“If thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved.”
His brows rose. That was all? Mere confession and belief? Didn’t one have to prove something to God? Surely salvation couldn’t be so simple.
He frowned. What had Lavinia said? Read through Romans? He turned back to chapter one, and read through to the end. When he finished, he sat motionless, staring unseeingly at the page, as the author’s challenge continued to resonate in his soul.
Believe. Confess. Be saved.
Weight pressed on him, in him, as a litany of sins flashed before his eyes. How could he ever be good enough? How could forever feeling like he fell short be one of God’s gifts?
He turned back to a passage that had caught his attention.
“There is therefore now no condemnation to them which are in Christ Jesus, who walk not after the flesh, but after the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life in Christ Jesus hath made me free from the law of sin and death.”
No condemnation? No guilt? It couldn’t be so simple. He moved to close the book, yet something about the phrase called to him, tugged at him, begged further reflection.
He glanced back. Studied the page again. All were sinners. All deserved death. But Jesus Christ came to set people free from the death and condemnation they deserved. His sacrifice a gift, freely given. People only needed to believe and confess, and they would experience salvation.
Believe and confess.
Confess and believe.
His heart thumped. His eyes burned. Throat thickened. He glanced at the bedchamber’s door, still fastened shut. Glanced out the window at the heavens. Breathed past the whirling thoughts until one certainty settled feather-soft in his soul.
He had a very important visit to make.
The day after her first foray downstairs, the earl took Lavinia and Aunt Patience on a short tour. Hampton Hall was familiar from visits to his uncle long ago, but it was nice to be reacquainted with some of its lovely rooms. She spent a delightful hour pottering around the library before weariness claimed her and she returned to the golden morning room she’d found so comfortable yesterday.
It was here that Dr. Hanbury found her and, after his examination of her face and hands, made his recommendation that she stay another week.
“Another week?” She glanced at the earl who had just entered the room. “I’m sorry, my lord. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but—”
“You are keen to be with your father,” he finished smoothly. “Perfectly understandable.”
She offered him a grateful smile before turning to the doctor. “I miss Papa, and Hettie, and—”
“Of course you do, lass. But your body is still so weak, and I fear that if you return home too quickly you will resume your responsibilities and end up so fatigued you become ill again.”
“Dr. Hanbury, I will not do anything foolish.”
“I know you, Lavinia, and I know you find it very hard to say no when someone asks for help. Here you are protected from a great deal of unnecessary obligation and exertion.”
“But Lord Hawkesbury—”
“Is very happy for you to remain as long as necessary,” the earl interrupted. “Under the watchful eye of Miss West and Lily, of course.”
Aunt Patience sent him a sharp look before she, too, agreed.
The doctor’s features eased into a gruff smile. “Good. I’m sure you both can moderate Miss Ellison’s activity.”
Treating her as a child! Lavinia clamped her lips together to avoid an unladylike protest.
The earl glanced at her and his mouth twitched before he escorted the doctor from the room.
Aunt Patience sighed. “Lavinia, this will only prove beneficial.”
“I don’t wish to complain, but—”
“I know you are not best pleased.”
“I don’t believe any of this has offered Miss Ellison much in the way of pleasure,” Lord Hawkesbury offered from the door. “Illness has very little to recommend it.”
“You sound as though you speak from experience.”
Lord Hawkesbury nodded to Aunt Patience. “My time in France afforded many occasions to tend men in their sickbeds. I soon recognized boredom was one of the chief curses of illness.”
Lavinia drew the shawl around her more tightly. “Will you tell me more about your soldiering life?”
He glanced at her as if surprised, and then lowered himself into the couch across from her. He shared about life on the Peninsular and in France, general details at first, before her questions probed him to share some of the more personal, such as his visits to the widows of his men. She studied him thoughtfully. His stories revealed courage, leadership, tenacity, compassion—qualities she’d longed for him to display. So why had he hidden these in his new role as earl? Were there other elements at work that had made the earldom so distasteful? Sympathy mingled with a newfound respect. “I imagine life as an earl can’t be as exciting as being a soldier, but don’t you find some aspects of your role similar?”
“You mean apart from chasing down errant knaves?” His crooked eyebrow lifted.
“Apart from that.”
“I admit, there is something good about being in a position to help alleviate the suffering of others.”
“I agree! I think that is what is meant by we being more blessed to give than to receive. People appreciate our assistance, but we feel so privileged to be the conduit of God’s blessings.”
“You must feel very privileged indeed.”
Her cheeks heated. Was he mocking her? But the soft light in his eyes, his gentle tone, suggested otherwise.
“While blessing others benefits the giver, I think the receiving of help can be very hard sometimes. Don’t you agree, Miss Ellison?”
“Why … yes. I believe you’re right. One’s pride doesn’t always allow one to appreciate the gifts being offered.”
“Or the advice so well-intentioned.”
She glanced down. “I didn’t realize until recently how presumptuous my pride made me.”
“Which must be why our Lord was so deliberate in showing us a different way to live.”
Our Lord? Her gaze met his. Was that faith shining in the green recesses of his eyes? Her heart thudded.
“So, Miss Ellison, will you accept the gift being offered?”
“The gift?”
“The gift of another week of quiet, so you can moderate your activity in order to attain full health?” His eyes twinkled.
“Far be it for my pride to stand in the way of such solicitude.”
He smiled. “I promise we will do what we can to make your stay here as pleasurable as can be.” He rose and held out a hand. “Come, see the music room.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
NICHOLAS FROWNED AS he read over Banning’s latest accounts. The estate seemed to be slowly picking up revenue, although the improvements in housing would eat into the profits substantially. But at least Banning was proactive, and careful, and willing to see the big picture to make decisions for long-term gain.
He leaned back in his chair, thinking about his recent decision, the decision that gave “long-term gain” quite another meaning. For the first time in a long time his heart held a measure of peace. His recent ride through the rain to see the reverend had resulted in a confidence for the future. He smiled, recalling the light in the older man’s eyes during their conversation, light shining as it had in his guest’s when he told her about the Thatchers’ roof. A joy both for what his actions had earned for the Thatcher family and, it seemed, joy for him.
His invalid continued to confound him. During yesterday’s conversation in the morning room, she had listened, asking intelligent questions about his time in France, her warmth and interest cocooning him in compassion. He had found himself wanting to share about the men, his responsibilities, the challenges, the deprivations. She hadn’t flinched as he described some of the horror, bu
t that wasn’t surprising. She might be innocent, but she wasn’t naive about harsh truths. Instead, she’d gently probed his experiences and then neatly challenged him to turn past exploits into a pattern for the future. Like she believed he could be that man again.
Which was impossible.
Yet so tantalizing.
He threw off his regrets and forced his attention to his accounts, making notes of things to discuss with Banning. A knock came at the door.
He shifted irritably in his chair. “Yes, Giles?”
“Excuse me, m’lord, it’s Miss Ellison.”
“What about Miss Ellison?” Nicholas raised his eyebrows in the old way, before remembering he was supposed to be living differently. He schooled his features. “Can’t Miss West or Lily do something?”
“It is Lily’s day off, and Miss West is visiting the parsonage.”
“Very well. Where is she?”
“Halfway up the stairs, m’lord.”
He exited the study, and ascended the stairs to the wide landing, whereupon he found his guest, asleep on the chaise. He hid the smile. No wonder Giles and the other servants were at a loss. Lavinia was in that strange category of being someone they knew well, and yet a guest. To shake an earl’s guest awake was simply not the done thing.
He bent down. “Miss Ellison?”
She didn’t move.
His pulse quickened. Was she unwell? He grasped her arm and shook gently. “Miss Ellison? Wake up, please.”
She stirred, slowly blinking sleepy gray eyes at him. “Oh.” She peered past him at the hovering Giles and Martins. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I was visiting with Mrs. Florrick in her parlor …”
Visiting the servant’s quarters? He fought a frown as she yawned again.
“I found the stairs excessively tiring and needed a rest. But I did not mean to fall asleep. I certainly did not mean to cause so much trouble.”
He dismissed the servants and turned back to her. “Were you attempting to go upstairs on your own?”
“I … I am used to being more independent. And I did not want to disturb anyone from their duties.”
“No. Instead they are so perturbed they come and disturb me from mine.”
Her gaze dropped along with his heart. Why was it easier to speak harsh words rather than kindness? He gentled his tone. “Do you feel well enough to continue?”
She nodded, grasped the proffered hand, and then rose, quickly dropping his hand as if his touch burned. “Thank you, but I will manage. I don’t wish you to be disturbed any longer.”
She slowly moved to the banister, grasped the newel post, and dragged herself up the first step, swaying, white-faced, like she was about to faint.
“Excuse me, Miss Ellison.” He swept her up, ignoring her faint protest, wishing he could as easily ignore how good it felt to hold her close once again. But this time there was no dripping clothes, no wild icy wind propelling them homeward, no sense of urgency. He was conscious instead of the apple blossom scent of her hair, the softness of her gown, the way she so comfortably fit in his arms.
He forced the thoughts away and carried her carefully to her bed, uneasily aware of the impropriety, but unwilling for her to fall or possibly faint.
“Thank you. I felt so lightheaded.”
“It’s nothing.” He moved to the door, away from temptation, away from her.
She sighed. “I have always despised such weakness.”
“Not very charitable of you.”
“I don’t mean those who are truly sick. No, those ladies who always have fainting fits.”
“Perhaps they deserve your compassion and not your censure,” he drawled.
“Not if they are trying to attract attention from a man.”
“And is that what you were doing?”
“Of course not!” Her face stained pink.
“I can assure you that I do not find that kind of lady in the least way attractive.”
“And I can assure you that I am not in the least way that kind of lady.” He hid a smile. “Miss Ellison, I am very aware of what kind of lady you are.”
As her eyes widened, he bowed and exited the room, his heart hammering.
What kind of lady? Only the most challenging, most intriguing, most dangerous lady he had ever had the good fortune to meet.
The Hall was quiet. The music room, painted in cool green and white, was situated toward the back of the house, with large windows looking out to the birch grove beyond. Aunt Patience and the earl were at services, and most of the staff attended also, leaving her undisturbed and free to worship God with the magnificent pianoforte—although after one scratchy attempt, God would perhaps be better honored without her voice.
She completed the second movement with an arpeggio and smiled. Looked up. Jumped. “Lord Hawkesbury! I had not anticipated an audience.”
He moved from the open doorway into the room. “I had not anticipated coming back from church to hear music.”
“I hope you don’t mind. When your uncle was alive, I would often come and play here.”
“Did I not invite you to do so the other day? Pianos are designed for making music, are they not? And we must do what we are created to do. And in your case—and the piano’s—that would be to create lovely music.”
Pleasure fluttered at his unlooked-for compliment. “How was the service today?”
“I found it surprisingly useful.”
“You were surprised?”
“I confess to surprise whenever that Raymond fellow says something rational, but today I found quite a lot of what he had to say made quite a lot of sense.”
“Such wonders!”
His amused expression grew soft. “That green becomes you, Miss Ellison. I am glad you are looking well.”
“Why is that?”
“Because you have a visitor.”
“Who?”
“For that, you must come with me.”
He offered his arm, which she accepted, and he led the way to the yellow drawing room she often claimed for her own. He paused as Martins opened the door, then gestured her inside. “After you.”
She took a few steps then—“Papa!” She rushed to clasp him in a hug.
“Ah, my dearest Lavinia.” His voice rumbling in her ear, his familiar scent, his arms held such assurance. “I’ve missed you so.”
She eased back, studying the new grooves in his wan face. “You are better?”
“Better for seeing you, my dear girl.”
“As I am, you.” She kissed his cheek and hugged him again. “I’m so glad you could come.”
Her father’s attention shifted beyond her shoulder. “His lordship was insistent.”
Lavinia turned and gave the earl her brightest smile. “Thank you so much, my lord.”
He gave her a wistful-looking smile, bowed, and retreated, leaving her filled with gratitude and free to enjoy the warm affection and sweet reunion with her earthly father.
Lavinia’s beaming smile continued throughout luncheon, inducing great levels of satisfaction. Nicholas found himself catching every note of her laughter, wondering how many months it had been since he’d heard it so full. He smiled along with her, for no other reason than her joy was contagious. Her father might be the cause of her delight, but Nicholas was content to bask in her appreciation. The afternoon passed, the Hall filling with unprecedented levels of warmth and cheer, Lavinia’s smile only dimming when her father needed to return home.
He stood at the front door as she kissed her father goodbye and gave him one last hug. His heart caught. What would it be like to be the recipient of such warm, open affection?
She waved until his carriage could no longer be seen. “Oh, Lord Hawkesbury, thank you so much.”
“You’re most welcome.”
“It has been over a month. I don’t remember him looking so frail.”
“He is gaining in years.”
Nicholas glanced at her profile as they walked through the hall toward the grand stairc
ase. Her head drooped, as if the revelation that her father was growing old carried new weight.
As he searched for some encouraging comment, she said, “He seemed smaller somehow.”
“I’ve never heard of pneumonia shrinking a body.”
A smile flickered across her face. “Perhaps he hasn’t shrunk, after all, and it is merely the effect of having to look up to you this past month.”
“You’ve only looked up to me this past month? I am disappointed.”
She gurgled with laughter. “You, sir, are incorrigible.”
“Incorrigible perhaps, but not irredeemable.”
She gave him that look of puzzled disbelief, as if not sure what his words signified.
He smiled. The sound drifting into the hall of the pianoforte being mercilessly played suggested her aunt would be engaged for some time.
“Miss Ellison? I was hoping you would do me two favors. Three favors, really.”
“Why certainly, if I can.”
“Seeing as we are to spend more time together, I was hoping you might deign to call me Nicholas. I confess I find the constant Lord Hawkesbury address rather tedious.”
“How equalitarian! But I believe others would find that rather forward.”
“What? There’s nothing terribly forward about my name. In fact, I believe it dates back to Grecian times.”
She made a sound suspiciously like a giggle.
Heartened, he asked the question that had bothered him for a fortnight. “I was also wondering if you might favor me regarding something else.”
“Yes?”
“Who is Timothy?”
“Timothy?” Her brow wrinkled. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“When I found you that night, you were murmuring something about a man and being afraid. I only wanted to assure you that if someone is making you fearful, I—”
“Oh, Timothy!” Her expression cleared and she laughed. “My lord, I thank you for your solicitude, but there is nothing to be concerned about.”
His cheeks warmed. “Really?”
“Timothy is a book of the Bible my mother often quoted from. One of her favorite verses concerns God not giving us a spirit of fear. I rather think that is what I might have been murmuring.”
The Elusive Miss Ellison Page 16
