Rescuing Mr. Gracey (31 page)

Rising, she paced in tight, resolute circles. But her heart, beating too rapidly, insisted otherwise. One peek. Perhaps touch his hair, kiss his forehead. Before she could change her mind, she left her room and walked rapidly, barefoot, along the thickly carpeted floors. The tick of the clock was the only sound in the house, her candle the only light.

Tiptoeing, she crossed the room and paused at the side of his bed. Her gaze located the ruffled dark hair on the white pillow, then traced a reassuring path over his beautiful face. Wiped of worry or illness, he appeared gullible, innocent. Memories cascaded over her like a cleansing waterfall—walks under an umbrella, laundry in the lake, laughter in the night—and fragile anger washed away. Trembling, Mary reached forward. One touch. Just one second to pretend. Her fingers twitched, longing to weave into that thick hair. Her gaze lingered on his mouth, now slightly open, drawing air peacefully. How she ached to curl into his embrace and have his warm arms barricade them both against politics, history, religious differences.

She jerked back.
What are you doing, Mary Smyth?
She stiffened. Her hand dropped.
Remember his name.
Her lips twisting with disgust, she stepped a pace away.

Turning, she caught sight of his limp hand hanging from the side of the bed. She intended only to draw it beneath the warmth of the sheet, but then she saw it. Alec clutched her old handkerchief, crumpled within his fingers.

The sight of the fragile linen shattered all pretenses and splintered the hardness of her heart.

She loved him. But he must never know.
Be brave.
She stood, tightening her shoulders.
You’re simply checking on your patient, Mary Smyth.

She turned her back on Alec and walked away, extending her hand toward the doorknob. Shaking her head, she tilted her chin. Two days, and he should be sufficiently strong that she could return home and slam the door forever on the handsome man on the hill.

~ 27 ~

“Was ‘Dolly’s Brae no more!’”

Alec’s face shone as bright as the sun breaking free of a dark cloud. Now that health had returned, he was entirely too irresistible.

Mary averted her gaze and slapped down the desire to return his smile. “How is he today?” she asked Daniel, the trusted servant.

The burly Scotsman with sideburns as thick as bushes nodded, then gifted her with a rare, one-sided grin before gathering the shaving utensils.

“You could ask me,” Alec snapped, clearly frustrated at her lack of attention. “I am able to respond, Mary.” He flipped a napkin from the tray before weaving his fingers through his combed hair.

Her eyes lingered on Alec’s hand as she remembered how gently it had framed her face and tangled in her hair and pulled her in for a sweet kiss. Her gaze traveled up to his lips, strong, sculpted, thicker on the bottom.

Daniel cleared his throat. His wry smile redirected her scattered thoughts. She glanced at him in time to acknowledge his soundless exit. Having traveled from Scotland thirty years before, he had been more like an uncle than a servant to the family. Only Daniel knew Mary’s identity. He also determined which visitors Alec might receive.

Nervously, she searched the room for something to occupy her. “Your appetite has returned, Mr. Gracey. I am pleased,” she said as she gathered the empty porridge bowl and fruit plate.

“If I please you,” he said, a boyish smile playing upon his mouth, “the day has greatly improved from even a moment ago.” He winked.

A traitorous bubble—laughter and flirtation—welled up and unexpectedly burst into a smile. He tossed his head against his pillow. “At last.” He released a strained laugh. “The sweet maiden smiles at her pathetic patient. The angels have answered my prayer.”

Mary stiffly walked away from the bed.
Oh my
. How easily he entangled her heart. She walked to the window, keeping her attention on the view. She inhaled. “You’ll not get many more smiles, Mr. Gracey. ’Twas quite by accident that one slipped by.”

“Mary,” he said, as quiet as a whisper. The way he called her name—yearning, pleading—touched her scarred soul. She walked over to his bed and urged him to sit up before she fluffed the down pillow to a better angle. “I’ll not have any of your blarney, Mr. Gracey.” More than a week’s worth of hurt and bitterness, like a dozing dragon, awakened. “You’ve already proved how well you can lie.”

She heard him inhale. He grasped her wrist. “Please,” he groaned. “Give me a moment to explain.”

Pulled by the desperate sound of his voice, she wanted to soothe his worried brow and kiss the injured heart.
What are you doing, Mary Smyth?
Jerking her hand free, she backed away. “I don’t think spending any part of the day with you would be wise, Mr. Gracey.”

He changed his tactic. Smiling, he folded his hands as in prayer. “’Twill do much to heal my sick body.”

“Don’t give me the lost-puppy look,” she said.

“Do you like lost puppies?” he said, his smile full of teasing appeal.

Her brow quirked; her mouth twitched. “Perhaps ’tis more appropriate to say you look like a wolf seeking a bit of lamb.”

He laughed, warming her heart more than she wanted to admit. “Hardly. In case you’ve not noticed, I am as helpless as the proverbial lamb.”

Mary’s forbidden smile ignored her wishes. “Perhaps I could read to you for a moment.”

He burst into a satisfied smile. “’Tis my hope you may also allow me a bit of sun.” He glanced out the French doors that exited onto a private balcony. “Look how glorious the day. Not even a hint of rain—rare enough for Ireland.” His face grew more serious as he said softly, “If this were but a few weeks ago, we would have gone to the lake today.”

Surprising, unexpected tears filled her eyes. Mary blinked, then rushed to the balcony to recover.

He called to her. “I long for the sun upon my face and would trade most anything for a bargain.” Her stomach flittered as if a thousand butterflies tumbled for release. “Perhaps I could just sit there and enjoy a bit of lemonade,” Alec coaxed.

She inhaled.
Be very careful, Mary Smyth.
“Sir, you should be resting, not sitting outdoors.”

He groaned. “Please don’t make me sleep again.”

She did feel pity. Such a wild stallion restrained for so long. He lobbed another assault. “I will be very well behaved and discuss only topics you choose.”

Biting her lip, she weighed how much damage could be done within one hour. She glanced back at him, considering. Her lips twisted as a warning inner voice battled with her pleading heart.

Alec watched every move, every shift of expression. He waited, reading her as an expert and then, a hunter closing in on his prey, he released his most lethal weapon—the Gracey smile. “Please say yes…” His voice caressed, warmed, beckoned.

Tilting her head, she averted her gaze.
Stay strong, Mary Smyth.

He pushed harder. “One hour, Mary. ’Tis so short a time.”

She swallowed. Tenacity softened; reasons for detachment collapsed. “I suppose a bit of air would do you no harm. But I’ve no way to get you there.”

Alec whooped with victory. “A slow walk from my bed to a chair outdoors will be easy enough. Have Daniel help me.” Pointing to his bed’s edge, he added, “I’ll even bring a blanket to protect me against any possible breeze.”

“Well then…” She folded her arms.

His lips stretched, victory close. Flirtatious, enchanting, hopeful, he murmured softly, “Yes, Mary. Say yes.”

“I suppose a wee bit of sun might do a person good. I’ll be getting Daniel, then.” Her face heated, her hands trembling, Mary rushed toward his door.
Lord help you, Mary Smyth.

~ 28 ~

“Come all ye blind-led Papists…”

Mrs. Brown heaved off the kitchen stool when Mary entered. Her fat, rosy cheeks rolled into a welcoming smile. “Ah, Miss Frances, pleasure havin’ ya in da kitchen. What little treat can I get for ya now?”

“Mr. Gracey has a yearning for lemonade.”

She glanced back at Mary and beamed a warm smile. “I purchased the whole lot of lemons from the market ’cause I know ya’ve a preference for them. How is the young master, if’n I might ask?”

“Better every day.”

The heavy woman chuckled. “What a charmer, dat one.” She wiped her hands on her apron as she toddled toward a large wooden bin. “Been long years since he’s come home, I’m tinkin’.” Choosing a dozen plump lemons, she glanced up and stared at the ceiling as if searching for a lost item. “Aye, ’tis been ten years I’d say since he been home. Such a smart one, that boy. They packed him ta Dublin for a bit of learnin’ about plants, of all the silly things to put a brain to.”

Mary nodded, yearning for stories about him, though irritated that she was so eager. “But whenever the boy got home, he’d stroll in here and use his purty eyes and charmin’ smile, and say, ‘Mrs. Brown, do ya tink we can have apple pie tonight?’” She laughed, her bosom jiggling as she crossed the room. After pulling out a polished wooden board, she sliced through the dozen lemons in seconds. “He’d twirl me about the floor, beggin’ for a slice of apple pie, spreadin’ that smile of his just so I’d give him an extra-large piece.” Her smile broadened, and her voice softened. “Aye. He’s a favorite, miss, and we was mighty worried about his sickness.”

“He’s recovering very nicely, Mrs. Brown. You needn’t worry anymore.”

“Sure and you’re a blessin’, Miss Frances,” she said, squeezing each lemon into a crystal pitcher as she continued talking. “Aye. A blessin’ sent from heaven above.” Juice rolled down her wrist as she flung her arm toward the four other kitchen staff. “I won’t mind tellin’ ya that we hit our knees in prayer a’fore ya arrived. None of us had much hope till the missus brought ya here.” The other staff all nodded agreement as she continued. “The minute the orders started comin’ down the stairs, I knew ya was a healer. I said, ‘Will ya look at how the young miss is changin’ it all up? Sure and ya’d think she was a country girl,’ I said, ‘what with all the remedies and such.’” Once more she laughed, and the other staff members joined her.

Mary pressed her lips together, stuffing down an ironic comment. If they only knew…

Mrs. Brown shoveled spoonfuls of sugar into the juice and continued with her one-sided conversation. “Mrs. Gracey is happy as larks in a spring meadow, a-singin’ every day. And Master Gracey, oh my stars, he ain’t stopped a whistlin’ in the halls, pokin’ his head in just to remind us ta give ya whatever ya wants.”

Mary’s hands trembled at the mention of Alec’s father. Fortunately, Mr. Gracey had been so busy that little time had been spent with him. The two dinners they’d had together, Isabella protected and redirected any personal questions. Mary did have to admit that he bore a striking resemblance to Alec, both in looks and in charm, and that made the encounters more tolerable.

“Aye, we said to Mr. Gracey, ‘We’ve all a fondness for Mr. Alec and are more than willing to give Miss Frances whatever she be wantin’.’”

Mary smiled. “Thank you, Mrs. Brown, for your kind words. You and the other household staff have been very helpful.”

The head cook wiped her hands again, then, arranging the crystal pitcher and two crystal glasses on a tray, she smiled. “Ya want a footman should bring dis up, miss?”

“No. I’ll just take the servants’ stairs from here. I will be sure to express your good wishes to Mr. Gracey.”

“If I may be sayin’ so, miss, you sure are a surprise, being so willin’ ta do servants’ work and all.” Her hefty frame imitated a curtsey. “Tell the young master I’ll be makin’ a pie as soon as ya say we may.”

Mary laughed. “I believe a pie may do him very well, Mrs. Brown.”

She beamed with joy. “Aye. Shall be done for this evening’s supper, then.”

Mary nodded and turned toward the narrow servants’ stairs with a smile. The staff had all been so kind, considerate, funny, so different from her preconceived notions of Protestants. Truthfully, she liked them, no matter their religion, and the fact that she was deceiving them sat uneasily with her.

Another surprising, uncomfortable revelation was the ease with which she slid into this life of leisure and quiet. Someone to prepare every little thing—every desire met with just a pull of a rope.

Shifting the tray, Mary trod up the stairs.
’Tis not your life, Mary Smyth. ’Tis his life. In a few days, you will return to hard work and hungry tummies.

She knocked briefly. Daniel opened the door and admitted her before bowing out of the room. There, on the balcony, Alec sat propped up on a chair, a stool elevating his legs, pillows providing a cushion for his head.

Entering the covered balcony, she placed the refreshment tray on a nearby table. Another wicker chair with a blanket slung across its back had been placed directly adjacent to his own. Mary picked up a blanket and stretched the cover across Alec’s legs and up to his chest.

“I am quite warm, Mary,” he whispered, his breath touching her cheek.

She startled and jerked back. What was she thinking, performing such an intimate task? She stumbled away and sat stiffly on her chair, her face blooming with heat. Careful to direct her gaze away from him, she said, “You have a beautiful home, Mr. Gracey. The scenery is quite different from the Ireland I know.”

Alec pointed to the tallest tree on the property. “See that oak tree there?” He smiled to himself. “’Tis actually a magical ship that sailed me across the vast ocean. On occasion, it converted to a pirates’ castle and hid a treasure of gold.”