Chapter Nine
At four o’clock, if Grace was at the house it was understood that she wanted tea, and whether she had expressed the desire for it or not, it appeared. The warm August day meant it was served on the front terrace overlooking the lake. Well-brewed Darjeeling tea, delicately spiced fruit cake, ginger nuts, and light Victoria sponge filled with plum jam. The gardeners were showing off by providing sweet little red grapes and white peaches. Grace was just cutting into a slice of sponge when she heard quick, firm footsteps approaching. Servants didn’t approach thus. She tensed when the knife made a clink as it hit the china plate.
“I apologize for my appearance and manner earlier. May I join you?” Everett didn’t wait for her answer before sitting in the chair on the other side of the table.
Grace looked over at the lake as though it interested her as much as he did. It was a rich blue color today, reflecting the sky.
“It’s of no consequence.” How did he bear to go out with his aristocratic club, when a maid in his household had been sacked over a joint error and responsibility?
“Did you wish to talk to me about something?” he asked mildly.
“You were out hunting, I surmise. Or some other blood sport?” And he hadn’t wanted his lowborn wife around for the activity or the aftermath.
He didn’t reply immediately, and curious, she turned her gaze toward him. She took in his smoothed hair, clean frock coat, deep green waistcoat, and crisp necktie. He hardly looked like the same man she had seen earlier. He was undeniably handsome, his face highlighted by the afternoon sun. Easily good-looking enough to turn a maid’s head.
Everett signaled to the footman to pour him tea and waited until he retreated to a discreet distance. It wasn’t until he’d added milk and stirred the drink to a smooth color that he took a sip. “A cull is a very uneven sort of hunt.” His expression was sober, his brows low over his gray eyes.
A cull of the cattle. But there were others to do the work of the estate, so why would he and his club do the job? She could hardly imagine well-dressed fops and rakes doing slaughterhouse work. A small charitable whim, maybe? But Everett appeared rather grim about it, so perhaps it hadn’t been quite as he’d hoped. It was an odd sort of thing for a gentleman’s club to use as entertainment, undoubtedly. But who was she to understand the proclivities of lords?
“But that’s an unpleasant topic.” He seemed to pull himself into a brighter mood. “Tell me of this thing of no consequence.”
She scrunched up her toes in her slippers. This necessitated careful handling, but that wasn’t always her forte. “I understand Jane was dismissed today.”
“I am aware of the situation. It’s under complete control.” He took another sip of tea.
Her stomach stilled, like he’d filled her with his callousness and it had turned her to stone. “If by control, you mean rampant corruption and prejudice against a wronged woman.”
“You quite mistake the situation, Grace.” He placed his teacup down gently.
“I don’t think I do.” She clattered down her own teacup, folded her arms, and sat back. “Why is she losing her job?”
“She’s with child. She can’t look after a baby and also work.”
“There are two people involved in fornication, you know.” Her hands balled into fists. “What’s happening to the man involved? And who is it?”
“Thompson, the steward,” he replied evenly. “I have increased his salary, because—”
“What?” Her voice had become shrill. She had just begun to think he was a good man, and here he was, enacting the worst sort of bias. “You are a monster, and I refuse to—”
“He is going to be married and needs the extra income.” Everett raised his voice.
Her outburst gave way to quiet, like after a bag of flour was dropped and the air was settling.
“He is marrying Jane.” It wasn’t a question. She wasn’t allowing it to be a question.
A ghost of a smile played around his mouth. “It would be more accurate to say Jane is deigning to marry him.”
“The marriage, and the…fornicating. They are…mutual?” She fiddled with her teacup, turning it around on its saucer. She hoped he understood what she meant.
He chuckled. “The scandalized tone of Mrs. Bishop when telling me of an indiscretion she witnessed indicates it was not just mutual, but positively enthusiastic.”
The stone dissolved in her stomach. Then immediately another concern solidified in her mind. “Does she have a dowry?” Virtually no man would marry without a dowry of some kind.
“No. I offered one. Thompson accepted with alacrity, but Jane was quite clear that she worked for her money, and Thompson would work for theirs.”
“She said no?” Silly girl. Hadn’t she realized yet that she could depend on money much more than she could depend on men. She shook her head in disbelief, but she could breathe again, her body no longer petrified.
“She’s proud as a peacock.” Everett sat back and narrowed his eyes thoughtfully, even as his mouth twitched with mirth. “Though she’s not really a peacock.”
“Oh?” Was he insinuating Jane wasn’t beautiful, or that she wasn’t proud? Grace unfurled her arms and took a sip of tea.
“More of a badger, don’t you think? Sort of rounded and cute, but fierce. Stripy.”
She spluttered in laughter and slapped her hand over her mouth to prevent tea spraying down her front. When she managed to calm herself and look up, he was serene, only a slight curve of his mouth betraying him.
Grace bit her lip, but she knew her eyes betrayed her just as his did. “A badger you say? And what is Thompson?”
“Hmm. I think he is a fox.”
With the slightest red tinge to Thompson’s beard and his bright eyes, the animal suited him. Grace leaned forward. “What is John?”
“John the footman?” He tilted his head to the side. “A hare.”
“Do you allocate animal characters to all your staff?” He was suddenly so whimsical and Grace was entranced.
“Of course. It’s part of my duty as an earl. What do you think an earl does all day?” His eyes sparkled with mischief. “Manage an estate? Sit in the House of Lords? No, we invent animal psyches for our servants, like witches in frock coats.”
“And is this a great tradition?” She flicked her wrist with pomp and ceremony to tease him and carry on their joke. “Passed down the generations from one earl to the next.”
His cheerful expression faded. He sighed, put down his tea, and rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. There was a pause where he seemed reluctant to say anything, his jaw clenching.
“No. Quite the opposite. My father was an irresponsible landlord and an ungenerous employer. My brother followed in his example. My father and brother neglected the estate and spent all their time in town, under the pretense of fulfilling their duties in the House of Lords. They didn’t do anything of the kind, of course. Father made foolish investments, mortgaged the house, and left it to rot, understaffed. He speculated on trains and lost a good bit of money.”
Evidently that was an understatement.
“My brother never even sat in the House, I believe. He liked his financial gambles less refined than my father. Their behavior in town has given me a dislike of the place.”
“I’m beginning to think you take your responsibilities quite seriously.” He was reacting against their poor example, then. He wanted to right the wrongs of the past. He said it was his job to protect the estate, so why go off with his gentleman’s club? Even to be involved with the cull, bringing his friends along, as though it were a party was an odd sort of way to help. “Which is why it surprised me that you went out this morning with your club.”
“Yes.” Everett looked down. “We culled all the cattle at Bridge Farm. With luck, it will prevent rinderpest from spreading into the herds on the south side of the river. I had to help, as I am a figurehead, of sorts, for the whole attempt to stop the disease. But it will be expensive.” He drank his tea, hiding his mouth. But his gaze looked bleak.
“Expensive? But why?” It seemed inconceivable that there could be more expenses still. Bridge Farm was a tenant farm, not part of the estate that was directly managed by Thompson. There was no reason for him to pay for them.
“Because I agreed to it.” Her confusion must have continued to show on her face, as he began to explain. “Last year there were a great many bills in parliament about cattle diseases.”
Grace nodded in recollection. She had stopped reading most of the tedious reports of parliamentary bills concerning a possible epidemic from the continent.
“I encouraged two of the local independent farmers with an idea for a cattle club to talk to me about it.”
An insurance club. Not a privileged aristocratic gentleman’s club at all, but a mutual workingman’s club. It shook her. She had misjudged him. But, why would an earl be involved with a working-class insurance club? A gentleman’s club made sense. Instead, he cared about the people he was responsible for. Her chest overfilled with warmth, like a hot air balloon.
“A farmer pays in a subscription commensurate with the number of cattle he has and in return is paid compensation if they die. Such clubs take many years to establish enough buffer to survive a major outbreak, since the subscription must be low enough to be affordable. It is an average of one shilling per head, I believe. I agreed to underwrite the club and encourage membership by allowing my tenants to have the money partially taken from their rents.”
He all but subsidized the club, then. “But it is for their own good. They should pay the whole, and it ought to be self-financing.” It didn’t make good business sense for him to do that, but the hot air balloon in her wasn’t dissipating.
“Yes, but men need encouragement to make the right decisions and by making the contribution small, more sign up. And the scheme is a success. There are over six thousand cattle registered with it.”
Grace’s jaw dropped. The numbers streamed through her mind. “No,” she said, as though she could stop it now.
“At the time, we all believed the protections would make an outbreak less likely. My involvement was just a security for men who were nervous they would be throwing away money.” He emptied his teacup with finality. “Almost two thousand cattle have already died of rinderpest. At a rate of £7 to £15 per head, the club cannot afford it. Some of the farmers are refusing to cull, saying they will take their chances. But that increases the likelihood of the disease spreading. And spread it has. To save the other herds, we propose to dispose of around half. Some can be sold for meat, if healthy, but to protect the rest, I would prefer that most are burnt.” He looked away from her, staring through the walls of the house to the hills beyond. “There it is. After two Earls of Westbury who cared less for the estate than for their cufflinks, it is I who worst mismanaged it.”
But he hadn’t, really. He’d encouraged responsibility and enterprise. What had started as a small act of encouragement and support had become an albatross. But through his actions, the farmers in the club would not end in the poorhouse because of this disease. Though at such a price on him. She hadn’t realized the scale of his requirement for money. And he had said there was a mortgage as well.
“This is why you needed a rich wife.” Not because he was a frivolous aristocrat as she’d assumed, but because generosity of heart prevented him from disregarding people who relied on him.
“Yes.” Everett tapped his fingers against the table and sighed. “This is my fall from grace,” he added with a wry smile.
She rolled her eyes at the pun on her name, but her stomach bounced at the tilt of his mouth. If she reached across the table, she could comfort him and be his supporter in a way that only a wife could be, with tender hands and sweet words. But she was just his fake wife.
“I may…” This was crazy, but she couldn’t bear the thought of those farmers impoverished through no fault of their own. He deserved a backer if she couldn’t be his real wife. “If the financial burden becomes too much, I may be able to help a little.” She had to ensure she had sufficient funds to fight for Henry and look after him once they were together. But she could be his financial partner, even if they weren’t going to be life partners. “As long as there are no more puns.”
His eyes seemed silver when they were raised to look at her. “Thank you. I appreciate that.”
The sensation of his gaze on her was like the heat from the midday sun. For a second, she allowed herself to savor being his partner and having a joint interest. Another month only, though. She tamped down the burgeoning warmth in her that wanted to reach out to him. It was nothing, really. Though the feeling nevertheless sang through her blood like it was everything.
…
His light wasn’t out. Beneath their adjoining door, a chink of light, several candles maybe, glowed. Grace didn’t know whether she’d slept, nor what time it was now. It was utterly dark through the crack in the curtains, so it must be past midnight. Thoughts of Henry, of dead cows, and Lord Rayner roiled through her. And that light from under the door.
Maybe he couldn’t sleep. She heard movements every now and again, shifts that could be from the carpeted floor or the bed. Or perhaps he’d fallen asleep with the candles still burning. A shock of fear added to her alertness. Candles left to burn all night frequently burnt much more than just wax. They could engulf houses and all who resided therein.
She slipped out from the sheets and padded across to the door. Hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. “Everett?”
“Go back to sleep, Grace,” he replied in a low, rough growl.
He was awake, then. No risk of fire. She should go back to bed, worry about Henry and plan their little farm and manor in France. Or Switzerland. Or maybe Italy.
But she couldn’t move. “I can see the light under your door.”
“Then close your eyes.”
She almost laughed. “Why are you not asleep?” Surely the cull had put his mind at rest?
There was the sound of footsteps. Then his voice was closer, louder but just as gravelly. “Why aren’t you sleeping the sleep of the innocent?”
Because of her neglect of Anna and her defiance to her father. Her broken promise to her mother and her imprudent trust in Samuel and all the things that made her not innocent rose in her mind. She looked down at the inch-deep gap at the bottom of the door. He must have brought the candles with him, as the light was brighter now, spilling over her bare feet like gold.
She wasn’t ready to reveal herself. “I asked first.”
“Oh, are we playing that game?” He laughed softly. “Come in, sit down, and we’ll talk.”
There was a sound of sliding metal.
“No,” she squeaked and grasped for the door handle. It was the middle of the night and she was practically naked, just a thin linen night rail between her skin and the August air. This had been a crazy mistake, a silly dream. Ridiculous to think anything good could come from approaching her husband in the middle of the night.
She heard his deep sigh. “Grace…”
“I think I should go back to bed.” Her inner wrist was aching, but she couldn’t let go of the handle. The dark wood panel of the door was just inches from her nose.
“No, don’t go.” There was a slap as though he’d pressed his hands against the door, as though he were next to her and with her, even through the panels.
“I can’t…” She couldn’t rely on her self-control. The two of them were so close, only probably inches apart.
“Don’t go yet. We can…” There was a tone of desperation in his deep voice. “We can talk through the door.”
Was that safe? He couldn’t see the way her breasts were visible through her night rail. There was a solid door between them. The tension in her forearm was too much, and she forced her fingers to loosen. “And you’ll tell me?” She didn’t want to tell him about why she couldn’t sleep, but she wanted to know about him.
“Of course.” There was a rustling and a section of the light was darkened, as though he’d sat down against it. “I was thinking of the dead.”
“The cattle?” She released the door handle and sank to the floor, propping herself up against the chest of drawers by the doorframe. Bending her leg slightly at the knee, she folded her hands in her lap.
“Yes, them. But others, too. You don’t spend all your younger life in the army without encountering a lot of death. And causing it, too.”
She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. It hadn’t occurred to her he might have a stain on his conscience. “Well, this cull must be a lovely break for you.”
“Indeed.” He laughed mirthlessly. “I wouldn’t have dared kill a cow in India. They’re sacred to the people there.” His voice was rich and half wistful and brought to mind the elegant paintings of muted green trees and yellow ochre soil under enormous skies.
“I’ve seen pictures of India; the buildings look so fine and beautiful.” Soft pink castles surrounded by tranquil white-blue water. “It looks like a more elegant version of England.”
“Hah.” There was a muffled rubbing, like him raking his fingers through his hair. “Those sanitized, pale watercolors. India should be painted in bright oils, hot and vibrant and messy. British paintings mute and stifle everything that armies can’t.” There was an edge of cynicism in his words.
Had he disapproved of British rule in India? There was a rustle of clothing as Grace tried to decipher his meaning and her mind sprang back to the physicality of Everett, just through the door. What did he look like now? He would be undressed for bed, maybe wearing nothing but a nightshirt, or his combination, open to the chest on this warm night. It suddenly seemed too warm and Grace shifted.
“I was in India when my father died. I didn’t return to see him buried.”
“I’m sorry.” She hadn’t seen her own father buried, either. It was a stone in her stomach when she thought of it. Perhaps in was the same for him. A feeling of closeness to Everett because of that mutual experience wrapped around her like a shawl.
“Don’t be. I wasn’t. He was a gambler, though he liked bad investments and drink more than card games. They were Peter’s vice.”
“Your elder brother?” The one who he’d said was in the cemetery.
“He died in an accident on the road, racing his curricle. The wheel was a little off, a sloppy job by the wheelwright I’m told. I was in India when he died as well.”
“I was away when my father died, too.” Would their similarity be a comfort to Everett, as it was to her? Her father had sent her away. She wondered sometimes if he’d known, in some way, or whether he would have liked to see his only daughter again.
Everett sighed. “We’ve both lost so much. Where were you when your father died?”
“In Geneva, at a finishing school.”
There was a moment of silence and the candle flickered. “I heard you had a season last year. Why did he send you to finishing school when you’d already come out into society?”
Reflexively arranging her nightdress, Grace tried to sort her thoughts into a pattern less compromising. She let out a shaky breath. “Because my debut was not quite what my father hoped for, and I refused to cooperate with his plans.”
“Go on.” His voice was smooth, without a hint of censure or salacious curiosity.
“I wasn’t interested in balls or lords. I don’t know if my mother used to be a control on my father’s ideas about a woman’s role, but after she died, he was obsessed.” The words came out in a rush. “My mother died in childbirth, and the doctor was attending a trivial malady of Lady Rayner, the present Lord Rayner’s mother.”
“I see. As you said, what father wouldn’t want his daughter to be the privileged wife of that lord, when his own wife had suffered because of his lack of rank? What happened in your season?”
She couldn’t tell from his tone whether he was joking or serious.
“I became engaged to Mr. Brooker. Samuel works as a clerk for Alnott Stores. He’s a younger son of a country gentleman, not a duke or an earl. Father sent him to London to find premises for a new store and whilst there, we saw each other. I’d known him for years at the stores, but it was in London that we became close. We kept it secret and decided to wait for my father to see that I was not going to be able to attract a peer in town.”
It was strange to tell this tale of failed romance to Everett. She’d thought she’d tell it as a great love story to the children she and Samuel would have.
“When I returned home, it didn’t result quite as we had imagined.” Grace used the tips of her fingers to trace the line the wooden floorboards. “Father ordered me to marry Lord Rayner. I refused and told him I wanted to marry Mr. Brooker.”
“Ah.” There was a wealth of understanding in his one word.
“He locked me in my rooms, went to visit the Brookers, and explained that if Samuel and I married, he would sack him and prevent us inheriting any of the Alnott fortune. He sent me to a Swiss finishing school in Geneva, which he knew I would loathe, to think about my options.”
“He banished you for falling in love with the wrong man,” Everett said.
“Well, it was rather less like a gothic novel than that.” It had been dull.
“I was imagining you fleeing in your nightgown.” There was a smile in his voice. “Hair flowing over your shoulder when you check behind for pursuers as you escape.”
She dug her nails into the white cotton over her knees. “The last thing he said to me was I should come back in a more compliant state of mind.” But that had never happened. Her father’s one wish, and she’d failed.
“I’m so sorry.” There was a short silence. “I told my father he was a drunk and a discredit to the family name before I left for India. And in my trip back to England before Peter died, I refused to see him. My own brother.” There was so much pain in his voice.
Grace suddenly wanted to hold him. But there was the door between them, a symbol of their marriage. Close, but not too close. “Everett.” She put her fingers under the gap of the door. It must have looked ridiculous, her pink little nails peeking out from under the dark oak door. She was just about to draw back, feeling silly, when warm fingers covered hers.
“Grace. I’m glad you’re here.”
Her throat closed. She could so easily fall in love with him, with his quiet understanding and his similar regrets. But hadn’t she just told the story of how Samuel and her father had both let her down? Apparently, she’d forgotten her vow to never allow another man to hurt her, or anyone she loved.
She slipped her fingers away and they were immediately cold. “We should go to sleep now. It’s late.”