Not by Sight (27 page)

Dear Lord, what have I
done?
Tears rolled down the sides of her face. She recalled the young soldiers at the dance. Some were mangled and maimed, while others, perhaps like Jack’s brother, wore their damage on the inside. Even Jack suffered living in darkness.
“War is an ugly business, Grace.”

She knew from Colin’s old letters that he slept in muddy trenches and ate stale rations. And while London had received many air attacks, the bombing hadn’t been on a grand scale—Grace had never actually seen any of the damage herself. Yet now with her brother missing, perhaps near death, the war had become painfully close.

She didn’t sense her twin was dead, at least not yet—but she worried he might never be found.

“Lord, please save him,” she cried into her blanket. “I made a terrible mistake.”

“Show me the way I should go, for to
you I entrust my life.”
The psalmist’s verse penetrated her senses. Perhaps God didn’t make deals, but Grace couldn’t shake the belief that her wrongs outweighed her desires.
“In your righteousness, bring me out of trouble.”

She threw off her blankets, and with shaking hands she laced up her boots and gaiters. Grace knew what she must do.

Praying for Colin with a clear conscience meant first making peace with God . . . and with Jack.

“Miss Mabry?” Knowles’s weathered features registered surprise as he answered her summons that afternoon.

“I must speak with him.”

“Is something amiss?”

Grace caught his swift perusal of her. She still wore her dirty
uniform from the field. Despite her struggle to stay composed, her voice trembled when she said, “Please, it’s important.”

“Milord is resting,” Knowles said. He wasn’t as ebullient as he’d been on Monday, but his look of indecision was a far cry from the usual staidness. “Could you perhaps call tomorrow?”

“I cannot.” She reached for his sleeve, tears threatening to blur her vision. “Please, I . . . I just received urgent news. I must meet with Lord Roxwood before I go.”

Her voice broke, and his features transformed into a look of genuine concern. “Miss Mabry, I truly hope it is nothing dire?” He cleared his throat, adding, “I will of course notify his lordship.” He paused. “But is it quite necessary you must leave us?”

She nodded. “I’m needed back in London.”

The butler hesitated, then stood aside to allow her entrance. “Please wait inside.”

While he disappeared to make the request, Grace stood in the foyer and tried to imagine her conversation with Jack. Would he even agree to meet with her before she left? She said a quick prayer he would at least give her an audience, allow her to try to make amends to him, for her brother’s sake if nothing else.

“Good day, Miss Mabry.”

Mr. Edwards appeared from down the hall. “His lordship will see you. Please follow me.”

He led her back down the hall to the study. Grace had been inside only once before, when the steward arranged her contract as chauffeur. She recalled that day, and Jack’s cold and distant manner toward her—so different from the man with whom she’d shared candy floss at Margate, and danced in a quiet corner of Roxwood’s community hall.

That was before she’d let her guilt wound him. How would he behave toward her now?

“Miss Mabry, milord,” Edwards announced, opening the
door to the study. To Grace he said, “You may go in,” and gestured with a sweep of his arm.

She entered, and the steward closed the door, leaving her alone with Jack. Her nerves stretched as she walked deeper into the room, which was silent but for the soft ticking of a clock on the mantel. Quickly she surveyed the masculine surroundings—the dark wood paneling and oak bookcase lining one wall, and across the room the massive cherrywood desk that now sat empty. She turned toward the unlit fireplace and glimpsed Jack’s long legs as he sat with his back to her in a leather upholstered chair near the hearth.

Grace inhaled a shallow breath. “Hello, Jack.”

———

Despite his anger, Jack’s pulse leaped at the sound of her voice. Having kept her away already three days, he’d counted the hours he hadn’t heard her speak, or felt her touch, or breathed in the faint, familiar scent of her. He missed their conversations, their laughter; regardless of her open rejection of him, he had felt her absence to his core.

You’re pathetic, Benningham.
The silence was deafening but for the clock, and he rose from his chair, turning in her direction. “Edwards said you had urgent news?”

“I’ve come to tell you I’m leaving for London in the morning.”

He grabbed at the back of the chair. Did she find him so repulsive then, she must abandon her position entirely? His throat ached as he fought for composure. “Miss Mabry, I can understand how I caused you embarrassment the other day—”

“You didn’t embarrass me,” she whispered. “My own behavior was abominable, and I’ve come to apologize.”

“My mistake,” he bit out, as the sound of her pity renewed his anger. “I should have realized how you would react.” He let go of the chair and advanced a step. “Is that why you’re leaving Roxwood?”

“I received news that my brother . . . he’s missing in action.”

Hearing her anguish, Jack abandoned all pretenses at salvaging his wounded pride. “Grace, I’m sorry.” He took a few more steps forward, closing the distance between them. “How did you find out?”

“My cousin, Dr. Strom. He . . . he spoke with my father on the telephone this morning. I must go home and be with Da while we wait for news from the Army.”

Her news struck him like blows. Jack hated the idea she would return to her blackguard of a father. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Cousin Daniel said we must wait.”

Bitterness edged her words. His gut tightened. “Marcus might be able to help.” His friend had high connections in the Army.

“Thank you.”

Jack felt a warm hand clasp his own. “I promise you, Grace, we’ll find out what’s being done to find your brother,” he said.

“Jack, there’s another reason I’m here.”

She withdrew her touch then, and a sense of loss filled him. A moment later, Jack felt her warm hands along either side of his face. He steeled himself as her fingers grazed featherlight over the scar at his cheek. “To seek your forgiveness.”

Her whisper, so close to his lips, tantalized him. Yet he would rather die than become the object of her charity. “I told you, it was my error in judgment.”

“No, I need to confess something else, far worse than my behavior at Eden.”

What could be worse than her rejection? Unless . . . Coldness swept over him as he thought of her father. “You have a secret to share?”

“I want to see you, Jack.” Her hands slid around to the ties at his mask. Jack tried to pull away, but she held tight. “Please, trust me,” she said. His heart hammered against his chest as
he went still. Soon the air touched his exposed flesh, and the room fell silent except for the sound of their breathing. Why was he allowing this torment? He imagined her repulsion, knew he couldn’t stand her rejection a second time—

Her gentle touch startled him. “I thought you so handsome that night at the ball, with your midnight cape and your red rose.” She spoke softly as she trailed a finger over the uneven skin of his scars. “Women flocked to you as they once must have done with the real Casanova.”

His body stiffened, her words hitting him like a shock wave. “You?” he breathed. “You were at the dowager’s party?”

Warm hands cupped his face. “I was so angry with you,” she said, ignoring his question. “You and your pacifist friends lazing about, while my brother fought in the trenches and the enemy’s bombs fell on London. The war had to be won.” She paused. “I thought to shame you in front of your peers and gave you the white feather—”

“Pandora?” Stunned, he reached for her hands against his face.

“Yes. It was me.” Tears edged her voice. “And in my effort to teach you a lesson, Jack Benningham, I nearly destroyed you.” Her breath shook. “It’s my fault you cannot see.”

He felt dazed. “I can’t believe . . . Jasmine,” he said, recalling the scent of flowers surrounding her at the ball. And when Marcus had described her auburn hair and green eyes to him, he’d imagined the beautiful goddess in green who had captured his attentions that night.

It now seemed perfectly reasonable Grace would be the same woman.

“I was just as surprised as you when we met in your hedge maze,” she said. “You were this Tin Man the villagers spoke of. I’d read in the
Times
about your injuries. I chose to believe you’d gotten drunk and set your own house ablaze.” Her voice
dropped. “I assumed that you deserved your fate. Oh, Jack, I’m so ashamed.”

She tried pulling away from him, but his grip held her firmly. Finally she quit her struggle and said in a sad voice, “I kept my secret at first, not because I regretted my actions, but I feared you would be furious and banish me from Roxwood. I didn’t want to return home, to what awaited me there. Ironic, isn’t it?” Anguished humor colored her tone. “Now I
am
leaving, and of my own will.”

“Grace, you don’t need to do this.”

“Please, let me finish.” Her breath trembled between them. “When I learned the truth, that you were injured in the line of duty and not by some house fire as everyone thought, I realized how badly I’d misjudged you. I felt horrible for having shamed you into enlisting. And the other day at Eden, when you took off your mask, I . . . I couldn’t bear knowing what I had done to you. Please forgive me.”

“Forgive?” Jack’s confusion cleared the second he realized Grace felt she was to blame for his injuries. She couldn’t know her effect on him the night of the ball, or how the feather had amused him—until Chaplin made his escape. He released her hands and dug into his waistcoat pocket, retrieving the talisman he’d kept with him the past few months. “I believe this once belonged to you?”

———

Shocked, Grace stared at the white feather in his grasp. “You kept it?”

He twirled it between his thumb and forefinger. “Amazing, but when they fished me from the Thames, your token of affection managed to remain with me.” He smiled. “This feather and your lovely image have haunted my dreams for months.”

“But the memory, it . . . I . . . was responsible for you getting hurt.”

“Grace, I was already in service to the Crown the night I met you.” He returned the feather to his pocket. “Your boldness provided me a pleasant diversion, nothing more.”

The knowledge eased her conscience considerably. Then she recalled his words at the village dance, his “high stakes” job. “Did you work with Marcus at the Admiralty?”

“Yes, I’d been working at . . . my position for some time,” he said. “I knew the risks, so there is nothing to forgive. You would have felt much better had you told me sooner.”

“I thought you would despise me.”

“Never,” he whispered. He reached out to her, and she again put her hands in his.

“I did consider baring my soul to you once or twice,” Grace admitted. “But I was afraid to take the chance. Then news came about Colin, and I worried . . .”

“About what?”

She hesitated, then said, “We’ve already discussed your views on the subject of God and religion, so you’ll think me silly. But I desired a clear conscience . . . to pray for my brother.”

“Clear conscience or not, the Almighty does what He likes and we have no say in it. But if it makes you feel better, Grace,” he said, smiling, “I forgive you.”

“Thank you.” Impulsively she rose on tiptoe and pressed a kiss to his scarred cheek.

He gripped her hands. “What was that for?”

The mantel clock chimed the hour. “I should go,” she said instead, unwilling to reveal her true feelings. “I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving the gatehouse. I don’t want them to worry.”

“Will you ever come back to Roxwood?”

Tension colored his tone. Grace’s heart ached at the thought of leaving him. “I don’t believe so,” she said truthfully. “The Women’s Forage Corps will finish work next week and then move on to another estate. I’ll likely remain in London until
word arrives about my brother.” She stepped back, and he released his grip. “Thank you for offering to help, Jack.”

He nodded. “Will you call me?”

“You wish me to?”

“What do you think?” Jack again reached for her and this time pulled her into his arms. Grace hesitated, but then relaxed against him, feeling comforted by his strength. She rested her head against his chest and felt his heart beating as fast as her own. “Do you have any idea how much I’m going to miss you?” he whispered close to her ear.

His breath tickled her skin, and she tilted her face upward. “How much?” she whispered back, knowing the danger of such a question.

His sculpted lips smiled at her irresistibly. “Kiss me and I’ll show you.”

His gentle voice caressed like the rustling grasses of the field. Grace gazed at him, mesmerized, longing to feel the touch of his lips against hers. But she resisted. “We haven’t the right.” Yet as she spoke, she gave into temptation and reached to trace along the edge of his mouth. “And I don’t want my heart broken.”