said, and felt her heart pounding inside her chest as he closed the distance and ran his hand gently along her side until it settled firmly against her waist. Still holding the rose in her grasp, she placed her other
hand against his shoulder as he began leading her gracefully to the soft, somber music.

Glancing toward the other couples on the dance floor, Grace noted a few had turned in their direction. Some made comments between themselves, but no one stared. “I was right,” she said in a teasing voice. “You dance well.”

“So do you.” His tender smile made her feel hot and cold at the same time. “Who taught you?”

Grace hadn’t revealed to him that Lady Bassett had sponsored her at Brondesbury, a finishing school in Surrey. Still, she could tell him the truth. “Mother insisted we children learn at a very early age how to maneuver the steps to music. Since Colin and I were of an age . . .”

“He was your dance partner?”

The smile on his face broadened, and Grace was again struck by the strength of his jaw, the beauty of his sculpted mouth. She felt giddy. “Yes, and believe me, I learned to be very fast in sidestepping his cloddish feet!”

Jack’s laughter filled the air, and Grace blinked at the wondrous sound. Several people glanced their way, a few wearing faint smiles as though sharing in his amusement. Likely it was a sound they’d not heard in quite some time, and without the steel mesh he didn’t look half so fearsome. She felt tempted to ask him right then to remove the mask, but stopped, knowing what his reaction would be. Yet as she turned to scan the room, seeing soldiers leaning on crutches or nursing bandages, she imagined Jack would quite fit in with this gathering of wounded souls. No one need know his injuries stemmed from less than admirable behavior rather than duty. The reasons didn’t make his suffering any less painful or real, and likely more filled with regret.

The music ended. Jack released her and offered a slight bow of his head. “Thank you, Miss Mabry.”

“You can still call me Grace, if you like,” she said, all at once
shy. Perhaps he’d already forgotten about their familiarity during dinner the other evening?

“Grace.”

His dazzling smile threatened to melt her heart. “I’m glad you joined Sir Marcus here tonight.”

“Why is that?”

Flustered, she said, “The townspeople seem pleased you are here, along with the soldiers home on leave.”

“And you, Grace?” The sculpted lips settled into a pensive line. “Are you pleased?”

Oh, yes!
she wanted to shout, but the reminder of his engagement to Miss Arnold dimmed her joy. “Of course I am. I mean, we all are.” She added, “I understand Miss Arnold has departed Roxwood. Shall I drive for you on Monday?”

“She has.” His flat tone suggested an end to the subject. “And I look forward to Monday’s outing. In fact, you may end up driving me home tonight, unless Marcus can be pried away from the enchanting Miss Danner.”

“He seems quite taken with her.”

“Do you know how she feels about him?”

“Well, she doesn’t really know him yet.” Grace considered Clare’s earlier remark involving a broom. “But honestly, Sir Marcus could be a barn rat for all the good it will do him.”

Jack chuckled. “I did hear she wasn’t exactly overwhelmed by his charm.”

“That’s an understatement.” Grace smiled and turned to see the couple had left the dance floor before the start of the next tune. Then moments later Henry Burr’s voice blared through the gramophone, singing, “If You Were the Only Girl in the World.”

“Clare isn’t too impressed with titles or wealth,” she said, feeling it safe to reveal that much about her friend. “I think Sir Marcus will have to prove himself mightily before she opens her heart to him.”

“Marcus is a good man. Better than I ever was. I hope Miss Danner comes to appreciate his qualities.”

Grace looked up at him, a man whose pride had been brought low by his own folly. He’d been humbled by his injuries and existed in a world of darkness, isolation, and fear. Yet he’d risen from his plight to come here now, tonight, and stand in a crowded room, laughing, smiling, and enjoying life, with her . . .

“I am sure she will.” She spoke softly, filled with a new, deeper yearning she felt unable to repress.

“Grace?” Jack said in a low voice, seeming to detect in her tone what she really meant.

At that moment, Clare and Sir Marcus rejoined them, each holding a glass of the pink lemonade. The moment with Jack had passed, and Grace felt both relieved and dismayed. She glanced at her friend, and while Clare didn’t smile, her color hadn’t yet faded.

“Would you like a lemonade, Miss Mabry? Have mine, and I’ll get another.” Sir Marcus offered her his glass.

“Thank you very much, Sir Marcus . . .” She started to take the glass and saw Jack flinch. Understanding dawned. “However, Lord Roxwood and I were just about to get our own.” Leaving her fragrant rose with Clare, Grace slipped a hand into the crook of Jack’s arm and led him toward the refreshment tables.

“Why are you doing this?” he hissed.

“Because I have faith in your abilities,” she whispered. “Punch bowl and ladle are at ten o’clock, glasses at eight.” Grace watched with pride and amazement as he used his fingers to ladle lemonade into two glasses, handing her one of them. “Plates are at three o’clock, and cucumber sandwiches directly to the right of those.”

He searched out a plate and filled it with four of the sandwiches. Grace then gently tucked her arm in his and led him
to the table, where Clare and Sir Marcus now sat. Once they settled in, Jack passed around the plate.

“Thanks, old boy.” Sir Marcus eyed Grace with a thoughtful expression, then reached for a cucumber sandwich. Clare shot her a puzzled frown, but said nothing as she helped herself to one, as well.

“Are you enjoying the dance?” Grace asked Sir Marcus.

“Immensely.” He turned to Clare, seated across from him. “And may I say, Miss Danner, you’re quite an accomplished partner.” He smiled.

Clare’s color heightened as she took a long sip of her lemonade. Finally she set down her glass and said primly, “I appreciate the compliment, Sir Marcus.”

“Would you care for another dance?”

She raised a dark brow at him. “I agreed to one dance.”

“You’ve not answered my question, Miss Danner,” he parleyed in a smooth tone. “Do you care to continue?”

She tipped her head. “If you insist,” she said. “But we ladies put in a full day’s work before coming to the dance tonight. I’m afraid exhaustion has caught up with me.”

“Then we shall wait for another opportunity.”

Grace was impressed at Sir Marcus’s consideration despite his crestfallen look. He said, “Shall I see you at church tomorrow?”

Clare nodded, and Grace said, “We shall all be there, Sir Marcus.” Grace’s gaze bounced off Jack. “Perhaps you might even convince Lord Roxwood to attend?”

“Still trying to save my soul, Miss Mabry?” A smiled touched his lips, though it lacked humor. “Don’t waste your time.” To Sir Marcus, he said, “Since the ladies have tired of dancing, Marcus, how about giving me a lift home?”

“You mean you won’t stay?” Grace had hoped for at least one more dance.

Jack slid his hand along the table toward her, and instinctively
she reached for it. She ignored the surprised looks from both Clare and Sir Marcus as pleasure coursed through her.

“As much as I would enjoy it, Miss Mabry . . . Grace,” he said, giving her fingers a squeeze, “this is a bit more social activity than I’ve had in quite a while. I’ll look forward to our drive on Monday.” His smile was genuine. He pressed her hand and rose from the table. His friend also rose.

“Until tomorrow, Miss Danner,” Sir Marcus said, then took up her hand and kissed it.

Clare’s cheeks bloomed. “Sir Marcus.”

The two men made their way past the throng of people, with Sir Marcus casting about several abstract good-byes before he and Jack departed the hall.

“What exactly is going on between you two, Grace?” Clare asked. “I’d hardly call what I just saw a mere truce.”