Not by Sight (19 page)

“You honor us, Sir Marcus!” Mrs. Vance’s hands fluttered as she began introductions. “This is Miss Becky Simmons, one of our baling hands.” She nodded at Becky, who rushed forward to execute a quick curtsy. “Miss Lucy Young is our horse-transport driver.” Lucy moved to mimic her co-worker. “And Miss Clare Danner is another of our baling hands.”

Clare stood beside Grace, unmoving. Sir Marcus hesitated, then swiftly closed the distance between them. “My pleasure, Miss Danner,” he said, offering a most charming bow.

Crossing her arms, Clare merely nodded in what seemed a mandatory gesture. Then she turned from him and moved over to stand beside Lucy and Becky.

Mrs. Vance shot Clare a reproving look. “And you see Miss Grace Mabry before you. She acts as our section clerk when she’s not employed by Lord Roxwood.”

“Ah, Miss Mabry, I’ve heard much about you.” Sir Marcus offered another polite bow.

“Shall I take that as a compliment?” Grace darted a glance toward the tall man standing at the door. Like Clare, Jack’s arms were folded across his chest as he leaned against the doorjamb. Head cocked as if intent on hearing every word.

“Most assuredly,” Sir Marcus said, smiling.

“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you.” She offered him a gracious nod.

“Your driving skills have impressed my friend,” he said, brown eyes sparkling. “In fact, I believe your morning outings have become the highlight of his day.”

“Why . . . thank you.” A flutter rose in her throat as she again
looked to Jack. Below the mask his jaw tensed, his lips forming a taut line. What was wrong? Had he changed his mind from the other night?

A thought struck, and her insides ached. Had he reconciled with Miss Arnold?

“They are the highlight of mine as well,” she said, still determined to speak the truth. The hardness eased from Jack’s face, and he smiled. Grace felt light-headed with pleasure.

“Excellent,” Sir Marcus said. “Would you do me the favor of taking Lord Roxwood and me for a ride tomorrow morning? I’d like to observe the WFC’s operation, and if I drive, I’m afraid I’ll be too preoccupied to enjoy the full experience.”

“I’d be happy to,” Grace said, pleased by the request. “If Lord Roxwood is agreeable.”

“Bring the Daimler around at nine,” he called, then abruptly left the barn.

Sir Marcus glanced at the spot where his friend had been and then hastily turned back to Grace. “Until tomorrow, Miss Mabry.”

Before departing, he paused in front of Clare. “I am most honored to make your acquaintance, Miss Danner.” He held out his hand, and it was a moment before she gave him hers. He raised it to his lips for a light kiss. “I hope we meet again,” he said before releasing her.

“Ladies, thank you for your time,” he said to the rest.

“Oh, isn’t he handsome!” Becky cried as soon as the men had left the barn. They heard the car’s engine come to life, then grow distant as their visitors drove away from the farm. “Tall and dressed in such fancy clothes. He even kissed your hand, Clare! Sir Marcus is sweet on you,” she sang.

“He is no such thing,” Clare said. “Marcus Weatherford is just another conceited man with a title who thinks he can walk on those beneath him.”

Grace saw her friend’s shaking hands. Was she angry . . . or was it something else?

Clare whirled from them and stormed outside.

“What’s with her?” Becky asked.

“You know how Clare feels about the peerage,” Grace said.
And rightly so
, she thought with compassion. “She’ll be fine. Just leave her be for a while.”

Grace considered her own folly with Jack Benningham. How had she allowed herself to care so very much about him? Longing to be in his company, to talk with him, play their games. To be his eyes, filling his dark world with color . . .

An ache rose in her throat, and she pressed her lips together. Especially when there was no future in it.

“Well, what do you think of her?”

Jack sat beside his friend as Marcus drove them back to the manor.

“She’s pretty,” Marcus said. “So was the other one, Miss Danner. In all, they were quite charming.”

“I’d say you were the charmer.” Jealousy stabbed at him. Jack had heard enough to know Marcus Weatherford’s elegant manners and good looks had dazzled the ladies, including Mrs. Vance, if her animated tone was any measure.

His own entrance had certainly produced the opposite effect. Silence had descended over the barn when he’d followed his friend inside. Jack’s lip curled as he imagined the women of the WFC gaping at him, likely wondering when the hunchback Tin Man would start howling.

All except Grace. His heart warmed, remembering her comment. She’d enjoyed spending time with him, as well.

“I was merely being polite,” Marcus said. “Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’m here on business, not to woo the ladies.”

“I thought you did a splendid job at both.” Had Grace been smitten with his friend, too? Jack recalled hearing the blush in her voice. In the past two weeks, he’d become well attuned to her inflections of tone—teasing, angry, frustrated, pleased. He could even detect when she was being shy. But Marcus could charm the bark off a tree, and when compared to Frankenstein’s monster, likely Grace was just as enthralled by him as the rest.

His hands curled into fists against the seat. “Tell me what she looks like.”

It was a moment before Marcus answered. “Pale skin, red hair, green eyes . . . oh, and pieces of straw sticking to every part of her.”

“You know, it’s hard to believe you’re an MI5 agent,” Jack ground out. “She gave me much the same information herself. Can you possibly elaborate?”

“Shall I wax poetic for you, Benningham?” Marcus sounded amused. “Milky-white skin, hair like fire, eyes the color of the sea—how’s that?”

“Stop or I may become ill,” Jack said dryly. “What do you propose for tomorrow?”

“Just a country drive, old boy,” he said, and Jack detected his note of evasiveness. “I can get to know her better and make my own evaluation. It might even require hanging on a few extra days.”

Jack would have preferred his friend’s hasty departure, but it would mean being left alone with Violet. “You’re certainly welcome to stay,” he bit out.

“That’s quite a change from your attitude toward me earlier.”

“Yes, well, you’re already here, so you can keep Miss Arnold entertained.” Gratitude overrode his irritation as he said gruffly, “I appreciate you standing in at meals in my absence.”

He was also relieved to postpone his confrontation with Violet.

“So why is she here, Jack? And don’t tell me it’s because she wants to be close to you.”

His friend knew that much, having been with him that day at hospital. Still, Jack wasn’t about to disclose any more information until Marcus revealed some of his own. “Why are you here?” he countered. “Aside from wanting to meet Grace and take a drive around the park?”

“Touché, old boy” was all Marcus said.

What was his friend hiding? “Quit playing spy games and tell me what’s going on. I have a right to know.”

“Do you?” Marcus asked.

“It’s my home. Grace is my employee. And you seem to have a reason to doubt my assurances about her. That makes it my business.”

“Patience, friend,” Marcus said. “All will soon be revealed.”

Jack frowned and turned his face to the open window. Patience was a virtue he’d never quite mastered.

13

“Would you like to see the field where the women are baling hay, Sir Marcus?”

“Indeed I would, Miss Mabry. Please, take us where you will.”

Grace drove the Daimler along a road past the south pasture where yesterday she’d worked the aerator. This morning the baler was already chugging away as Clare added forkfuls of hay into its maw. Lucy and Mrs. Vance tied off each bale with wire while Becky loaded them off to the side to be weighed. Mr. Tillman was even now assembling the tripod scale.

“Looks like backbreaking work,” Sir Marcus said from the back seat.

“Very much so, and it’s still morning,” she said. “When noon arrives and the sun is directly overhead, it will be twice as hot and the working conditions even more difficult.”

Grace felt chagrined seeing her WFC sisters at labor. She’d promised Mrs. Vance to take up the slack from losing Agnes, yet here she was driving Jack and his friend around on a tour.

Still, she had to admit, she enjoyed being with Jack again. He sat next to her, looking quite handsome in a white linen suit that
fit snug across his broad shoulders. He wore a smart-looking felt trilby today instead of his usual brown motoring cap.

She wondered if he’d had his “discussion” with Miss Arnold, or if he continued to avoid her. Agnes mentioned he’d immediately retired after Grace left the night of her arrival.

This morning, when Knowles let her in, Grace had caught a glimpse of a dark skirt ascending the stairs before disappearing from view. She couldn’t tell if it was Miss Arnold, Agnes, or the companion, Mrs. Grant.

She wondered if Miss Arnold had been invited to come along this morning. Grace was relieved at her absence. Being in the woman’s company, particularly while driving, would be unnerving.

“How long have you been with the Women’s Forage Corps, Miss Mabry?”

Grace glanced over her shoulder at Sir Marcus. “Well over a month. I’ve been at Roxwood three weeks.”

“And do you like it? The work, I mean?”

She turned back to the road. “I had difficulty adjusting, at first. I got fired when one of the women pulled a prank and left me to chase a dozen pigs around Lord Roxwood’s garden.”

“Pigs?” She heard him chuckle. “Which woman was it?”

“That is for me to know, Sir Marcus.” Grace smiled. “We sisters in the WFC keep our secrets for one another. But it was my good fortune Lord Roxwood changed his mind and offered me a job as his part-time driver. The Corps kept me on, as well.”
More or less
, she thought, choosing to omit how Jack had bullied Mrs. Vance into rehiring her.

“I think perhaps it’s been
my
good fortune,” Jack said beside her. His hand rested against the seat between them, and she smiled as she recalled the evening of his birthday.

“Do you enjoy history, Miss Mabry?”

Grace reeled in her thoughts and glanced back at Sir Marcus. “Why, yes.”

“Has Lord Roxwood taken you to view the old Roman ruins near Richborough?”

“We haven’t yet had the occasion,” Jack said in a flat tone beside her. Grace noticed the muscle in his jaw tense. “Is there a particular reason you wish to visit the ruins, Marcus?”

“Merely because I believe Miss Mabry will find them fascinating.” Sir Marcus leaned forward and pointed toward an approaching crossroad. “Turn right up there onto Canterbury Road. You’ll make another right once you reach Ramsgate Road heading south. The old Roman Road is just a few miles beyond on your right.”

She did as he instructed, and soon they were traveling along a good stretch of even road.

“Lord Roxwood tells me you have a brother overseas?”

“Yes,” Grace replied, “Colin is with the cavalry.”

“You must be proud of him.”

“Very much, though I wish . . .”

“Yes?”

Grace hesitated.
I wish
I could shake this ill feeling.

“Tell me, Miss Mabry.”

While he spoke congenially, Grace heard the demand in his voice. Why did he press her? “I just miss him, that’s all.” She looked at Jack, who now sat with arms crossed against his chest. “You and Lord Roxwood share a penchant for asking questions.”

“I’m merely curious.”

His words irritated her. Jack once offered her the same excuse. “You know what they say about curiosity and the cat,” she quipped hotly.

Jack’s bark of laughter drowned out any response Sir Marcus might have made. “If you’re trying to stir a hornet’s nest, Marcus, you’ve done it,” he called back to his friend.

Grace felt her cheeks warm as Sir Marcus said, “I only wish
to get to know Miss Mabry a bit better.” To her, he said, “Does he write to you often, your brother?”

“I haven’t received any correspondence from him in quite some time.” She kept her focus on the road ahead. “Lord Roxwood explained to me how Army mail is often delayed.”

“True enough. Do your mother and father write often?”

“Marcus.” Jack spoke sharply.

Grace wondered at the underlying friction between them. Jack’s expression below the mask had turned to brooding. Was he angry with Sir Marcus? “I haven’t received a post from my father,” she answered. “And my mother is dead.”

“I’m very sorry, Miss Mabry.” His genuine condolence appeased her. “Does your father—?”

“What is your profession, Sir Marcus?” she asked abruptly, as she made the next right turn onto Ramsgate Road.

“I beg your pardon?”

She glanced at Jack and saw his grin. Her spirits lifted, and she pressed on, “Well, if you wish to ask me so many personal questions, I think it only fair you answer a few in return. Are you a soldier? Home on leave, perhaps?”

“He’s a lieutenant in the Admiralty,” Jack said.

“On holiday,” Sir Marcus was quick to add.

“Ah, a man with a sense of duty, then,” Grace said, satisfied.

“If she didn’t approve of you before, Marcus, she does now,” Jack said to his friend. “Miss Mabry is quite the patriot.”

“Indeed, I am,” she said, relieved at their easy banter. “How did you and Sir Marcus first meet?” she asked Jack.

“We were at Oxford together.” Grace’s heart gave a little jolt at the genuine warmth in his smile. “Marcus was the troublemaker.”

Sir Marcus let out a snort from the back seat. It seemed the two men had a lasting friendship after all. “Are you married, Sir Marcus?” she asked, thinking to look out for her friend Clare’s interest.

Jack scowled while Sir Marcus said smoothly, “Is that a proposal, Miss Mabry?”

She burst out laughing. “Hardly, I’m merely curious,” she said, tossing his words back at him.

Jack’s features eased, and he chuckled. “Nicely done, Miss Mabry.”

Even Sir Marcus sounded amused when he said, “I am still looking for the right woman.”

“Looking for someone who’ll put up with you, you mean,” Jack said.

Grace noticed his mood seemed to be mellowing the farther they drove away from Roxwood. Perhaps distancing himself from his troubles with Miss Arnold? In any event, it was wonderful to be out enjoying the summer day with a bit of camaraderie. It had likely been some time since he and his friend had had an opportunity to do so. She felt grateful to be a part of it.

“So, Miss Mabry, is your father . . . ah, there’s the Roman Road directly ahead. If you’ll take it, we should see the ruins on the right.”

Relieved to be out from beneath Sir Marcus’s scrutiny, Grace made the turn and soon sighted the crumbling walls surrounding what remained of an ancient Roman fort.

“
Rutupiae
was the original name for Richborough,” Sir Marcus said as they drew closer. “The fort was built after the Romans landed in England in AD forty-three.”

“It’s amazing!” Grace forgot her annoyance as she pulled the car to the side of the road that overlooked the ruins. Her mind conjured visions of soldiers clad in red tunics, helmets, and shoulder plates walking the battlements in search of their enemies.

Knowing Jack would wish to be included, she began to describe the place. “Crags of gray stone rise out of a green sea
like broken teeth, biting at the warm air as though to grasp and reclaim their history, now lost: Roman soldiers, golden eagles, and the flags of Caesar . . .”

“I am completely enraptured.”

Grace looked over her shoulder to see Sir Marcus’s smile. Beside her, Jack issued a low, guttural noise. Was he growling?

“You make a great storyteller, Miss Mabry.”

She beamed at him. “I am a writer . . . an aspiring novelist, anyway. Lord Roxwood has come to my aid in honing my skills.”

“Oh? What skills would those be?”

Grace caught a restless movement beside her. “He’s helped me to
see
with my words, to paint pictures with them. We make a game of it.”

“Word games, eh? Sounds like you’ve been extremely productive, old boy.”

Jack’s mouth tightened. Sir Marcus said, “Did he come up with the game, or did you?”

“Oh, he did,” she said. “When we first met, I am ashamed to say I spoke rather unimaginatively. Since then I’ve practiced every day, even when I bale hay in the fields. I hope one day to write a story about my time here at Roxwood and have it published.”

“I imagine there are many tales to fuel the imagination here in Kent,” Sir Marcus said. “With so much history, you could write about some mystery or intrigue, perhaps even a spy novel—”

“Leave off, Marcus.” Jack ground out the words. “I wish to get out and stretch my legs.”

“Of course,” Grace said and killed the engine while the two men exited the car.

She came around the Daimler and continued to stare at the ancient Roman fort. “I don’t know about writing a spy novel, Sir Marcus, but when I see these ruins, I think of the battles once fought and I’m reminded of my patriotism.” She turned to him. “I’d like to write about those who perform their duty
to Britain, and the brave women aiding in the war effort while our men fight the enemy overseas.” Grace tipped her head. “And don’t think you’ll so easily put them back into the kitchens and drawing rooms once the war is over, either.”

Sir Marcus grinned, and Grace noted the genuine humor in his brown eyes. Perhaps Clare was being too hasty to judge this man. “Such lofty ideals, Miss Mabry, but please tell me you’re not one of those suffragettes?” he said with a look of mock horror.

“She is indeed,” Jack said.

Grace felt a rush of warmth as he came to stand beside her. “I do support the suffrage movement, though I’m not what one would consider a militant for the cause. I believe women deserve the vote, as they’re making such great strides in aiding Britain. Why, they have taken over as policemen, firemen, laborers, and cleaners. They work in agriculture, make munitions, even drive ambulances back and forth from the fighting in order to save lives.”

“Those efforts are commendable,” Sir Marcus agreed. “But how do they make a woman better able to understand the intricacies of politics?”

Jack’s laughter cut into his friend’s conversation. “Careful, Marcus, or she’ll have you putting her name in for Parliament.”

Sir Marcus gazed at her with a look of grudging admiration. “You are a surprise to me, Miss Mabry. Would you care to take a closer look at the ruins?”

“Very much,” she said eagerly.

“We won’t be long, old boy.”

Sir Marcus held out an arm for Grace, but Jack intercepted her first, taking her arm. “Lead the way, Miss Mabry.”

At his touch, Grace felt her pulse race. Placing her hand over his, she led him as they followed Sir Marcus a short distance to a place offering perfect visibility of the ruins.

“The fort is built nearly on top of the East Kent marshes,”
Jack said to her once they stopped. “It’s probably one of the most important Roman historical sites left in Britain. You can see the natural amphitheater, the series of grass rings surrounding the center of the fort. Near the end of the Roman Empire, Richborough was abandoned and became the site of a Saxon religious settlement.”

“It’s hard to conceive of these walls being nearly two thousand years old.” Again Grace envisioned her Roman soldiers walking the battlements. Sadly, time and progress were slowly wearing away at the stones.

Scanning the distant marsh on either side of the ruins, she caught some activity. Straining her eyes, she could see what appeared to be several tents and men wearing uniforms. “What’s going on over there?” She pointed toward the encampment.