“There is no charm equal to tenderness of heart.”

“I don’t mean to sound harsh, but there is no need to stay with Eliza now.” Lord Boldon spread out his hands. “The family will be in mourning with no possibility of entertaining until next season.”

“Yes, Papa, but I’m going for different reasons now. I would be with her already if you had allowed me to attend the funeral.” Grace gave her father a mutinous look.

He wagged a finger at her. “Women do not have the constitution for such affairs. Lady Falsbury would not have approved. She only attended the church service, and it was her son.”

“That’s balderdash and you know it. I should have been there for Eliza.” Grace was not letting this go, even as the tears stung the back of her eyes. When Mama died, neither her aunt nor cousin had been allowed to visit. She remembered how much it would have meant to her to have Eliza there. “I know what it feels like to be alone in time of sorrow.”

She shouldn’t have said it. Her hand went to her mouth, and she shook her head. “Oh, Papa. I’m so sorry. I’m such a dimwit. I didn’t mean—”

“You did, and you are right. I wasn’t there for you when your mother died. I was drowning in self-pity, and you manned the ship until I could steer it again.” He held out his arms, and she hugged him fiercely. He held her for a moment, stroking her back. “Oh, my sweet. I worry such a visit will steal the brightness from your eyes.”

“I’ll be fine. I have come up with a plan.”

He chuckled. “Another plan? Please tell me there is a husband somewhere at the end of this latest scheme of yours.”

“This is no longer about marriage. Eliza is with child and in mourning. She needs me. Please, Papa, we cannot deny her our love and support when she needs us the most.” She held one of his big hands in both of hers. “A woman’s worst enemy is her own imagination. With our history in the birthing bed, she will need a trusted voice to calm her fears. Think of your niece. Think of Mama. She would be horrified if we did not do everything in our power to help her sister’s only child.”

Her father puffed out his cheeks and blew the air out dramatically. “When you put it like that, I see no way to refuse. But this matter is only postponed.”

“Yes, Papa. Oh thank you,” she gushed then wiped at the corners of her eyes with her palm and stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

As she left the library, her mind whirled with arrangements she needed to make and the necessary packing. There was so much to do.

“Sammy, Sammy, I need your help.” She called to her little brother who once again perched on the top of the landing. “And don’t you dare ride down that bannister.”

With a grin, the little boy gave a salute, lay down on the gleaming wood, and slid to the bottom step. “I didn’t fall on my bum this time, Gracie. I’m getting better.”

“Watch your language, you impudent child. Now, we are leaving in less than a week to visit cousin Eliza. You need to make a list of what I should pack for you. Not all of your toys, mind you, but don’t forget anything important.”

“Like Thor,” he offered. “He would be very upset if I left him behind.”

“Yes, you would both be devastated. He would not like to miss this adventure.” Thor was Sammy’s wooden warhorse. The local carpenter had made it for her mother just before his birth.

“And my toy theater,” he added. “I wager Eliza would like to watch some of our plays.”

“I’m sure she will enjoy them immensely.”

“And my whirligig, I can’t—”

“Make a list. Don’t worry about the correct spelling or have your Mr. Chenwick help with it.”

“I can write my letters all by myself now,” he said with lips pursed, eyes scrunched, and arms crossed over his chest. His pout was adorable. When he stomped his foot, the dark blue breeches fell back over his knees.

She crossed her own arms and screwed up her face in imitation. “I remember now why you’re so good at plays and drama. Now, get up those stairs and make that list. I won’t be responsible if it’s not on your list.”

Grace was excited to stay at Falsbury for a month but still had a knot in her stomach about the pregnancy. Her cousin’s letter had been filled with sadness and joy. She read it again, an intense protectiveness filling her chest.

Dearest Grace,

This must be a dreadful dream. I will wake up soon and cry with relief, but until then, my heart is breaking. Carson is dead. One moment he is kissing me good night, off to the clubs with Lord Weston. The next, I’m roused from my bed to learn he has fallen from a horse and broken his neck. How will I bear it?

I know we were not a love match, but he was so good to me, Gracie. So tender and considerate and like no man I have ever known. Why would God give me such happiness for such a short time? I lay awake wondering if I would have been better off never knowing such affection.

My only consolation is his child growing inside me. He made me promise to keep it our secret for awhile. He wanted to savor the moment, he said, before his father sucked the joy from it. He was so happy, and I thought I was the luckiest of women. Now I will have to tell them alone, without him by my side. Oh, pray that I have a daughter, so I may keep her to myself. They won’t care about a useless little girl, but I would cherish her. A small part of Carson left behind for me.

I need you, Gracie. I need your strength and your common sense. Please come to me when you can.

Your loving cousin,

Eliza

Her first reaction to Eliza’s terrible and wonderful news had been tears. Tears for a dead man who had shown kindness to a lonely, frightened girl. Tears for a woman who would now raise a child without his father. Tears for the ghastly possibility the reaper might return and take Eliza from her. And then relief no one had witnessed her breakdown. She had fretted, considered begging off the invitation with a poor excuse. She wanted to offer solace but would Eliza’s swelling belly bring back all the fear and horror of that awful day? Her father’s concern had not been trivial.

Her apprehension was short-lived, though. Grace considered herself a problem-solver. Whining won’t help. Find a resolution, her mother had always said. After extensive reading and long conversations with the local doctor, chemist, and midwife, she found a practical solution. There were now male practitioners that specialized in birthing. Her present mission was to convince Lady Falsbury the baby should be born in London, where an accoucheur could be engaged in advance and sent for immediately. The family certainly had enough influence to make that happen. If she could put her own mind at ease, Eliza would also be free from anxiety.

The next few days were hectic. There was so much to pack and instructions to give so the estate would continue to run smoothly while she was gone. Her father would escort them to Falsbury and return the following week. She was glad to have him along. He was more comfort than he realized and very good company. Seated at a small table in the library, Grace went over her final notes. A light breeze rippled the pale blue draperies, distracting her with the soft but crisp sound of silk against taffeta. With a sigh, she took in the vivid purples, pinks, and reds of the lilies, carnations, and lobelia that vied for attention in the garden.

The terrible twist in her gut, her terror of childbirth, had dissipated. Perhaps it would all work out. Women lost husbands, women had babies, life went on. As long as she was not one of those women.

Sammy burst through the door, a paper clenched in his chubby little fist. His cheeks were pink, complementing his red waistcoat. Such a little gentleman…until he opened his mouth.

“I have the list,” he said in his loud but practiced grown-up voice. She nodded to let him know she had heard and dipped the point into the inkpot to finish her instructions.

“G-R-A-C-I-E, I H-A-V-E THE L-I-S-T!”

She cringed, hands clamping over her ears. “Samuel Beaumont, did you see me acknowledge you?”

With a grin, he nodded.

“Then why did you scream?”

“You weren’t looking at me,” he said indignantly.

“I don’t need my eyes to hear you, young man. It is improper to raise your voice in front of a woman,” she lectured, pointing the quill at him. “Apologize.”

“But you’re not a woman, you’re my sister.”

“I am still a female so you will practice your manners on me.” She leaned back in the chair, knowing this would not happen in a snap. He had inherited their mother’s argumentative nature.

“But Papa says when a man comes to you with an important matter, he should get your full attention. So you have to look at me.” Samuel stood straight, shoulders back, as if waiting for his own apology.

“That is not the way to go about it. You should wait patiently until I lift my head.”

He stuck out his bottom lip. “I’m sorry if you thought my patience was too loud.”

Well, Grace supposed that would have to do. She held out her arms, and he ran into them. Wiggling onto her lap, he tried to smooth the crumpled parchment on the table. “I think I have everything. Read it.”

“Why don’t you read it for me?”

“I’ve done enough work this morning. My head hurts from all the thinking.” Sammy snuggled back against his sister’s chest. She kissed him on top of the head, and gave him a squeeze.

“Fine. Shall we get some breakfast now?” He nodded and ran from the room before she could blink. Looking at his list, she giggled.

Samuel dashed back into the room. “Can you put my table ninepins on there for me, please? That one was too hard. It made my brain swell.” And he was gone again.

“Whoa, slow down,” her father said from the hall. He poked his head inside the door. “What are you laughing at?”

“Your son and my brother. I fear he is growing into a manipulative young man. He’s already learned how to charm the staff and is working on me.”

“He gets that from his mother. I don’t have a charming bone in my body,” he said in his own defense. “She’d be demmed proud of him, wouldn’t she?”

Grace smiled in agreement. “Exceedingly proud.”

The sun glinted off the steel spokes of the carriage wheels, a fine breeze stirring the leaves. The driver, four in hand, clicked to the shining chestnut horses and they nickered in anticipation. It would be a three-day journey by coach. She watched Papa sit his massive bay gelding, straight and tall and handsome. Many men his age had gone to fat or lost their hair. Not Lord Boldon. He was as fit as most men half his age. If she married, would she find a man who compared to her father? Highly doubtful.

“Samuel! Step lively, boy! We have new lands to discover!” he shouted out to his son. “Grace, if you give another instruction, we will leave you behind. The place will not fall to the ground without you.”

“Look who’s so eager to be away.” She laughed as the coachman waited for her, his blue uniform matching the red and blue Boldon crest on the door. She settled onto the cushioned velvet seat. “Sammy, I have fresh biscuits with strawberry jam from Mrs. Woolley in case you get hungry. Are you riding with me or with Papa?”

“Papa, can I ride on the big horse?”

“Certainly.” Sammy placed his small hand on his father’s sturdy forearm. “On the count of three: one, two thr-eee!” The boy jumped with all his strength while Lord Boldon pulled him up. He grabbed his father’s coat with his free hand and easily swung up behind him.

“Hail, Caesar!” cried Sammy.

“What?” his father asked “Caesar?”

“Mr. Chenwick yelled it one day. I forgot why he was so excited, but you know how he gets about his history. I remember that part, though.”

“Well, I suppose that’s a start. Any other little tidbits you remember from your lessons? Entertain me, Samuel. I pay the man enough.”

“Well, he was talking to Mrs. Woolley yesterday with a silly smile on his face. All of a sudden, she put her hands on her hips, made a huffing noise, and marched out of the room. Poor Mr. Chenwick looked very confused then decided we would read poetry.”

“Which poet did he choose?”

“The Roman, Virgil. He said, ‘A woman is an ever pickle and changeable thing.’ And then he shook his head and told me never to fall in love.”

Lord Boldon let out a belly laugh that Mrs. Woolley, obviously the pickle in the statement, might have heard in the kitchen.