Not by Sight (28 page)

He caught her hand, kissing her fingertip. “I won’t break it.” He leaned to touch his head against hers. She felt his warm breath on her cheek. “I promise.”

There were so many reasons she shouldn’t kiss him. She would likely never see him again after today, and Jack must marry and eventually lay claim to his title as earl. He’d be provided with a legion of chauffeurs at his disposal and would have no further use for the daughter of an Irish tea man.

As she mentally cited all the reasons against it, Grace pressed close and touched her lips to his. Let this be their parting then, she thought, surrendering not to reason but to her heart.

But as he deepened the kiss, drawing her ever tighter into the circle of his arms, passion unfurled between them like the
petals of his most prized rose. His fingers grazed lightly over her face as he put to memory each and every line of her features. She sensed in him a longing, tasting the loneliness he would face in the days to come. Surrounded by him, she breathed in the spice of his Bay Rum cologne mingled with a touch of aged leather and the scent that was uniquely Jack Benningham—Lord of Roxwood, Viscount of Walenford, heir to the Earl of Stonebrooke.

A man she could never have, and one with whom she’d foolishly fallen in love.

18

Jack roused himself from the dregs of sleep the following morning, first to the sound of a crow cawing loudly in the English elm beyond his balcony . . . and then to the brightness permeating his closed eyelids.

At first the sensation seemed natural, one which had instinctively been with him since birth. But as he gradually became fully conscious, his heart pounded as he opened his eyes and squinted against . . . light.

Foggy, indistinct shapes loomed around him: bedcovers, his dresser, the chaise in the far corner. He turned his head toward the blurry image of partially opened French doors, the fine fabric sheers fluttering in the soft breeze.

He blinked rapidly and observed the objects in the room becoming more defined. He recalled the day Strom had checked his eyes, when he’d imagined he’d seen a flash of something. Was it possible he was seeing . . . or was he dreaming?

Jack’s breathing came fast, his excitement warring with disbelief. He tore away the bedsheets and swung his feet onto the floor. Light played against the polished hardwood, and he wiggled his toes. Though blurry, he could make them out.

No dream! He leaped up and rushed to open wide the French doors and step outside. Gooseflesh rose along his skin with the chill morning, yet he barely noticed. Shading his eyes, he drank in the light and colors surrounding him.

Jack continued to blink while the images became clearer. Minutes later, he could make out the detail of his intricate hedge maze and the differing shades of green in his sprawling lawn. Looking off to his gardens, he saw for the first time in a long while his pink hydrangeas, the rainbow-colored dahlias, and purple lavender—even his grandfather’s roses.

A joyous laugh rose in him at seeing the red, yellow, and bright orange blooms, reminding him of Grace’s adventure with the pigs . . .

Grace.
Jack spun around and returned to his room. She was leaving this morning. He had to see his Pandora! Memories of yesterday and holding her in his arms crowded his thoughts. Had that been real, as well?

He walked across his room toward the pull, intending to ring for Townsend. Nearing his dresser, he caught sight of his reflection and stopped.

For a long moment he stared at the stranger looking back at him. He reached to touch the wrinkled flesh at his brow and temples. His eyelids looked well enough, but the scarring around them gave him pause. No wonder Violet had rejected him. He was hideous to behold.

Jack hesitated. Should he send for Grace? Now that he knew what he looked like, would he see her pity, her revulsion?

He recalled again her gentle touch, her sweet caress. He’d kissed those soft lips, and she’d returned the kiss, passionately.

Reaching for the mask on his nightstand, he hesitated. Then he donned the guise and moved to ring the bell for his valet. Grace would be the first to learn of his news, to see him looking back at
her
. She had accepted him, all of him,
he realized, and he wished more than ever that she could stay with him.

Townsend arrived, and within half an hour Jack was dressed and descending the stairs. “Edwards!” he called, and soon he could see his steward from behind the slats in the mask.

Battling his excitement, Jack was tempted to reveal his secret to the man who had been with his family for years. Instead, he said, “Miss Mabry is returning to London this morning. I wish to meet with her before she goes. Tell her . . .” He paused, then smiled. “Tell her I wish to settle her wages. And I want her to take me for one last turn around the property.”

Jack’s smile broadened at Edwards’s startled look. “Bring her to my study once she arrives. Now, I’m famished, and something smells very good.”

Without further regard for his steward, Jack strode to the breakfast room, where Mrs. Riley stood as she did each day, waiting to fill his plate from the sideboard. Today, he thought to surprise her, taking the plate to get his own food.

Again he stopped himself. Grace would be the first to know. “The full breakfast today, Mrs. Riley, if you please.”

Her look of astonishment delighted him as well, and it struck Jack that his melancholy over the past few months had affected his staff. He vowed to improve his mood, and started by thanking Mrs. Riley for the steaming hot plate she laid before him.

“I’m glad your appetite’s back, milord. Shall I bring you coffee, then?”

“I think tea today, Mrs. Riley.”

“Very good, milord,” she said with another dazed look before leaving the room. As he tucked into his breakfast of eggs, beans, tomatoes, black pudding, sausage, bacon, and toast, she returned with a tea service and poured him a cup before placing the set on the table near his reach. “I found some lovely Assam, milord. Will it do?”

“Perfectly. Thank you, Mrs. Riley.”

She flushed with pleasure and departed, reminding Jack of how difficult it must have been for his staff to endure his sullen reclusiveness these past months.

Jack heaved a sigh. He would try to make it up to them, he vowed. Meanwhile, he eyed the contents of the cup, and a smile played along his lips.
“Like Assam tea, steeping in the
cup.”

Weeks ago, Grace had used those words to describe the color of her hair. Now, knowing she was Pandora, her depiction seemed quite apt.

He took a sip of the tea, breathing in the fragrant brew. A low chuckle escaped him. Here he was, a conventional coffee drinker, sipping at tea. It was Grace’s doing, he realized. He wanted to please her.

After breakfast, Jack took more tea in his study while he awaited her arrival. He pulled the white feather from his pocket, turning it over in his hands. He tried to imagine her exquisite features just as he’d seen her the night of the ball: the riot of fiery curls, and large deep-set eyes the color of green jewels . . .

A knock sounded lightly at the door. “Milord, a visitor?”

Grace.
Jack rose from the desk and moved from behind it. “Come,” he called, feeling like a schoolboy in his nervous excitement to finally set eyes on her after so many months.

“Sir Marcus Weatherford, milord.”

The butler bowed before stepping aside to let Jack’s friend enter.

“Jack.” Marcus stood at the threshold.

“Marcus.” Having recovered from his surprise, Jack quelled his impatience. He had hoped it was Grace. “You’re up early, old man.”

“And you seem rather chipper this morning,” Marcus said as he entered the room.

“Why not? It feels like a beautiful day. Even the crows sang outside my window this morning.”

“Jolly good for you.” Marcus seemed irritable. “I awakened to a ringing telephone.”

Jack noticed Marcus was in uniform, and that he carried an official-looking satchel. He resisted remarking upon either, determined to keep his secret. “What brings you?” he said instead.

“Thank you, Knowles.” Marcus excused the butler, then turned to Jack once he’d left. “Is that coffee or tea you’re drinking?”

“Tea, and help yourself.”

Marcus poured a cup and moved around to sit behind Jack’s desk. Jack strode to the hearth where a fire was laid to remove the morning’s chill. Turning around, he continued rolling the feather between his fingertips while he assessed his friend.

Marcus Weatherford looked much as he had months before, though his features held a few more haggard lines around the eyes and mouth. Doubtless he worked long hours at the Admiralty. “I’m waiting, Marcus. Aside from enjoying my hospitality, why are you here?”

“I’ve a bit of surprising news.”

Jack’s fingers went still on the feather as he caught the grim look on his friend’s face. “And . . . ?”

Marcus set down his cup. “We’ve arrested Patrick Mabry for treason.”

“I still can’t believe you’re leaving us today.”

Clare sat on the edge of Grace’s bed and watched her finish packing. “I understand, though. I’m sure your father longs to see you. Right now you’re the only family he has.”

Grace paused in stuffing the last of her petticoats into her bag. “I’ll miss you too, Clare.” She smiled. “Whenever I hear the word
duchess
, I’ll think of you.”

Clare gave a misty-eyed smile and said, “Whenever I see a woman driving a cartload of pigs to market, I’ll think of you.”

Grace lifted a brow. “An experience I won’t forget.” Her humor faded as she reached for Clare’s hand. “Take care of yourself, Danner.”

“Godspeed, Grace.” Clare hastily wiped at her eyes. “Look at me, will you? I’ve got to get down to the barn. We’re baling the south field today. The others are waiting around downstairs to say their good-byes.”

“I still need to go up to the manor.” Grace had received Jack’s urgent request and continued teetering between delight and dismay. She longed to see him again, but knew a second parting would be as painful as the first. “It seems Jack wants one last outing.”

Clare eyed her knowingly. “Prolonging the agony, if you ask me.”

Grace nodded, and Clare rose and enfolded her in a tight hug. “I’ve got to dash. Good luck up at the house. And I’ll pray for your brother’s safe return.”

Grace felt her eyes burn. “I’ll be praying for you and Daisy, as well.”

Clare released her and stepped back. “Who knows? Maybe one day you and I can meet in London. We’ll have tea at Swan’s, and I’ll introduce you to my little girl. You can introduce us to Colin.”

Grace did smile then. “That sounds perfect.” And as she watched Clare depart, she realized what a wonderful friend she’d made at Roxwood.

Turning her attention back to packing, Grace added in the last of her treasures—her journal. It contained the details of her adventure, including the dear women she’d come to accept as sisters in the WFC.

Grace had also filled pages describing the places she and Jack had traveled: Camden Pond with its colorful ducks; the seashore at Margate and Hall by the Sea where she and Jack
shared candy floss as she described the bear on the beach; Eden’s beautiful valley and glistening river and their picnic the day Jack removed his mask.

The book held so many memories—painful, precious, and life-changing. Loving memories as she recalled his tender kiss and the way he’d held her in his arms. He’d promised not to break her heart, yet even now the steady beat inside her chest felt fragile, as if it might crack wide open with the knowledge they would never be together.

Grace took a deep breath and fastened the last leather clasp on her portmanteau. She left it beside her haversack on the bed while she went downstairs.

The others sat quietly around the table, awaiting her appearance. Mrs. Vance looked up and beamed. “Are you off to the manor, then?”

“Very soon,” she said, her insides still fluttering over the prospect of seeing Jack.

“Things won’t b-be the same without you.” Lucy offered a sad smile. “What time does Dr. Strom arrive?”

Grace checked the small watch pinned to her shirtwaist. “Not for several hours. There’s a one o’clock train out of Canterbury.”

“You will write to us?” Becky asked as she munched on a leftover biscuit. “Let us know how you’re getting on?”

“Of course, and each of you must come visit me. London isn’t so far away.” Grace turned to Agnes. “You’re certain you wish to remain here?”