“Excuse me, me lord?”
Nicholas dismissed Edwin. “Yes, Lily. What is it?”
“It’s Miss Ellison, sir. She’s gone missing.”
“Missing?”
“I can’t find her anywhere. And she’s not supposed to leave her room yet.”
“Where is Miss West?”
“She had to check something back at the parsonage. Meanwhile Miss Ellison—”
“Remains ever elusive.” Nicholas sighed and went into the bedchamber. “Miss Ellison?”
No answer.
He frowned as Lily checked under the heavy bed skirts. Glanced around. The room held few secrets: the bed had been remade, and hiding places were limited to the wardrobe and the chimney. He bit back a grin at the thought of Miss Ellison hiding there. No, not even her most hoydenish ways would support such a thing.
He studied the heavy cream drapes that obscured the room’s two full-length windows. As a child he’d often found the deep alcoves a suitable place to repair from the torments of his brother. Perhaps …
He strode quickly to the first set of curtains and drew them open. Nothing—save that glorious view of the park that used to offer such peace. He fumbled a prayer under his breath, “Lord, I need some peace.”
He kept the drapes open, the weak sunlight filling the room with hope. He shifted to the other alcove, flung the curtains wide. And there, on the window seat, dressed in a flimsy cream dressing gown, curled Miss Ellison, fast asleep.
The morning light highlighted the violet shadows under her eyes, her sharpened cheekbones. She was so pale, her skin almost translucent, a mark above her left brow the faintest remnant of her smallpox encounter. His heart softened. “Miss Ellison, time to wake up.”
She did not stir. He glanced at the open Bible on her lap. Psalms. Drops of water had mottled the page. Had she been crying?
“You found her!” Lily came to his side. “I swear I looked, me lord, but didn’t see her.”
“No matter.” Nicholas bent closer, and lightly grasped Lavinia’s upper arm. “Miss Ellison, wake up.”
Stirring, she blinked up at him. The gray eyes had lost all luster, but still held the power to mesmerize. Her lips curved. “Hello.”
“Hello.” His chest tightened. One day she would waken to smile like that at another man. He frowned to banish the emotion that thought ignited. “You gave Lily a scare. She didn’t know where you were.”
“I’m sorry, Lily. I keep causing you trouble, don’t I?” She smiled at the maid. “But if it’s any consolation, I’ve had this habit for years. My father and aunt are now quite reconciled to the fact that I must disappear at times.”
“Yes, miss.” Lily bobbed a curtsey and glanced up at him.
Nicholas nodded to dismiss her then turned to Lavinia. “You must disappear?” He raised an eyebrow. “Hardly the act of a dutiful daughter, disappearing to leave your family to worry.”
“I am sorry. I certainly did not intend to disrupt your morning responsibilities.”
“No matter.” He gazed out the window. Rose gardens stretched in formal lines, tended by several gardeners. “I remember when I stayed here as a boy the attraction of these windows. It was nice to escape a houseful of guests.” And to escape the arguments of his parents, both between themselves and with Uncle Robert.
“I find that hard to imagine from such a sociable creature as yourself.”
His lips twitched. “You must be feeling better, to make such impertinent remarks.”
“I fear you will hardly know how to console yourself with my absence.”
Her words struck deep. For all the inconvenience she provided, he would miss these regular interactions. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets.
She turned to look outside. “Look at the view! Is it not lovely?” She glanced back, a mischievous smile on her face. “Surely you cannot begrudge me preferring that to the familiarity of these surrounds?”
“I agree that the view is …” He paused at the sight of her uplifted face, the wide, gray eyes now shining with amusement, the lips quirked in a fashion that suggested suppressed laughter. His heartbeat quickened.
“My lord?”
He blinked. “The view can be quite enchanting.”
“Enchanting.” She nodded as if in approval. “It surprises me to hear you use such a poetic term, my lord.”
“I fear you give me too little credit, Miss Ellison.”
She studied him, all traces of amusement now gone. “Yes, that is true. You’ve been most generous and patient when I have disrupted your household.” She lifted her hand. “Please forgive me.”
“Of course.” He gently squeezed her hand. “And I hope you will forgive me for”—he swallowed—“for the pain I and my family have caused in the past.”
She stared at him a long time before inclining her head. “You are forgiven, my lord.”
The tightness encasing his heart eased. “Thank you. I hope you’ll also overlook my abrupt manner.”
“Abrupt manner? Why Lord Hawkesbury, whatever do you mean?”
Her smile filled his chest with such warmth it was all he could do to offer his apologies that he must away.
Later, as he sat at his desk, thoughts of his houseguest continued to tease, pulling at the strands of his concentration until he gave up any semblance of work. He stared out the study window, allowing his thoughts to freely wander while his foolish heart dreamed.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
LAVINIA GLANCED OUT the large window atop the stairs. This, the first day she was permitted by the doctor to leave the room, was wild and wet. The park held none of its usual serenity, instead offering a rather barren, bleak prospect. Aunt Patience said a loud gale had blown in from the southwest last night, bringing squalls and storms. Wind shrieked around eaves, shutters clattered, ivy scraped against the windows, enough to give chills—deservedly so, Aunt Patience said, if she devoured Gothic novels.
“Ready to continue?”
“Yes.” She pushed up from the landing’s seat, her legs stronger after a little rest. Clutching her aunt’s arm, she descended the stairs to the breakfast room, their passage accompanied by bows, curtsies, and smiling nods as the maids and footmen acknowledged her progress.
“Miss Ellison”—Giles bowed—“may I offer my felicitations on your recovery.”
“Thank you for your many kindnesses these past weeks.”
“We merely serve his lordship.”
Her aunt’s arm was supporting most of her weight by the time they entered the breakfast room. The room was painted a pretty sage and held a long oak table surrounded by at least a dozen chairs. Along one wall, a heavily carved sideboard was laden with covered dishes. Another wall held a bank of windows looking out onto gray skies and wildly tossing trees. A footman pulled out a chair. She sank down gratefully, drinking in the garden scene.
“I assure you that view is generally more pleasant than what you see today.”
She glanced at the door. Lord Hawkesbury’s smile held a degree of warmth she’d never noticed before. Or else prolonged illness had disturbed every rational thought.
Aunt Patience placed a teacup on the saucer. “I did not expect even an earl to have command of the weather.”
“True. But one cannot help but wish the weather to cooperate as we rejoice over Miss Ellison’s recovery.” He nodded to the sideboard. “It seems Cook is in a celebratory mood.”
“I fear I will not be able to do justice to such a bountiful repast.”
“Ah, yes, that is a burden I, too, must bear on a daily basis.”
She smiled and glanced down at her place setting, surrounded by a half-dozen little posies and gifts. “What are these?”
“My staff have been receiving offerings from well-wishers for a number of days now. I was even informed, by Mrs. Foster no less, that this calf’s-foot jelly is the very thing to help you recover, Miss Ellison.”
“She is too generous. I don’t deserve—”
“
It seems nothing is too much for the most popular invalid in England.”
She lifted a posy of lavender, inhaling its sweet aroma, hiding her tears at his kind tone.
“Will you join us for breakfast?” Aunt Patience asked.
“Thank you, no. I have already eaten and wish to visit the village with Banning. I am sure Miss Ellison would like to see the Thatchers’ roof restored as soon as possible.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “By the end of this week.”
“That’s wonderful!”
The lines around his eyes softened, his lips pulling up into a pensive smile. He opened his mouth as if to say something.
“Lavinia?” Aunt Patience nudged her arm. “Would you care for some toast?”
“Oh!” She dragged her gaze from the earl. “Yes, please.”
“Enjoy your meal.” The earl offered a small bow and disappeared, leaving her once again to collect her scattered wits.
Following breakfast, she was shown into the morning room, an elegant, yellow-painted room that overlooked the parkland. From her position on the couch, she could see the lake beyond the ha-ha, the heavy clouds merging green vistas into gray as trees bent and swayed like dancers at a ball.
She glanced at the marble fireplace, whose flames crackled, offering cozy warmth. Lily sat nearby, mending, while Aunt Patience visited the parsonage, keeping Papa informed of her progress. Papa. How she longed to see him. But his health, although improving, still prevented his visit, and a cold carriage ride through such woolly weather would not help either of them. She pulled her shawl closer and tried to resume reading Psalms, but her thoughts kept straying.
Perhaps this house fitted the earl more than she had thought. Both held prepossessing exteriors, formal grandeur that could intimidate, yet they also owned inner reserves of warmth and charm. He was such a strange man, sometimes so cold and arrogant, yet also capable of such kindness. And wit!
She smiled ruefully. Of course, she had hardly shown herself consistent in character either—which was far worse, because she at least was supposed to represent Christ, whose character remained wholly consistent. It was strange how she could demonstrate grace and consideration to others but showed Lord Hawkesbury very little. Did she really set such stock in Aunt Patience’s decrees that she forgot what the Bible said?
She frowned and flicked over to the second chapter of James. The rich weren’t to be shown favoritism—just as Aunt Patience always said—but neither were they to be despised. In not wanting to insult the poor, had she discriminated against the rich, in some perverse form of snobbery? She rubbed her forehead. Lord, I am sorry for presuming to know so much. Please forgive me, and help me to treat people as You would.
She applied herself to studying Psalms once again, soon becoming lost in their poetry and promises.
“Miss Ellison?”
She glanced at the doorway. “Lord Hawkesbury! I trust your meeting with Mr. Banning was successful.”
“Thank you, yes. Provided the weather cooperates, we endeavor to have the Thatchers’ roof on tomorrow.”
“I’m so pleased!”
“I am glad.” His voice was low, soft as a caress.
Her heartbeat quickened; her smile faltered. Recently, the mocking glitter of his eyes was often replaced by this look of tenderness mixed with something like hope. While their mutual apologies seemed to have leveled the slippery slope of their acquaintance into something more stable, almost like friendship, he still possessed the power to disconcert.
“May I be so bold as to enquire as to what you are reading?”
“The Bible.”
His eyes danced. “Yes, I gathered that. More particularly, what section do you read?”
“Psalms.” She smiled. “More particularly, Psalm Ten.”
He nodded. “Psalms are songs, are they not?”
“Yes.”
He moved to the window, staring out across the parkland, hands clasped behind his back. “It does not surprise me you would like to read the musical part.”
What was she to say? Why was he discussing the Bible? He who had made it very plain he thought believers foolish. An ember of the old indignation sparked within. She glanced at the page. Should she? The likelihood he would say yes was infinitesimally small. “Would you like me to read a portion aloud?”
“I believe I would.”
Her mouth sagged in surprise. She glanced at the page. Did she dare?
“Whatever you were reading before.” He remained staring out the window.
She swallowed. Very well, then. “Psalm Ten. ‘Why standest thou afar off, O Lord? why hidest thou thyself in times of trouble? The wicked in his pride doth persecute the poor: let them be taken in the devices that they have imagined. For the wicked boasteth of his heart’s desire, and blesseth the covetous, whom the Lord abhorreth. The wicked, through the pride of his countenance, will not seek after God: God is not in all his thoughts.’”
She slid a glance at the earl. He stood still, his posture tense. She resumed at verse five and finished reading the psalm.
“Is that what you think of me?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“A wicked, arrogant man who hunts down the weak?” He turned to face her. His eyes held no coldness or condemnation but something rather like a silent plea.
Remorse washed over her. Perhaps he genuinely sought God. She swallowed. “I do not think you wicked, nor someone who actively seeks the destruction of the poor.”
His features twisted in a smile. “Merely arrogant, and someone who passively allows the poor to suffer.”
“I did not say that!”
“You did not have to.” He shifted to gaze out the window again. “It may interest you to know, Miss Ellison, that these past weeks have provided much food for thought. I … I do not consider all of my past behavior to be as it ought.”
She blinked. Was she truly awake? She pinched her arm.
“I would be very much interested to know what parts of the Bible you would recommend for a man such as myself to read.”
“Oh! You surprise me. I had not thought of this at all.”
“For shame, Miss Ellison.” He turned, his mouth curved up on one side. “I would have thought a reverend’s daughter would know the exact place a sinner such as myself should read.”
She pushed herself higher in the couch. Thank goodness Lily remained in the room. This entire encounter felt very … strange.
His hazel stare continued, entreatingly, kindly, disquietingly.
“As it so happens, I know exactly where you should read.”
Both corners of his mouth now lifted. “I rather thought you might.”
Her chin rose. “You should read about Jesus Christ in the gospels. The books of Matthew and John are good for helping understand who Jesus is and how He lived His life. Then, you could read through Romans. Your uncle often shared from it. It is an exposition concerning God’s plan of salvation for all mankind. As you grasp the truths outlined there, you will see how generous God’s love is for you and understand His righteousness is for you also.”
He inclined his head. “Thank you. I am in your debt.” He moved to leave.
“Lord Hawkesbury?”
He paused.
“It is I who am in your debt. I do appreciate your generosity. You are kind, my lord.”
“Perhaps I am not quite the ogre some people seem to think I am.”
She fought the smile. “Perhaps.”
She was rewarded with a smothered laugh. “Please take care not to advertise the fact, madam, else I’ll be forced to endure all types of people who count me as a soft touch.”
“Sir, you can be sure I will never credit you unduly.”
His smile lit up the green depths of his eyes before he nodded. “Of that, madam, I am certain.” And with a small bow he exited.
A Bible was not too hard to come by. Uncle Robert’s piety ensured he had several at hand. The one Nicholas had discovered in the ches
t of drawers in his bedchamber seemed most useful, as Uncle Robert had scrawled innumerable notes in the margins. He moved to sit by the fire, flicked to the Psalms, and reread Psalm Ten. Grimaced at the picture of the man he no longer wanted to be.
He read through the next few psalms. Far from being mere odes of praise, they indicated the believer too had struggles, but reliance in God continually gave courage. He read the start of Psalm Fourteen and smiled ruefully. He appreciated Lavinia’s impertinence not stretching quite so far as to call him a fool, although she would have been right. Fools might deny God’s existence, but they needed Him just the same.
Cautious of whatever confronting truths these songs might contain, he flipped through until he found the last book she recommended. Romans. Uncle Robert’s favorite apparently, if all the notes were any indication. He started reading the underlined passages.
“For the invisible things of Him from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even His eternal power and Godhead; so that they are without excuse.”
Memories flickered. Uncle Robert encouraging James and Nicholas to appreciate nature on country walks and to see the design in plants that suggested a Creator, provoking them to think beyond the immediate, quelling their wriggling impatience at services with a look.
He turned a page.
“All have sinned, and come short of the glory of God.”
He frowned. That sounded hopeless. He thumbed over another page.
“For the wages of sin is death; but the gift of God is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord.”
God’s gift was eternal life?
His pulse picked up. Hadn’t Mr. Ellison once preached something about God having gifts for him? Was eternal life one of these gifts? Nicholas swallowed. Hadn’t he promised to do whatever God wanted, if He let Lavinia live?
Feeling like he stood on a precipice, he cleared his throat. “Lord, I know I deserve death, but You say eternal life is a gift. How do I get it?”
His voice echoed in the empty room. His gaze fell back to the Bible. Perhaps Uncle Robert had found the answers. He turned a couple more pages to the next underlined passage, almost halfway through chapter ten.
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