Grace: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 3) Read online

  “Rosalind!” Grace said through gritted teeth.

  “Only marry him if has money and a good family,” Isabella interrupted. “I will only allow Roberto to do the same. Money is very important.”

  “I hope Roberto and Grace find someone who they can love,” Rosalind said gently.

  “Love? Love is for those lucky enough to have money!” Isabella replied with scorn. “I have lived without money; love does not fill a hungry stomach or warm cold hands: money does.”

  The three were interrupted from further discussion by Peter’s entrance. “The carriage awaits,” he said, carrying Rosalind’s cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” he asked gently.

  “Yes,” Rosalind said firmly. “I want to go, unlike Grace, who is now on first name terms with the Head Gardener!”

  Grace blushed, but remained silent. Peter smiled at his sister-in-law. “He’s a decent man and very knowledgeable; you could not learn from anyone better.”

  “I know,” she replied, giving her sister a triumphant look.

  *

  Harry knew he should not be loitering in the shadows of the house, but he had needed to see her. He was no fool; he would never aspire to joining the higher ranks of society, but she was so beautiful when wearing a thick cotton apron, he could not resist the opportunity to see her in her finery.

  His breath caught when she walked down the steps. The fabric of her dress was so fine, it floated around her body. Her hair was tied more loosely than normally, and it suited her, the curls framing her face when they were not dancing in the slight breeze of the evening. She looked up at the footman who handed her into the carriage and smiled her thanks. Harry’s gut clenched; if he saw that footman alone, he would have severe difficulty in not punching him, the feeling of possessiveness was so strong.

  Harry shook himself. He had no right to feel in such a way: she was not his; she would never be his. Those logical thoughts would not stop the longing that would keep him staring at the ceiling long into the night. He returned to the servant’s hall, passing through the kitchen which was full of chatter and a lot less focused than when the family were in residence for the evening.

  He sat in his usual seat in the senior staff room and rubbed his hands over his face, the coarseness of his hands feeling rough against the skin of his face. His mind was in turmoil, but he knew he would have to get himself under control. When he was away from her, he thought he could be his usual restrained, sensible self, but when she was in his presence, he could not guarantee he would not at some point forget himself and do something that would have dire consequences for them both.

  Mrs Dawlish, the housekeeper, walked in to the room. “Hello, Harry, are you joining us in a glass tonight?”

  “Aye,” Harry responded. One glass of beer would not be enough to drown his tumultuous feelings, but it might relax him enough to get to sleep.

  Mrs Dawlish; Mr Blanc, the cook; Mr Bryant, the butler; and the head gardener, sat in a circle contentedly enjoying their treat. Mr Bryant would have a late night waiting for the family to return, but for now their duties were done.

  “Miss Johnson looked very pretty tonight,” Mr Bryant said. “I don’t think it will be long before she leaves as a married woman.”

  No one noticed Harry gripping his glass harder. Mrs Dawlish smiled at the group. “Yes, she’s such a pretty young thing; I know the Duchess wants to have her stay for some time, but I don’t think she’ll have her wish.”

  “Not with a large dowry in tow,” Mr Bryant said.

  “The only thing that will hold her back will be the reduced visiting the Duchess is doing at the moment,” Mrs Dawlish said with authority. “That young gentleman who called the other day seemed very fine. She has two dances with him tonight she was telling Betsy while she was dressing her; I’m not surprised he’s chasing her: she is such a sweet girl.”

  “Right! That’s me off to bed,” Harry said, draining his glass and pushing his seat away from the table. He had heard enough to need a dozen bottles to deaden the images that would torment his mind for the remainder of the evening and beyond.

  “Do you want another drink before you go?” Mrs Dawlish asked, surprised at the force Harry had stood up with. “It’s still early, they won’t be back for hours.”

  “No, thank you,” Harry responded. “I have an early start tomorrow.”

  He left the room and walked back to his own small cottage in the grounds that had been his home since his birth. He closed the door to the world and sat on the edge of his bed, head in hands. He would have to put her out of his mind. For the sake of his sanity there was nothing else he could do. The thought of her with anyone else tore at his insides, but he was helpless to do anything about it. Trying to imagine another scenario than her marrying a well to-do gentleman was impossible; the likes of him never married someone like her. He kept ignoring that fact, allowing his mind to wander and hope, but the stark reality needed facing. He would never have her; she was just too good for him.

  *

  They arrived at the Assembly and joined the throng. Peter turned to Grace. “If you would be good enough to keep the third dance free, I would be honoured to have a dance with you.”

  “Of course, thank you,” Grace responded.

  Isabella left their side as soon as they walked through the door. She made her way over to where Baroness Leyland sat and embraced her friend before speaking in rapid Italian to her. Rosalind watched the pair. “I do wish Isabella would find some other friend to mix with. I think she would be happier without Baroness Leyland’s spite in her ear all the time.”

  “I suppose the advantage the Baroness has over everyone else is that she is fluent in Italian,” Grace said. “It must be easier communicating with someone in your own language.”

  “Unfortunately for us, Isabella will never be friendly towards our family while she feels we are cheating her out of her rightful place and, in addition, Baroness Leyland is adding to her complaints. I’ve never found out why, but Baroness Leyland has always disliked the family,” Rosalind said with a shrug.

  Mrs Adams was the first friend they saw. She approached them with a smile. “Mr Workman has been telling me of his progress,” she said with a direct look at Grace. “He is very pleased I introduced him. You’d better watch yourself; you’ve conquered one young man already.”

  “Really?” Grace said quietly, hoping the floor would open beneath her. The last thing she needed was Mrs Adams encouraging a man she was not interested in.

  At that moment Mr Workman interrupted them, coming to claim his dance. Grace was led into the set aware that at least two pairs of eyes were watching her.

  Mr Workman was a good dancer Grace admitted to herself. He was also a charming and entertaining gentleman, but Grace was relieved when the first two dances were over. She could not shake off the dislike of being the focus of someone’s attention for so long and, if Mrs Adams was being serious, Mr Workman was harbouring hopes Grace could never satisfy.

  Her partner walked her to the edge of the ballroom when she declined refreshments. “Do you require anything to improve your comfort?” he asked.

  “No, thank you,” Grace smiled in return.

  “Would it be too forward of me to ask if you would accompany me on another excursion, perhaps Monday?” Mr Workman asked.

  “I’m afraid I already have an appointment on Monday,” Grace replied. It was true; she did have, only it was not the type of appointment the people in the ballroom would expect or understand.

  “Tuesday then?” Mr Workman asked. “We could make an early start and go to the seaside for the day.”

  “Could my sister accompany us? She enjoys the sea, and I don’t think she would approve of us travelling so far alone,” Grace asked, not relishing the thought of a full day out alone with him. She would feel too much under pressure. If Rosalind could not accompany them, she would have to feign some other excuse.

  “Of course,” Mr W
orkman said, but Grace had the distinct impression he would rather not have company, which made her thankful she had spoken quickly. An open carriage ride might be acceptable for propriety’s sake, but to Grace it would be as bad as spending the day alone in a private room. She would feel pressured and uncomfortable in both circumstances.

  They were prevented from further conversation by Peter’s approach. “I’ve come to claim my dance,” he said to Grace, making an exaggerated bow that made her smile. “If you would excuse us,” he said to Mr Workman, who nodded his head in acceptance. Mr Workman was not completely happy about how his evening with Miss Johnson was progressing, but he would try to be patient. She would be worth the wait.

  Chapter 8

  Mrs Adams approached Grace and Mr Cressey. She had seen Grace’s blushes when she introduced the pair earlier in the evening, but Mrs Adams was not an indulgent friend; Grace was a handsome woman with a large fortune: she would have to overcome her reticence at meeting suitors. It was time to offer some relief though, Mrs Adams decided; Grace had had the obligatory two dances and now stood at the side of the dance floor while Mr Cressey tried to charm her.

  Grace looked with suspicion as Mrs Adams approached; the friend of the family was rapidly turning into her nemesis by determinedly introducing her to all the single men in the area.

  Mrs Adams chuckled at Grace’s expression. “You don’t need to fear; I’m here to save you this time!”

  Mr Cressey looked in surprise at Mrs Adams’s words. “I’m sure Miss Johnson does not require saving; we were enjoying our conversation,” he responded, a little indignant at Mrs Adams’s assumptions.

  “She looked bored to death to me,” Mrs Adams responded cruelly. “I think it’s time you released this one to seek someone else. You want to leave them wanting not wishing you away.”

  “I say! There is no need to be so rude, Mrs Adams!” Mr Cressey cried, aware the old woman was not promoting him how he wished to be seen in Miss Johnson’s eyes.

  Grace felt compelled to defend her partner even though she had been wishing for his absence only seconds before. “I am quite happy with my companion,” she said quietly.

  Mr Cressey looked mollified. “Thank you Miss Johnson,” he said magnanimously.

  “What a load of bunkum!” Mrs Adams said, but her eyes were twinkling. “Now, Miss Johnson, I insist you accompany me for some refreshment. You may accompany us of course,” she said to Mr Cressey.

  The gentleman thought it wise to make his excuses and move away. Mrs Adams chuckled at Grace’s obvious look of relief. “You really need to tell your beau the truth when he is boring you to tears!”

  “I need to convince you to stop introducing them to me in the first place!” Grace said with feeling.

  “And not have the pleasure of seeing you squirm? Give an old woman some pleasure my girl,” Mrs Adams said without remorse.

  Grace smiled despite her earlier antagonism at the lady. “I hope you soon focus on someone else with your efforts; I don’t think I have the constitution to stand up to you!”

  Mrs Adams chuckled. “Oh, I think you have; you’ve been sending me stares throughout those last two dances that would frighten a lesser person.”

  Grace was mortified at first before she saw the expression on Mrs Adams’s face and started to laugh. “He was a little bit tedious to listen to,” she admitted.

  “That’s more like it! He bores me to death whenever he opens his mouth,” Mrs Adams said.

  “Why on earth would you introduce him then?” Grace asked shocked.

  “It isn’t up to me to pick and choose who should be vying for your attention! I just do the introducing; you have to sort through the nincompoops to find the worthy men,” Mrs Adams said.

  “I’ve just decided you are worse than Rosalind!” Grace said with feeling, shaking her head at the smug expression on her friend’s face.

  *

  Rosalind dozed in the carriage on the way home, her condition making her tire easier than normal. Isabella sat quietly looking out of the window. Peter chatted with Grace, who seemed to be happier on the journey away from the Assembly than she had on the way to it.

  “You danced most dances; I’m sure Rosalind will see it as a successful night,” Peter smiled at Grace.

  “Yes, it was pleasant,” Grace admitted. She did like dancing although it was far more comfortable dancing with her sisters than strangers who expected witty conversation from their partners.

  “Shall we expect bouquets tomorrow?” Peter teased, fully expecting some, if not all of the gentlemen who had danced with Grace, would try to follow up on their new acquaintance. A pretty heiress was always worth pursuing.

  Grace flushed, “I hope not,” she replied truthfully. “I don’t want Rosalind to form any ideas that I am wanting to develop a lasting attachment with anyone I’ve met tonight.”

  “Rosalind only wants the best for you,” Peter said gently.

  “I know,” Grace smiled. “But I just wish to be left alone.”

  “To work in my gardens?” Peter teased. He continued when he saw Grace’s eyes light up. “Rosalind explained how you used to work in the garden at your home, and she guessed you would want to do something similar during your stay. She was trying to work out a way of satisfying your need with the gardens whilst not sending the staff into complete shock at the Duchess’s sister working.”

  “I know it must appear strange, but it is the most wonderful thing to be able to watch something grow that you have planted with your own hands. I’ve already enjoyed the small amount of time I’ve spent there,” Grace said, her face lighting up at the thought of spending most of Monday with Harry. “Yesterday I was planting Fuchsia seedlings that are a unique variety, something Harry has created.”

  Peter noticed the difference in Grace, and the thought briefly flitted through his mind as to whether the glow was because of the garden or because of his gardener. He hoped it was the gardens but then quickly dismissed his thoughts; he hardly knew his sister, but the main thing he had been told about her was that she loved plants and growing anything she could. It would be ludicrous to think her interest was for anything other than gardening. “We are lucky to have someone who is willing to experiment to improve the gardens. Since gaining the title, I have often discussed with Harry his ideas. I hope Isabella will continue to encourage him,” he said looking at Isabella with a slight smile, but she did not turn away from the window.

  “When do you think you will find out whether her claim is legitimate or not?” Grace asked quietly.

  “I’m hoping soon: I think we all just need to know now; it doesn’t matter what the result is. As soon as we know, we can start planning for the future again. Waiting until we receive confirmation of the claim as just means we’ve all been living in a state of flux. It’s time it was sorted out,” Peter responded truthfully.

  *

  Monday dawned, and Grace woke early, the thought of her day ahead ensuring she awoke with a smile on her lips. She knew she would have to endure morning visits, but it was a small price to pay for the other delights the day would bring.

  Four hours later she was hurrying through the gardens to her secret gate. She nodded to the workers again not as embarrassed as the first time. It had been too many days in her opinion since she had been able to seek Harry out; she was not going to let her worries about what the staff might think of her working in the gardens to intrude on her day.

  She could not find Harry in any of the flower glasshouses. It took her quite a few minutes to check every one. A frown replaced the smile she had worn since entering the gated area. She decided to check the other glasshouses before really worrying what had gone wrong.

  There was no sign of Harry in the vegetable glasshouses on the opposite side of the kitchen garden. A very bemused under-gardener had doffed his cap at her entrance in one of the glasshouses, but she had begged his pardon and left him to his work.

  Grace’s stomach churned. She had no idea what to d
o. Nothing seemed amiss as such, but Harry could be ill. She did not want to ask anyone, but her need to find him was too great. She approached one of the under-gardeners, working in the kitchen garden.

  “Excuse me, do you know where I can find Mr Long, please?” Grace asked, her face flushing a deep red.

  “No, Miss,” the worker responded.

  “Is he expected in the kitchen garden?” she persisted.

  “He’s working in the garden, Miss, but I’m afraid I don’t know where,” the worker pointed beyond the wooden gate.

  “I see; thank you,” Grace responded quietly. She walked towards the gate outwardly looking as if nothing were amiss. It was only when she closed the gate behind her and leaned against it did she sag against the reassuring wooden slab.

  He had let her down. Perhaps he had forgotten? She should return to the hall and ignore the feelings of disappointment swirling around inside. She pondered for a moment or two before she stood straight: something had changed; she did not know what, but she was convinced of it. Harry was not the type of man to forget. She needed to find him.

  She walked through all the gardens, seeking out the man who filled her thoughts constantly. Each area failed to reveal him, and Grace began to feel worried; perhaps he was ill after all, and the under-gardener had not wished to say anything. When she reached the orchard she continued through: she had not ventured further as yet; normally the thought of reaching a new garden would have appealed to her, but today her drive was to find Harry, nothing else.

  The characteristic archway led her to an area that opened out more than the other gardens had done. It was a huge space, spreading to many acres. It was breath-taking. Grace stood for a moment or two; she could never ignore such a sight. It was magnificent. The land undulated off into the distance, to meet the tenanted farmland. Grace stood on a higher point that curved into a depression on the land. The depression had been made into a beautiful lake with an ornate palladium bridge stretching across it. There was not an abundance of flowers, but what few beds there were seemed to contain plants that suited the more natural look of the area rather than the formality of the other gardens.