Louise M. Gouge (12 page)

Chapter Nineteen

R
iding beside Major Grenville on the way to the village, Anna squinted and shielded her eyes to block the bright sunlight glistening off the snow. She glanced at her companion to see how he managed the problem. The bill of his hat cast a shadow over his eyes, but her bonnet sat away from her face and afforded no such protection. A parasol would help, but Mrs. Hudson explained that not a single black one could be found in the manor house, and Lady Greystone would frown upon her using any other color.

Still, she would not wish to be any place else in the world—or with anyone else. The only movement in the woodlands was the waving tree branches, who reached their bare branches to the sky as if lifting praise to God. Behind her the groom hummed his usual tune. From time to time the horses nickered or blew out a steamy breath as they pranced along the snowy path. Anna kept her seat without too much difficulty, having learned to sense when Bella was about to change her pace. Which was more than she could say about Lady Greystone’s changing moods.

Anna tried to dismiss her memories of the morning’s unpleasantness by thinking of the sweet newborn baby girl and the major’s kindness. But despite her efforts, her mind kept going back to her employer’s misinterpretation of her chat with the viscount. She could hardly grasp how her employer could sit at the midday meal and act as if nothing had happened, while she herself had felt a peculiar twinge of guilt although she had done nothing wrong. While they ate, the major had asked his mother about the riding lesson and received her approval, along with further instructions to take a basket to the old nurse in the village. Lady Greystone gave no explanation for why she would not make her customary trip herself, but Anna had observed her rubbing her hands as if in pain.
Papá
had suffered a similar affliction.

“Just a bit farther.” The major tossed her a smile that warmed her despite the bitter cold.

She tried to return a smile, but her cheeks felt frozen and her dry lips threatened to crack, so she merely nodded.

“Have you recovered from this morning?”

She gave him a shrug. A balm would help her lips. Perhaps Mrs. Hudson had something she could use next time.

The major looked away and said no more. Anna would have to offer him something conciliatory once her cheeks thawed.

Few people walked the village lanes. Those who did hurried along, bundled up in hooded cloaks and shoulders hunched against the cold. In the distance, two older boys, no doubt above school age, herded a small flock of sheep with the help of a black-and-white dog. Frozen ruts of snow crunched under the horses’ hooves, while smoke curled from every chimney of the thatched-roofed houses. Anna always enjoyed the woody smell of winter air, but today inhaling the fragrance chilled her lungs.

“Here we are.” At the brick cottage Major Grenville dismounted and set down the basket, then lifted Anna from the saddle. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, yes. Only freezing.” How hard it was to form the words.

Before she could protest, he swept off his black woolen cape, wrapped it around her and ran his gloved hands up and down her upper arms. “Does this help?”

She looked up into his fine dark eyes and her heart danced. “A little. But I do think going inside will help even more.”

He chuckled, that deep, rich sound that always warmed her soul.

The groom coughed.

The major stepped back from her. “George, you may go to the tavern for a spot of tea.” He tossed him a coin. “Return in half an hour.”

“Aye, sir.” The man caught the coin, tugged at his cap and rode away.

“Shall we?” Major Grenville knocked on the door, then opened it to peek inside. “Mrs. Winters?”

The old nurse shuffled across the wooden floor and pulled them both inside. “Welcome, welcome, my dears. How good of you to come. Will you have tea?”

“Permit me.” Anna surrendered the major’s cloak to him and removed her own, then hurried to the hearth. Shivering away her chill, she added a small log and stirred the fire. Soon tea was brewing in the porcelain pot.

Mrs. Winters examined the contents of the basket and clapped her hands like a child at Christmas over the cakes, lamb stew and a new pair of knitted gloves. “Her Ladyship is too kind.” She patted teary eyes with a linen handkerchief.

Anna noticed the emotion flickering in the major’s eyes. “Not
too
kind, dear Winnie. Without you, my brothers and I would have…” His forehead creased, and he seemed not to know how to proceed.

“Lady Greystone knitted the gloves herself.” Anna would not add that the task had occupied the viscountess’s hands while she sat beside Lord Greystone’s sickbed. No need to alarm this dear woman about the viscount.

Gratitude shone from the major’s eyes, although Anna could not guess why.

* * *

Edmond gulped back an annoying wave of unexpected feeling. Miss Newfield to the rescue again, just when he needed her. Like her brother, she was always looking out for the interests of others. And when he thought of all that Winnie had done for him, how could he not be overwhelmed with gratitude? What different men he and his brothers would be if she had not lavished so much love upon them, as if she knew she must make up for the absence of affection from their only parent. He doubted Mother had any idea of her failure. Nor did she seem to require any affection. Everything was about duty and responsibility, as though humans were soulless machines.

On the other hand, her slip this morning at breakfast gave him a bit of understanding. Her father had been unkind to her. If she had no loving nurse to supply the affection every child needed, no wonder she had adopted a stoic, unfeeling view of life. And how easy he could find it to become just like her. But holding his beautiful newborn niece this morning had changed him forever. God had not saved his life in America so he could become a bitter man.

Edmond sat back and watched as Miss Newfield chatted with Winnie about knitting and tea and how cold it was for November. Their easy conversation revealed an openness of heart that he longed to be a part of but dared not. At least not yet.

Once again his own thoughts startled him. And cautioned him as well. He must never think to deepen his friendship with Miss Newfield unless he planned to continue it for as long as the Lord granted life to both of them.

When the time came to return to the Lodge, a stronger wind swirled through the village. Taking their leave of Winnie, Edmond and Miss Newfield plunged back out into the cold. He lifted the young lady back into the saddle and could not resist letting his hands linger at her waist.

“Do you think you can manage a faster pace going back?”

Already shivering, she nodded. “Anything to get out of this weather.”

“Brave girl.”

With George following close behind, they managed to lope over the three quarters of a mile from the village to the stables at the Lodge. This time, when he lifted her down, her bright eyes and flushed cheeks suggested she had enjoyed the ride as much as he. Laughing from exhilaration, they left their horses with the groom and dashed toward a back entrance of the house.

Without warning, Miss Newfield bent down, scooped up a handful of snow and tossed it squarely into his face. Then she gasped. “Oh, Major Grenville. I have no idea what came over me.”

He snorted out a laugh. “Then you will admit I have the right to demand satisfaction?” He scooped up his own handful of her chosen weapon.

Her responding squeak was nothing short of delightful. “Oh, no. You must be a gentleman and forgive me. I—eek!”

His snowball had landed on her pretty little nose, right where he aimed, and she brushed it off. “There. Even.” He held out his hand to shake hers, but she bent down to grab another handful. He motioned for her to stop. “Whoa. Wait. What if someone sees us?”

She inhaled a quick breath and dropped her icy weapon. She stared at the windows of the east wing, and he felt certain the rich pink color infusing her face had nothing to do with the cold. “Yes, of course.”

Forcing sober expressions to their faces, they entered the back hallway near the kitchen and were set upon by servants who took possession of their wet cloaks. Edmond could not be sure, but he thought he detected a twinkle or two in the eyes of several retainers, as if they had spied the snowball fight. For one wild moment he didn’t care. In the next moment he chided himself for such foolishness. But he prayed the day would come when he and this delightful lady could laugh together without fear.

* * *

Anna relished every bite of her lamb stew and hot bread. This afternoon’s outing had been a most enjoyable time, leaving her hungry as a barn cat. She hoped her manners were not in keeping with her appetite.

Lord Greystone still did not come down for meals, but Mr. Grenville graced them with his presence and contributed to the conversation several times.

“Mother.” The clergyman set down his cutlery and let the footman remove his plate. “Mary and I have discussed the matter of our daughter’s name.”

Lady Greystone stared at him, her face immobile. “And how does that concern me?”

His wince was barely noticeable. “We have decided that if you will not come to see your granddaughter and give her a name, we shall have her christened Henrietta Frances.”

Lady Greystone dropped her fork onto her plate with a clank. “What?” She rose to her feet and glared at him. “Why would you choose that name?”

To their credit, Mr. Grenville and the major both stood as well.

“Well, I—”

“If you insist upon calling the child Henrietta, I shall refuse to see her.” She grasped her serviette and swiped at her thin lips, then threw it down. “In fact, I shall disinherit her.”

Mr. Grenville’s pleasant countenance creased with rage, the first time Anna had ever observed anger in the man. Beside her, she heard the major’s indignant grunt.

“We had hoped to honor my father by calling her Henrietta, for Henry, and to honor you with Frances.” He seemed to struggle for calm. “Clearly, I have erred. You must not blame Mary. She would do anything to please you.” His narrowed eyes, so unlike him, dared her to respond.

Lady Greystone sat down and resumed her eating as if nothing had happened. When the clergyman continued to glare at his mother, Anna traded a look with the major. He cleared his throat, catching his brother’s eye, and gave a quick nod. Both men sat down.

No less than five minutes passed without a word being spoken. Anna’s appetite fled, despite the delicious supper before her. She prayed this woman would somehow soften toward her family, who struggled to please her yet could not.

At last Lady Greystone seized her serviette again and dabbed her lips. “You may christen the child Elizabeth Frances Grenville.” She nodded to her footman, who pulled out her chair as she rose. On her way down the table, she paused beside the major. “Edmond, we will begin our plans for the Christmas party this evening. You and Miss Newfield must assist me. Obviously, Greystone and Richard will be no help whatsoever.”

The moment she sailed out the door, a collective sigh emanated from every soul in the room, even the footmen.

“Richard,” Major Grenville said, “you have my sympathy.”

The gentleman shook his head and gave his brother a weary smile. “Not at all, Edmond. I rather like the name Elizabeth. I am certain Mary will, too, for it is her mother’s name.”

The major chuckled and shook his head, then turned to Anna. “I would not distress you, madam, but the custom is that the ladies retire to the drawing room after the evening meal while the gentlemen…discuss politics.”

Anna jumped up from her chair before the footman could assist her. “And you have not told me this before?”

“Forgive me.” He rose, lifted his hands, palms up, and shrugged to emphasize his apology. “One never knows when Mother will follow custom and when she will devise her own.”

If he were Peter, she would give his arm a playful slap on the arm for the omission. Now all she could do was hurry after Lady Greystone and hope she would not be scolded for her deficiency.

Chapter Twenty

“A
barrister?” Greystone lounged back against his pillows and studied Edmond thoughtfully. “Ah, yes. I’d forgotten your youthful aspirations. But what about your military career? Your service in America was exemplary. Do you not wish to see how much you can accomplish in the army?”

“Not in the least.” Edmond sat forward in the bedside chair, his arms resting across his knees. “I am proud to have fought for the Crown, but I would rather do battle before the bar.”

His brother chuckled, then lifted one eyebrow. “What if I could secure a post for you under Wellington?”

Like most other Englishmen, Edmond held the Field Marshall in high esteem. But not enough to return to the battlefield, even on the Continent. “Do we not have enough officers leading the troops in the fight against Napoleon?”

“Mmm.” Greystone stared unfocused across the room and sighed. “One begins to wonder whether or not any number of men can defeat that demon.”

Guile scraped at the edges of Edmond’s conscience for being like every other sycophant who begged favors from powerful men. How easy it was to forget that his affable brother was an important voice in Parliament, with war and politics never far from his mind. Edmond had heard he possessed great influence with the Prince Regent in spite of his mere seven and twenty years. Yet he wore his rank without arrogance.

“But such questions do not resolve your dilemma. And of course it does not help that Uncle Grenville’s visit has been canceled.” Greystone aimed a wry grin at him. “May I assume you have not addressed this subject with our mother?”

Edmond snorted out a laugh. “Would you, if you were in my situation?”

Greystone shrugged. “Actually, yes.”

Edmond’s heart sank. Would his brother abandon him to the woman? Could he not see the differences in their relationships with her? He sat back in the wingchair with a groan he had not intended to release.

“Have no fear. I will not discuss it with her.” Greystone’s forehead furrowed. “Ideally, I would support your residence at the Inns of Courts in the event Uncle Grenville does not accept you as his protégé…or cannot afford to. However, my discretionary funds are tied up in the war.” He released a long sigh, obviously weary. “And of course you must consider Mother’s hard-won influence, which could harm your aspirations, should she decide to set herself against you.”

Hopelessness tried to seize Edmond, but a new sense of inspiration edged it out. If Miss Newfield could manage her disappointments with her strong faith, he would do no less. “You’re tired, big brother. I’ll leave so Gilly can tuck you in.” He stood to make good his words.

Greystone coughed out a chuckle. “Not all that tired. If you see Richard, send him in.”

“Will you offer him the Greystone living when Partridge retires?” After the debacle over the naming of Baby Eliza, as everyone but Mother had taken to calling her, he could not imagine that his middle brother would want to place himself under Mother’s influence for the rest of his life.

“Yes. I would like for him to have it.”

Edmond stared at him for a long moment. Then he shrugged and left the room. He would not try to comprehend Greystone’s responsibilities or his bond with their mother. As the third son, he was little more than an extra appendage to the family. An appendage with the duty never to shame the Grenville name and, more important, to make certain always to bring it honor. If Mother continued to have her way, that would be through service in the army, no matter what he desired for his own life. But now he had to decide just exactly how far he was willing to go if she blocked his aspirations or prevented him from forming alliances with other influential people who might help him.

If all of Europe were not at war with Napoleon, Edmond would consider leaving England and seeking his fortune on the Continent. If he found the opportunity, perhaps he would ask Miss Newfield what she knew about Italy…and if she had ever wished to go there.

* * *

The cozy back parlor was cluttered with half-made trappings of the holiday. Seated on the green brocade settee, Anna released a quiet sigh of contentment as she completed her last stitches, folded the garment and added it to her stack. Lady Greystone had assigned her the task of making woolen cloaks for several villagers. This last one should keep some child warm in the coming months. Now she must move on to making her share of the decorations: cutting stars from sheets of gold paper and sewing red silk flowers. In a few days servants would string greenery about the house, and these items would be tied to the garlands as ornaments.

Although Squire Beamish had no interest in observing the twelve days of Christmas, at least not in regard to the people of Blandon, Anna’s parents had invited the villagers into the vicarage each year for a modest Christmastide feast to celebrate the Savior’s birth. While they were by no measure wealthy, they did try to follow the customs of the season by giving small gifts to those of lesser means. Anna had always enjoyed making gifts and seeing the children’s happy responses.

Here at Greystone Lodge the festivities were much more elaborate. Major Grenville had informed Anna that every Viscount Greystone had continued the time-honored practices marking the holy days. Of course the villagers expected it, but the major said Lady Greystone saw it as a way to appease any possible discontent among them. For weeks the viscountess had made lists of tasks and set her staff to work so that no child, man or woman would feel neglected. Merely her duty, the lady insisted many times, but Anna decided the woman had a tender heart hidden somewhere behind her wall of severity. Yet if she ventured to remark on the viscountess’s kindness, the lady appeared insulted.

For days the Lodge had been filled with the aromas of rosemary, cinnamon, apples, pumpkins, baking bread and a host of other delightful scents. Surrounded by piles of kindling, a large Yule log lay in the stable yard behind the house, ready to be set afire on Christmas Eve, with hopes that it would blaze through all twelve days. The closer the day came, the more a sense of excitement filled the air. Upper servants appeared near to smiling as they went about their duties. Lower servants, whom Anna rarely saw unless she went below stairs on an errand for Lady Greystone, hummed and walked with a lilt in their steps.

Mrs. Grenville began to take her meals with the family once more. She seemed to have forgiven Anna for being a mere gentlewoman and often engaged her in trivial but pleasant conversation as they sat in the back parlor preparing gifts.

For her part, Anna looked forward to Christmastide with both excitement and fear. Although she did not expect any gifts, she had her own stash of handmade treasures to distribute to Mrs. Hudson, Mrs. Winters, George the groom, the upstairs maid and the little chambermaid who brought her hot water in the mornings. She also had a slender handwritten book of poetry she had copied from several books in Lord Greystone’s library, books she had observed Major Grenville reading. Should the major favor her with a gift, she would be prepared to return one—though she could not imagine why she expected such a kind gesture from him. She could not be certain, but from overheard remarks, she assumed the major’s resources were limited, which, in her way of thinking, almost made them equals. Of course, not sufficiently equal to marry, she hastened to remind herself. But surely at Christmas no harm could come from giving a small, impersonal gift to the man who had saved her from utter destitution.

She dismissed her foolish musings only to remember her anxieties about the days to come. The annual foxhunt would take place on Boxing Day, and she would be expected to participate at Lady Greystone’s side. While her riding lessons had progressed to include small jumps over fallen logs with Major Grenville close by her side, she was fully aware of the high fences in the fields that no doubt would be part of the event course.

But then, why should she live in fear when so many good things were about to happen? That ploy worked to cheer her thoughts…most of the time.

* * *

In the dim candlelight of the back parlor Edmond could see that Miss Newfield was brooding again. The sight saddened him. He could only assume she was grieving for her family, but he could not bear to see her melancholy in the midst of all the jolly preparations for Christmas. So often her words or simply her smile had encouraged him, had made him believe he could accomplish anything he set his mind to. Now here she sat with that stack of perfectly sewn garments ready to be presented to villagers who would thank Mother, never knowing whose loving, caring hands had stitched them.

Lord, what can I say to ease her sorrow? What can I do to cheer my little sparrow?
And when had he adopted Greystone’s nickname for her?

Silencing such thoughts, he decided upon the perfect topic. He set aside the wooden soldier he had just finished whittling and slipped into the chair across from the settee where she sat sewing flower ornaments.

“You have done quite well in our riding lessons, Miss Newfield.” She inhaled a quick breath as she looked up, and he paused. Perhaps he had startled her. “Are you eager for the hunt on Boxing Day?”

Her jaw dropped and she blinked several times. Then she laughed. “Oh, of course. I was just thinking about how
eager
I am.” Her lovely face crinkled comically and candlelight sparkled in her emerald eyes. “You have a cure for a broken neck, do you not?”

Edmond chuckled. What a dolt he was. Because she had worked so hard learning to ride, he assumed she had overcome her fears. “Perhaps we’ll have a snowstorm that day to keep us indoors.”

“Or perhaps the foxes will repent and gather in the stable yard to announce a change from their destructive ways.” She was never so charming as when she returned these clever quips.

“Or perhaps—”

“Absolutely not.” Mother stormed into the parlor with Mrs. Dobbins in her wake.

“But, madam.” The housekeeper wrung her hands, an unusual display of emotion. “The servants depend upon the tradition for a bit of harmless play.”

Mother stopped and spun about. The housekeeper almost ran into her. “Harmless play? More like a license for immorality.”

Mrs. Dobbins stiffened. “Lady Greystone, my staff is above reproach. You may depend upon it. This is merely a bit of—”

“Yes,” Mother drawled. “So you said. But there will be no mistletoe in this house at Christmas. I will not have stable boys thinking they may kiss the upstairs maids with impunity.”

Edmond ground his teeth to keep from saying something he would regret. True, he had planned to lead a certain young lady under the mistletoe, but only for a chaste kiss on the cheek. But then, perhaps this was best. Sometimes Christmas celebrations grew so merry that people behaved in ways they later lamented.

“Very well, madam.” Mrs. Dobbins huffed out a sigh. “This will be difficult to explain to my staff.” She spun on her heel and stormed from the room.

Edmond could hardly believe the woman’s audacity. Miss Newfield must feel the same way, for she ducked her head and busied herself with the silk flowers.

Mother surveyed the shadowed room through narrowed eyes, and her gaze darted between Edmond and Miss Newfield. “Where are Richard and Mary?” Suspicion colored her tone.

“Mary was tired, so Richard took her upstairs.” Edmond rose from the chair and sauntered over to the desk where he had been carving. “I was just explaining the Boxing Day hunt to Miss Newfield. Will you be riding, Mother?” He held a wooden soldier up in the candlelight and brushed away wood shavings.

“Of course I shall ride. I always ride.” Mother snatched up a completed soldier, taking a moment to glance at Miss Newfield before she examined it. “You must paint these.”

“Of course.” Edmond calculated the time this additional work would take against his other duties and realized he would not be getting much sleep in the next few days.

“Newfield.” At Mother’s sharp tone, the young lady jumped where she sat. “You may retire.”

“Yes, my lady.” She packed away her silk flowers into a basket, offered a curtsey and left.

The moment the door closed, the room felt colder to Edmond, but he managed an expectant smile for his mother. “Did you require something?”

She stared up at him through narrowed eyes. But if she expected him to falter under her scrutiny as he always had in childhood, she knew nothing of military training.

“Not at all. Good night.” She spun away from him and stalked across the room.

“Good night,” he said to the closing door. “And happy Christmas, Mother.” Perhaps with some effort, he and his brothers would manage to make it so.