Grace: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 3) Page 4

  Eventually he had moved away, not wishing to intrude any more than he was. He wandered back through the gardens but made sure he chose to weed an area where he could not avoid the sound of her footfall along the pathway.

  He had gone to meet her when the sound of her light steps paused, but he had stilled before reaching her, watching her with the roses. She handled them gently as if they were made of glass. He could not help teasing her, the apology forgotten in the need to start a conversation with the beautiful creature. Most of the staff would have fainted at the shock of Harry teasing and possibly flirting with someone, that is before they laughed at the irony. A gardener trying to flirt with a genteel lady was ludicrous even to his own mind.

  He had watched her go, not wanting the moment of contact to end but knowing he could say or do nothing more. She belonged to another world; he would just have to let his dreams explore the possibilities they would never indulge.

  One thing he could do, though, he realised as he played their short conversation over and over again. She had given him information he could use. If he could not be close to her in person, he would certainly give her something he was sure would make her feel happy. He shook his head at his thoughts; he had never before wanted to make anyone happy. He should watch out; she was obviously some sort of enchantress sent to disturb his peace. Harry was certain of one thing as he smiled to himself at his own fanciful ideas: no one else had ever had such an impact on him as one tiny pixie.

  Chapter 4

  Grace dressed in a cream silk dress; it was far more delicate than the dress she had worn during the day, but whenever she wore something so fine, it made her feel uncomfortable. Rosalind was a lady; she had been since the day she was born. Grace, on the other hand, always felt she had been given her name to make up for her shortcomings. Poise, grace and elegance seemed to have passed her by somehow.

  She allowed her hair to be fashioned with plaits criss-crossing over each other with crystals adding decoration and sparkle. Her looking glass showed the person who sat before it looked every bit the lady; it was a pity she never felt like one. She left her bedchamber when her maid was satisfied with her appearance and made her way downstairs. She wondered if she would get a smile from her handsome stranger if she explored the garden dressed as she was now. Would he be drawn to her as she was to him? At least in her daydreams she could hope he would; reality had a habit of being completely different from what she longed for.

  Rosalind was pleased when Grace entered the drawing room with a smile on her face. She had worried her sister seemed reluctant to go into society, but she was reassured to see her looking happy. Peter stood at Grace’s entrance.

  “It seems I have the pleasure of escorting two beautiful ladies tonight; I expect to have received offers for your hand by tomorrow at the latest,” he teased Grace.

  Grace flushed at the compliment and tried to laugh it off. “Are you sick of me already, Peter?” she asked.

  “Not in the slightest,” he smiled in reply. “I am just stating fact. I think you’d better send for Eleanor straight away,” he said to Rosalind. “I don’t think Grace will remain unmarried for long.”

  “Send away her beaux,” Rosalind commanded, “I want to have one of my sisters under our roof for a little time at least.”

  Peter escorted the two ladies to the carriage, and they commenced the short journey. Grace marvelled at how beautiful Rosalind looked: she was every bit the Duchess that was now her title; it was lovely to see and be a witness to Peter doting on her. They arrived in good time, the weather and bright night sky working in their favour.

  The party they were attending was at Lord and Lady Kettering’s home and celebrated the engagement of their daughter Lady Joan. She had gone to live in India, and it appeared she had met someone almost as soon as she arrived and now she was to be married. Grace was aware Lady Joan had some tie with Peter’s family; Rosalind explained there had been a lot of broken promises and deceit all involving Peter’s brother.

  Lord and Lady Kettering were in excellent spirits. Grace found Lady Kettering quite cool when she had first met her, but Rosalind had assured her she had been put through a lot of strain by her only daughter. It was obvious the news of Lady Joan’s engagement put her in the best of moods; she circulated amongst her guests, laughing and chatting as though she had not a care in the world.

  Mrs Adams, with a gentleman at her side, sought out Grace. “Miss Johnson, my young friend would like to be introduced to a pretty young lady, and there is none prettier in tonight’s gathering,” she said as she hobbled towards Grace.

  Grace’s blush matched the one on the face of the young man in question. “Mrs Adams,” Grace curtsied, wishing herself at the other side of the room.

  “This young buck is Mr Workman; he’s visiting the Vicar, a relative of some sort. Got plenty of blunt if the stories the Vicar’s wife tell me are correct. I’ve told him he could do worse than spend his time in the area courting you,” came the unabashed introduction. The gentleman was dressed in the height of fashion, his dark coat contrasting against his stiff, pure white collar. The collar was a little too high to allow full movement of his head but was not a ridiculous height as worn by the dandies in the pictures of the magazines that were circulated. He wore tight-fitting satin breeches with white stockings. The buckle on his shoes sparkled in the candlelight.

  At Mrs Adams’s words, neither young person knew where to look. Mrs Adams looked at them both and started to laugh. “I’ll leave you alone; do try to speak a few words to each other.” She turned away and made her way over to some other unsuspecting victim while Grace and Mr Workman looked at each other in mortification.

  Finally Mr Workman broke the silence. “I’ve known her only a few days, and already she terrifies me,” he admitted with a smile.

  “And me,” Grace responded.

  Mr Workman laughed, “At least we have something in common, Miss Johnson. I’m pleased she introduced us though, despite her bluntness; I’m lacking in friends I’m afraid. I’m new to the area and hardly know anyone.”

  “We have two things in common then,” Grace smiled. “I’m recently arrived on a visit to my sister and know very few here although, if Mrs Adams continues in her unique method of introductions, I don’t think I will be unknown to all the people in the area for very much longer.”

  “I expect not.”

  “So, you’re visiting the Vicar? I’ve yet to meet him,” Grace said. She might be shy, but she was not ignorant and, in some ways, she was happier when she was the one asking questions as it took the limelight away from herself.

  “Yes, he’s my cousin on my mother’s side,” Mr Workman informed her. “I live in the North East, but I’ve plans to travel to Liverpool in a few weeks. I have some business to attend to there; then I was considering a trip to the Americas. It seemed a perfect opportunity to see my cousin at the start of my journey.”

  “Really? Are you in trade or do you travel for pleasure?” Grace asked.

  Mr Workman looked a little uncomfortable at the question, “I’m bound to be honest, but I’m afraid you will despise me once I am: I earn my fortune in trade.”

  Grace smiled, “Please do not be perturbed; my father is also in trade. He’s made a huge success of his business. I know there are people who would disagree with my sentiments, but in my opinion, there is nothing wrong with working hard.”

  “That’s a relief!” Mr Workman said with feeling. “My cousin warned me about talking about business to anyone I met; he assured me I would be cast off as being not quite the thing. I know I’m passing through the area, but I would not wish to cause any problems for my cousin, who has been kind enough to welcome me into his house.”

  “You would never be censored by any of my relations,” Grace said. “From the little that has been said, I do know that my sister had some trouble in the area when she first arrived; a few people have not been so welcoming because of our background. I think your cousin was wise to advi
se caution.”

  “I shall take note,” Mr Workman said with a smile. “How are you finding the area?”

  “I haven’t explored very far as yet; I’ve remained mainly at Sudworth Hall these past few days,” Grace admitted, a picture of clear grey eyes floating into her mind’s eye. “I’ve been busy exploring my immediate surroundings.”

  “If it would not be asking too much on such short acquaintance, would you do me the honour of joining me on a carriage ride? I would like to explore the surrounding area myself and would appreciate your company. I’ve travelled into the area on horseback, but my cousin has access to a phaeton I could use, if you would do me the honour?”

  Grace did not wish to do anything other than wander around the grounds at Sudworth Hall, but she knew she was expected to socialise. The gentleman before her seemed very pleasant; he had clear hazel eyes and a friendly open air about him. In reality there was no reason for her to refuse the invitation, and it would be pleasant to spend an afternoon with someone charming. Grace thought Rosalind, more than herself, would be pleased with the arrangement of her riding out with a handsome young man. Mr Workman was handsome, taller than she, quite broadly built, and had chestnut hair. His features were rounded, a sure sign of not belonging to the aristocracy, who were more likely to have sharp angled features than the softer rounder ones that suited Mr Workman so well.

  “That would be very pleasant, thank you,” she replied. The smile greeting her words convinced her she had responded in the correct way even though she would never feel totally comfortable in spending such a lot of time with just one man.

  As expected Rosalind was encouraging when Grace informed her of the outing that she had agreed to. “Mrs Adams may need to learn tact with regards to her ways, but her heart is in the right place. She would never introduce someone to you whom she did not approve of; I shall look forward to making his acquaintance,” Rosalind said with approval.

  “As long as you all don’t get carried away with your romantic notions and expect me to marry him,” Grace said, voicing her fears.

  “You shall not receive any pressure from me on that subject!” Rosalind said with feeling; but she could not shake the pleasure she felt at knowing the young man in question had connections in the area. She would grasp onto any hope of all her sisters living closeby.

  *

  Grace awoke with a feeling of trepidation. She would be alone in a phaeton with a young man she barely knew. She hoped she would be able to maintain a conversation for the time they would be together. She had always avoided situations where she was the one responsible for lively chatter; she was naturally reserved, although that did not mean she had nothing to say. She understood why Annie felt so unsure of new people and situations; she found herself very often withdrawing from any attempt made by others to bring her to the fore of any situation.

  As she moved out of bed, something caught her eye; on her dressing table sat a large vase of pink and white Dianthus. Grace was thankful she was alone; her whole face was suffused with a deep blush, but the smile accompanying it showed what the flowers meant to her. If her heart had experienced flutterings at the thought of seeing the handsome gardener previously, it was nothing to what her heart did at the sight of such a gift.

  She walked across to the dressing table and carefully bent over the flowers, breathing in their delicate scent. Orchids had a strong aroma, but the Dianthus scent was just like the flowers on the end of their stems: exquisite, delicate and unrivalled in her eyes. There was no doubt who had arranged for them to be placed in her room, and it felt like the sweetest gesture she had ever received.

  Morning visits were far more pleasant when she could hardly wipe the smile off her face. She did not necessarily take part in the chatter any more than she normally did, but she looked more relaxed. She had readied for her outing in a crisp white day dress. The waist, sleeves and hem were edged in small pink flowers, something that was even more appropriate after her surprise of the flowers in her bedchamber. Visits could not come to an end soon enough, as she was determined to seek out the man who filled her mind before she left for her ride.

  Rosalind was surprised when Grace mentioned she was going into the garden before Mr Workman arrived. “Do you think it wise? You look lovely as you are,” Rosalind said. “I know what will happen, Grace; you will not be able to resist examining some plant or other and finish covered in soil or worse.”

  Grace smiled, “I won’t; I promise.”

  “Let me come with you; I could do with the fresh air,” Rosalind said, standing, ready to ring the bell for assistance. She might not wish for her sister to be soon married, but she did want her to appear at her best for her outing. Rosalind was practical enough to know a marriage had to happen, so she would prefer it if Grace was shown at her best to any potential suitor.

  Grace was at a loss as to what to say to her sister’s request. She could not say no to her without causing offence or raising Rosalind’s suspicion, but she did not know how she would find the opportunity to give her thanks to her stranger if she was with someone else. Rosalind busied herself in getting her bonnet and pelisse and soon had joined Grace in the hall and was ready to go outside.

  Rosalind offered her arm to her sister. “You can show me all the delights you have found; I’m sure you already know the gardens better than anyone else.”

  Grace smiled, but refrained from saying anything. There was one person who obviously knew the gardens far better than anyone else. She had not found where the Dianthus grew; she wondered if perhaps she had been too distracted by a pair of grey eyes to see them.

  The ladies walked leisurely through the gardens. Rosalind resumed her old role of asking Grace questions that would bring out a store of the knowledge the young woman claimed. Grace answered automatically, always on the lookout for any sign of the gardener. Just as they were to turn back to the house in time for Mr Workman, Grace spotted him in the rose garden.

  “Rosalind, could you wait here for just a moment? I have something I need to do,” Grace asked, unhooking her arm from her sister’s grasp.

  Rosalind frowned, “What is it?”

  Grace blushed, “I, er, I need to ask a gardener a question, and I’ve just spotted someone through there,” she pointed towards the rose garden. “If I run, I will catch him and be back before you know it.”

  The behaviour was a little odd, but Rosalind was accustomed to her sister’s thirst for answers with anything linked to plant-life. She slowed her pace while Grace’s sped up as she put as much distance as possible between herself and her sister.

  Grace was a little breathless when she reached the rose garden. It was partly to do with the exertion as well as anticipation at speaking to her stranger, but there was also the niggle of worry Rosalind would find something in her behaviour amiss. The gardener turned as she entered under the archway, his expression at the sight of Grace unreadable, which made her falter. It had been far easier to plan what to say when he was not standing in front of her, his grey eyes clouded over, showing no hint of what he was thinking.

  Grace blushed as she caught her breath; her need to speak to him was strong, but it did not help her find the correct words, especially when he stood with his hat shielding his eyes and rough apron over his clothing. He looked large, sure of himself and strong, so very strong. She looked at him and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” she said, her blush increasing.

  Harry felt his own colour rising; it was not normal behaviour for him to make the kind of gesture he had made, and it disturbed the quiet of his morning, leaving him wondering if he had done the right thing. Faced with the object of his desire, he suddenly thought he had made a mistake. It was easy to imagine being with her when she did not stand before him; but facing her, the reality of her being a lady, dressed in her finery reminded Harry all too well of his failings. “What for?” he asked unfairly.

  Grace faltered a little; she hoped to goodness she had not made a mistake. “The flowers; they were fro
m you weren’t they? No one else knows of my preference.”

  Harry raised an eyebrow, his surprise at her words causing him to say more than he had intended. “Your sister and family do not know which is your favourite flower?”

  Grace shook her head, “No one does; no one has ever asked before.” Her tone was matter of fact, as if she had never considered that anyone would be interested in such a little detail.

  Harry frowned at her response; he did not like the thought of her likes and dislikes being neglected. It caused a tightening in his chest he had never felt before. He looked at her not knowing what to say to tell her she was worth more. Not used to feeling such strong emotions, nothing he could think to say was appropriate in the circumstances.

  Grace realised he was not going to admit leaving the flowers, but she was happy to know he sent them. She realised she did not need him to admit to the deed; it was enough he had done it. “It was a lovely surprise; it was a lovely way to wake up and see them smiling at me. I don’t know how you managed it, but thank you.”

  It had cost him a few lies to the under-housekeeper. Lies that, if she spoke to the Duchess, would be easily found out. Talking to his betters, even dreaming about his betters and telling lies, were things Harry would have never thought he would ever do. He should be ashamed of himself, but he was faced with a beautiful young woman dressed in a gown that made her seem even more delicate than he already thought her, and she was thanking him for leaving her favourite flowers in her bedchamber. Her sparkling eyes and faint blush warmed his insides and made him want to prolong the conversation.

  “You’re welcome,” he said gruffly. “It was nothing.”

  “It was a lot,” Grace said quietly. “To me anyway. I shall enjoy looking at them as I fall asleep and look forward to seeing them as I wake.” Grace did not understand the sharp intake of breath that Harry made at her words. She was too innocent to realise what effect speaking about sleeping and waking would have on a man who longed to be closer to her since the moment he first saw her in the orangery.