Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace (27 page)

Lord Abbott sat taller. “I find your tone offensive, Lord Godown.”

Gabriel pretended nonchalance, but every fiber of his being screamed of betrayal. Would he never find a woman who spoke the truth? To Abbot, he said, “What a pity! And I had thought myself congenial.”

Lady Brant said, “Gentlemen, I expect you to conduct yourself with proper decorum.”

Gabriel retrieved his gloves and stood. “Absolutely, Lady Brant. You may count on me to be the perfect gentleman.” He bowed to the room. “That being said, I should freshen my things from my ride. If you will excuse me, Ma’am.” Some dark inexplicable emotion rushed through him. With another bow, Gabriel strode purposely from the room. The thought of being placed in such an awkward position angered him more than he realized. Although he had committed himself to fulfilling his responsibilities, a woman barely from the schoolroom would not play him. He would not tolerate it. Not again.

Reaching the main stairs where he encountered Lord Brant, Gabriel expelled a long ragged breath. “My Lord,” he said mechanically with a nod of greeting He glanced upward to see to young girls exiting toward the private wing of the house. He also caught a glimpse of a female’s skirt tail as she led the children away.

Only a brief glance of a nicely turned ankle, but somehow that brief moment sent his chest pounding harder than he could ever remember. Noting the girls skipping after the woman, he said, “I was not aware, my Lord, you had small children. I have been your guest for three days and have seen nothing of them. I beg your pardon for not properly acknowledging them.”

Brant stopped beside Gabriel on the stairs: Brant in descent and Gabriel ascending. “The girls are Lady Brant’s by a prior joining. You will find, my Lord, they are exceptionally well behaved. In truth, you have not met my wife’s daughters for they have been staying with their governess at one of my other properties. They have only just returned. Lady Brant wished for her children to be a part of the Stir Up Sunday celebration tomorrow, and, of course, the upcoming Christmastide.”

Gabriel had to ask. “How long have the children known your governess? She must be a worthy steward if the girls are so exceptionally trained.” It was foolish to ask after every governess he encountered, but Gabriel could not stifle the words.

Brant glanced to where girls’ laughter could still be heard in the distance. “I am not certain,” he began. “I leave such details to Her Ladyship. I suppose Miss Melsont has been with us some four or five months. Lady Brant is quite pleased with the woman.”

Four or five months, Gabriel thought. Too long to be Grace. A part of him knew disappointment. Would he always be searching for her countenance among the unseen in aristocratic households? “If you have found a competent servant, my Lord, count yourself among the fortunate.” Gabriel nodded his parting. He was to be among the Brants’ guest for another week. Somehow, he would prevail. Miss Haverty would be his. Perhaps, he should begin negotiations with the lady’s father. Following the afternoon meal, he would request a private meeting with Mr. Haverty.

*

Pleased with his initial talks with Mr. Haverty, Gabriel had actually enjoyed watching Miss Haverty’s attempts to waylay Lord Abbott’s maneuverings. Evidently, her father had spoken to the lady regarding the inappropriateness of her recent actions. Tonight, Miss Haverty had spent the majority of the evening seated beside her mother. When Lord Abbott offered to turn the sheet music for her when she played the pianoforte, Miss Haverty refused the gentleman’s company.

The only part of the conversation with Haverty that had cut at Gabriel’s overactive need for privacy was when Haverty informed Gabriel of his knowledge of the Crowden will. “Your cousin, Lord Isaacs, confided in me,” Haverty announced. “Isaacs meant to explain your urgency in begetting an heir. Your cousin’s clarification went a long way in alleviating Mrs. Haverty’s concern for Alice’s sensibilities.”

When next he saw him, Gabriel planned to have a very stern talk with his cousin. It was not of Isaacs’ dominion to discuss Gabriel’s private life, and certainly not the legal ramifications of Renard Crowden’s will. “It is a bit unusual,” Gabriel said through tight lips. “Yet, it is not uncommon among the aristocracy to do what is required to maintain a title. As my future marquise, Miss Haverty would be expected to produce an heir. The timing is the only part from the ordinary.”

Later, he had dutifully escorted Miss Haverty on several circuits of the room before spending time with Lord Brant in a game of chess. “They make a handsome couple,” he overheard Lady Brant whisper a bit too loudly.

Mrs. Haverty responded with confidence, “Mr. Haverty assures me Alice could soon be a marquise.”

That had been Saturday, but Sunday had a way of changing the best-laid plans. Some people viewed Sunday as the “day of rest” after a tiring week of toiling to make ends meet. Gabriel, on the other hand, saw Saturday as the end of one trial, and Sunday as the beginning of the next, and this Sunday proved him true.

Over breakfast, Lady Brant announced, “I am praying no one objects, but after services, cook has requested we all join her in the traditional Sir Up activities.”

“Of course, we will,” Mrs. Haverty assured. “We all look forward to your planned Christmastide celebrations.”

Miss Haverty added, “Stir Up Sunday announces the beginning of the Festive Days. I so look forward to the days leading up to Twelfth Night.”

As a youth, Gabriel had always enjoyed the bawdy celebration after the staid ceremony of Christmas, but during the years he had served on the Continent, Christmas and Twelfth Night were often seen as just another day. He smiled at Miss Haverty. “Do you prefer the full celebration of the Season, Miss Haverty?”

“Oh, yes, my Lord. I would decorate my home with greenery and red ribbons and ask cook to prepare a Christmas goose, as well as the Pudding.”

He held no objection to knowing the stability of English traditions again, and if decorating Gossling Hill would make Miss Haverty’s transition to her new home easier, he would support her completely. “I think it sounds absolutely delightful, my Dear,” he said in encouragement.

His sensibility should have told him such pleasantries had always led to a drastic change of circumstances, but Gabriel had permitted the improved situation between he and the Havertys to lure him into the belief his hopes would know fruition. So, when Lady Brant summoned the household to the kitchen to take part in creating the Brants’ Christmas Pudding, he had devotedly escorted Miss Haverty, while Lord Abbott was relegated to offering his arm to the Lord Brant’s elderly aunt.

Brant’s cook had arranged a simple but tasteful display. A large bowl containing the thirteen traditions ingredients, which represented Christ and His Disciples, stood prominently on the linen lined table. A crystal punch bowl balanced the display.

“Oh, I love an icy punch,” Miss Haverty said softly.

He patted the back of her hand. “Then you will have two portions. I will gladly share my libations with you.”

Lord Brant cleared his throat. “It has long been a Clement Hall institution that we gather together to celebrate the beginning of the Festive Days.” He held a shiny coin aloft. An old silver sixpence. Someone had, obviously, spent time cleaning and polishing the piece. “To bring wealth to our household.” Ceremoniously, he released the coin into the pudding mix.

Even Gabriel had felt the excitement of the moment. Although he personally found the Brants and the Havertys bearing too much starch in their views, he enjoyed the sense of “family” he had discovered among their mix. He had sorely missed his family while he remained exiled to the Continent.

Brant continued, “We will each stir the pudding.” He accepted the wooden spoon the cook presented him. With a wink indicating his good humor, the viscount demonstrated how everyone should stir the pudding. He recited, and everyone joined him, “Stir up, we beseech thee, the pudding in the pot, and when we arrive home, we will eat the lot.” Brant began to stir vigorously. “Remember,” he said aristocratically, “we will each stir from East to West in honor of the three Wise Men who visited the infant Jesus.” He motioned his wife forward. “Her Ladyship and I ask each of you join us. And do not forget to make your special wish,” their host said with loads of good cheer.

Normally, in such situations, the Brants would stand on precedence, and Gabriel, as the highest titled aristocrat among their guests, should have followed Lady Brant’s efforts, but he had gestured to Brant to permit the ladies to precede him. As he hung back, he watched in delighted anticipation as the guests took up the task with unbridled gusto. It was the first time he had truly felt relaxed since his arrival on Brant’s doorstep.

“It is Lord Godown’s turn,” Mrs. Haverty said as he accepted the cup of punch Lady Brant handed him.

Gabriel graciously accepted the wooden spoon from Brant’s aunt. “Do not forget your wish,” the old woman reminded him as he made the first circle in the mixture.”

“Of course,” he said good-naturedly. “How could I forget?”

He made to make a second sweep of the spoon when he heard Mrs. Haverty’s ill-announced stage whisper. “His Lordship wished for a wife before Christmas.”

Gabriel presented the woman an aristocratic tilt of his head to indicate although he would prefer a bit more privacy, truth remained in her words. He closed his eyes to make his wish, but the sound of children interrupted his thoughts. He looked up to see the two young girls he had observed the previous evening.

“Everyone, these are my daughters, Victoria and Mary,” Lady Brant announced to the group.

But it was not the well-dressed schoolgirls making their curtsies that held him transfixed. It was the prim and proper woman standing dutifully in the shadows.

Lady Brant continued, “And this is the girls’ governess, Miss Melsont.”

Gabriel forced himself to look away. To make his hand repeat the circle within the mixture. Yet, his heart raced as if he had chased a culprit across the moors. “Your punch, my Lord,” Lady Brant said from beside him.

Gabriel shook off the offer. “I promised my punch to Miss Haverty,” he said without much conviction.

“Are you well, my Lord?” Lady Brant said in concern.

Gabriel made himself focus on the gathering. Without an audience, he would learn more of the nefarious Miss Melsont. “The festivities made me think of my late parents,” he said softly. “Christmastide holds special memories.”

Lady Brant nodded her understanding. “Miss Haverty will assist you in creating new memories, my Lord.”

Gabriel swallowed hard. Suddenly, he wanted to be anywhere but the Brants’ kitchen. Miss Haverty waited for him to escort her to the drawing room, but all he wished to do was turn about, clasp Grace Nelson to him, and throttle her within an inch of her life. Then he would settle what had transpired between them by kissing her senseless. With a stiff bow, he placed Miss Haverty’s hand on his arm. Not looking back at the woman he had once foolishly considered making his marquise, he exited with his future bride on his arm.

*

Grace’s world had tilted on its axis. She had dutifully brought the children to the kitchen as Lady Brant had requested. But the moment her foot had reached the bottom step, she had known he was there. The other servants in the house had spoken of the master’s guests, and she had overheard his name. Crazy as it was, she was pleased to see him. To see for herself he had recovered from his wound. To know her quick action had likely saved Lord Godown’s life in the park.

She dared not to look directly at him, but she watched him through downcast eyes. Grace knew the exact moment His Lordship recognized her. Although his expression had not changed, she noted the slight twitch of his sculpted jaw line. She wondered what he would think of her changing her name. On impulse, to mask her speedy retreat from London, Grace had altered her name on the letter of recommendation from Viscountess Averette. Such was her fear Lord Spectre or one of his agents might follow her. Lady Averette’s fluid manuscript made it easy for Grace to change the “N” to an “M.” Then she had added a “t” to the end of her surname. Grace assumed Lord Godown would not understand what a woman alone had to do to survive.

Lord Godown had purposefully not looked upon her. Not even as much as an aristocratic nod of his head. Yet, that fact had not stopped Grace’s heart from racing, nor did it place a damper on her elation at once again to look upon his handsome countenance.

Even when he placed the beautiful blonde on his arm and walked away, Grace had not suffered. Nor had she known a deflation of the happiness when the other servants had spoken freely of His Lordship’s pursuit of Miss Haverty. Grace had always known no future marriage existed for her, especially one involving Lord Godown. If Gabriel Crowden could find contentment with Miss Haverty, she would celebrate the news.

From Mrs. Williams, the Brant’s housekeeper, Grace had learned His Lordship would remain at Clement Hill until after the Brants’ annual Christmas ball. Speculation said Lord Godown would propose to Miss Haverty some time during the present week.

“Then I must keep myself and the girls from sight for the next week,” she told her reflection in the cheval mirror as she undressed for bed later that evening. “Not an easy task with two girls who wish to participate in the Festive Days, but not impossible.” Grace tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “A week. Then Lord Godown will depart with his new wife, and I shall convince my heart seeing him do so never really mattered.”

*

Gabriel had managed somehow to set his feet in motion, but that was all he could recall of those moments following Miss Nelson’s appearance. He assumed Miss Haverty had found nothing circumspect in his behavior for the woman had smiled at him as if she felt true affection for him. Yet, her smile did nothing to allay his qualms. In fact, it increased his tension. His gut clenched as if someone had struck him. Miss Haverty’s newfound affection was as deceitful as Miss Nelson’s changing her name. Both were forms of betrayal. Would he ever discover a woman he could trust? Of course not, his heart answered. He would simply have to guard his feelings. For the rest of his life.