Not by Sight (18 page)

Grace wanted . . . no, she needed to know about the man beneath, to understand his heart.

“I didn’t imagine you’d be this surprised by my arrival.” Lieutenant Marcus Weatherford, Esquire, sank into one of the leather wing chairs facing the desk. “Especially when you spend your days with Patrick Mabry’s daughter.”

“I
imagined
you would telephone before showing up on my doorstep,” Jack shot back.

Marcus stared at the mask and wondered when Jack had decided to remove the mesh. He felt glad of it—the thing
was
a bit dramatic. His friend had insisted on the splatter mask while in hospital, shortly after Violet Arnold had barged into his room unannounced. And so Marcus acquired it for him.

Now, without the mesh, seated behind his desk, Jack Benningham looked less formidable and more like the lord of the manor. Even the scar on his cheek was healing well.

“I would think you’d be grateful for the extra week I gave you,” Marcus reminded him. “I just arrived back from Paris and Mata Hari’s trial.” He paused as Knowles entered the study with a tea tray.

“Cream and two lumps, Sir Marcus, if I recall,” the butler said as he offered tea served in a delicate Sèvres cup.

“Thank you, Knowles.” Marcus sipped at the hot brew, savoring its flavor. “There are few things in life that surpass a perfect cup of tea.” He was rewarded with the stodgy butler’s smile. “And I see you’re taking quite good care of our man here, Knowles.” Marcus glanced toward Jack while he set his cup atop the desk. “Is Lord Roxwood giving you any problems?”

“Milord is the perfect gentleman, sir.” Knowles bowed before backing out of the study and closing the door.

“I believe Knowles is the perfect butler,” Marcus said, amused.

“What’s so all-important, Weatherford? Have you discovered news on Patrick Mabry?”

“Not much, old boy, though an agent with MI5 did observe a man known to have had dealings with James Heeren lunching at Swan’s last week. Mabry sat speaking with him for quite some time. We attempted to shadow the suspect afterward, but he eluded our man. Now the Admiralty’s adding pressure to send a Scotland Yard detective here to investigate his daughter. Since I felt certain you wouldn’t wish it, I came myself.” He paused to eye his friend. “How are you, anyway?”

“So you have nothing on him,” Jack said, ignoring the question. “Well, you’re wasting your time here, as well.” He leaned back in his chair and made a steeple with his fingers. “I found out why Mabry paid the WFC clerk to send her here.”

Marcus edged forward, noting Jack’s smile. He hadn’t seen that look in months. “Why?”

“It seems our traitor, Mabry, is a rather overprotective father. I met with my new physician yesterday, a local by the name of Strom. He happens to be related to Miss Mabry and informed me her father is concerned at her being out here on her own. In fact, Patrick Mabry arranged for her to be in Kent where the good doctor could keep an eye on her without her knowledge.”

Marcus wasn’t convinced. “Mabry bribed the clerk.”

“Yes, but don’t you see? He wished only to protect his daughter, nothing else. And I’m convinced Grace has no knowledge of it.”

“You believe this relation of hers?”

“Strom’s story fits with her description of her father.” Jack leaned forward, laying his hands on the desk. “So you can get into your car and return to London.”

“Is that any way to treat your best friend?” Marcus said, ignoring the demand. “I haven’t seen you since leaving hospital. You fled to this place before I had a chance to say good-bye.”

“Good-bye, Marcus.”

Marcus laughed. “By the way, I had the pleasure of your fiancée’s company at breakfast. Charming as ever.”

“Well, toward you at least. Violet’s visit was also unexpected, and just as unwelcome.” Jack rose from his chair. “Now, I repeat. Good-bye, Marcus.”

Instead of being insulted, Marcus looked at his masked friend and felt anger on his behalf. Miss Violet Arnold had turned out to be a disappointment. Wealthy and spoiled, she’d set her cap on becoming the future Countess of Stonebrooke. And while she may have genuinely grieved Hugh’s death, she’d also leaped at Jack’s offer to salvage her coronet.

Until the explosion. Marcus would never forget her reaction to his friend that day in hospital. Jack had fled to Roxwood afterward, cutting himself off from the world.

Then Patrick Mabry’s daughter arrived. Marcus could almost be grateful to her, having unwittingly helped his friend take the first step in rejoining the human race. “So, Benningham, as to my plan . . .”

“Pray tell.”

He was relieved to see Jack sit back down. “I wish to meet with Miss Mabry and take her measure.” Marcus watched his friend. “Today, if possible. Can you arrange it?”

“If I wish to.” Jack’s jaw tightened, his hands curling into fists against the desk.

Marcus had anticipated the reaction. He’d gathered enough from their last telephone call to realize his friend was being swayed by the young woman.

Even if her purpose at Roxwood seemed innocent, Marcus wasn’t leaving. With the Admiralty’s secret project under way
and so close to the estate, he had to be sure about Miss Grace Mabry. He would observe her himself—and put her to the test. “And will you?” he asked his friend at length.

“Of course not,” Jack said. “And I have my reasons. The first being, I told you on the telephone, my staff watches her constantly. Grace has given no evidence to anyone of suspicious behavior. Secondly, I’ve interrogated her at length, and she seems all she appears, a somewhat naïve, well-bred young woman who works hard for the Women’s Forage Corps. Third, and perhaps most important, is her twin brother. Colin Mabry fights with the British Army in France, and she’s quite devoted to him.” He relaxed his hands. “I would venture at this point to say Mabry’s children are unaware of their father’s actions.”

“You make a good case, especially if the son fights in the trenches.” Marcus rose from his chair. “But there’s too much at stake to take the chance. I’d like a meeting with her, Jack.”

Jack stood, as well. “I have conditions, Marcus.” He spoke with the autocratic tone of a future earl. “I do not want her singled out for your interrogation. You will meet her along with the rest of the WFC women. And you shall simply pose as my friend.”

“That shouldn’t be difficult, Jack, since I
am
your friend,” Marcus growled.

“I’ll instruct Edwards to arrange it, at the farm this afternoon.”

Marcus eyed his friend pensively. “Will you go along with me?”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

Marcus grinned. Yes, Jack was definitely on his way back.

Grace awakened feeling more exhausted than she had the day before. It was surely the nightmare. She dreamed that the
Grimm brothers’ Rumpelstiltskin, who strangely resembled the blond Violet Arnold, had locked her away in the bowels of a castle and forced her to turn burlap sacks full of chaff into gold.

Relieved to be in her bed and not in some dungeon, Grace still hoped Jack would summon her for a drive this morning, despite what he’d said the night before.

He didn’t, however, and knowing she was being foolish hadn’t eased her disappointment. She told herself she had no right to feel anything regarding Jack Benningham, but her heart already knew it was too late.

“You’re needed to drive today,” Mrs. Vance had announced, giving her hope. “Meet with Mr. Tillman at the barn.”

The summons was a far cry from the blue Daimler. “It’s an aerator,” Mr. Tillman said, walking ahead of Grace. She followed, leading one of the draft horses toward a solitary piece of machinery parked in the middle of the south pasture. It was a cross between a small horse trap and a tractor, with long, rake-like tines attached behind the seat, curving downward to within inches from the ground.

“You’ll hitch up Molly and walk her right down the middle of those windrows.” He indicated the several long lines of cut hay, raked together the day before. “The tines will sift the straw to dry it faster.” He placed his hands on his hips. “Think you can manage the job?”

“Mr. Tillman, I can hitch up a horse.” Grace struggled to be civil. He still didn’t trust her after the pig fiasco.

The farmer made a grunting noise before turning and walking away. Grace sighed as she led Molly toward the harness. “Let’s get you rigged up, girl.” Within minutes she had the horse pulling the aerator over the first windrow, sifting hay in their wake.

“Looks like you’ve got it figured out!”

Grace turned to see Mr. Tillman had stopped to watch her from a distance. She waved at him, grinding her teeth. Didn’t
he think she could perform the simple task of leading a horse through grass?

When he left, she was grateful for the solitude. The sun remained hidden this morning behind an array of scattered clouds, and though there was no rain, the air felt humid and warm. Still, despite the dreariness of gray skies, she was glad to be out of the direct heat.

Grace encouraged Molly through row after row of hay, occasionally glancing behind her to see the cut grasses flying up in the air. After the first hour passed, she became restless. The job was more than a little monotonous.

“Golden windrows crawl like serpents across a sea of green,” she began, reciting aloud as she imagined her next outing with Jack. “And warm air, fragrant with the scent of mown hay, carries the buzz of bees, the chirp of robins, and fluttering finches across my path.”

Turning to gaze out across the pasture, she waxed on, “Beyond this valley lies another, then another, all patchworks of yellow, gold, and green that bind the countryside. And edged like lace against the land, trees in reds, browns, and greens crowd one another for the sky.”

Her attention darted back to Molly as new inspiration struck. “My dun-colored steed is graceful and steady, fearless as her hooves crush these endless snakes swimming ahead of us. With her long, white tail, my beloved charger banishes other foes—the small winged beasts that arrive on the morning dew, attempting to attack my face and her backside—”

“Grace!”

Lucy waved as she ran toward her. Grace reined in the mare.

“My, you’ve n-nearly finished!” Lucy eyed her progress with approval. Then she grabbed for Molly’s bridle. “I came to fetch you. Mrs. Vance wants us all in the barn. There’s a visitor from the manor who wishes to meet us.”

Dread filled Grace. “Miss Arnold?”

Lucy shrugged. “Mrs. Vance just said to be quick.”

After removing Molly from the harness, she and Grace walked the mare back to the barn. They had just gone inside when the sound of a car’s approach caught their attention.

It couldn’t be Miss Arnold, unless she knew how to drive. Grace listened to the engine’s purr drawing closer. Nor was the car Lord Roxwood’s Daimler.

Curious, she awaited their visitor’s arrival. Would Jack be with them?

Clare sidled up next to her, meeting her gaze with a look of equal anticipation.

Minutes later, a man Grace had never seen before entered the barn. Like Jack, he was tall and powerfully built, yet his features were more patrician than rugged. He also wore fine clothes, his beige suit of summer linen accentuated by a matching waistcoat and yellow-and-brown-striped tie. As he entered the barn, he removed his straw boater hat.

Grace’s breath caught in her chest when Jack entered directly behind him.

“Lord Roxwood, it’s a pleasure.” Mrs. Vance moved to greet them, seeming composed despite Jack’s mask. Grace glanced at her co-workers. Becky’s mouth hung open, her soft brown eyes wide with shock, while Lucy couldn’t seem to take her attention from him. Even Clare looked stony-faced, blinking several times.

“Madam,” Jack said, remaining near the door. “I’d like to introduce my friend, Sir Marcus Weatherford. He expressed a wish to meet the ladies of the Women’s Forage Corps and see your operation.”

Sir Marcus stepped forward. “I am honored to be in the company of such lovely patriots.” His smile flashed beneath a trimmed brown mustache as he gazed at each of them. All
in all, Grace thought he seemed quite fit. She wondered why he was here and not over in France. Or was he one of Jack’s conchie friends?

Sir Marcus’s attention seemed to linger on Clare before he turned back to Mrs. Vance. “I apologize for any inconvenience.”