Discovering Grace: An Inglewood Romance

by Britton, Sally

  What could she say to that? Although his reluctance to be near her made her tender feelings for him more bruised, Grace laced her words with cheer. “I would be most grateful for your company, Mr. Barnes.”

  “Excellent. You young people go on about the Lord’s business.” He nudged Jacob out the door. “Report back when you are finished with the visits.” Then the vicar snapped the door shut, almost as though he could not wait to be rid of them.

  Jacob glared at the door as though offended by it, then he turned toward Grace. She stiffened, prepared to receive a cool glare or disapproving frown. She did not give him the chance to speak, stumbling over her words in her haste to bring peace between them.

  “I am sorry I did not bid you farewell properly when we rode yesterday,” she said. “I know we did not finish our discussion. There is no excuse for my behavior. I—”

  His hand closed around her upper arm, his grasp warm and firm. “Grace.” He said her name quietly, nearly in a whisper. “It is not necessary to apologize. I know I caused offense with my words about your sister. I owe you the apology.”

  Grace pulled away, taking a step back from him and his distracting touch. Could she not be offended for her own sake? Must every conversation be about Hope?

  “You do not owe me any such thing.” She spoke stiffly. “I have already forgotten everything you said.” Yet another lie she must tell. “We ought to start on our errand, Jacob.”

  His brow wrinkled. “It’s obvious you are put out with me, Grace. I wish to make amends. How shall it be done?”

  “Must you be so difficult?” she asked, puffing out an exasperated breath before turning. The groom remained with his horse, too distant to hear their conversation but near enough for propriety’s sake.

  Jacob made an amused sort of sound in the back of his throat. “Difficult? I am attempting to put our friendship back on even ground.”

  Grace gestured to the cart. “Come along, then. Help me deliver these baskets.” She hurried to climb up, hoping he would not offer his assistance. But Jacob’s nature prohibited such an oversight, and he was there, holding her elbow as she stepped up onto the driver’s bench. Then he walked around the front of the pony, giving the shaggy little animal a thoughtful pat on the head, before swinging up beside her onto the narrow bench.

  He sat too close for her immediate comfort. Grace’s cheeks warmed as she busied herself with the reins. They did not have far to go, but riding would see them to the Harpers’ little house by the sea faster than walking with baskets in arms.

  For several minutes they traveled without speaking, Jacob’s elbow brushing against her forearm as she flicked the reins. He broke their tenuous silence first.

  “Did you receive an invitation to dine with Isaac tomorrow evening?”

  Speaking of another friend was a far safer topic than any she currently had on her mind. Grace snatched the subject up eagerly. “Yes, my father and I will both attend. Will your family be there?”

  “Mother, Matthew, myself, Elizabeth, and Mary.” Jacob listed all his family at home and leaned back, raising his face and closing his eyes against the morning sun. “It will be a cramped ride in the carriage if Matthew does not wish to ride.”

  “Why can you not ride?”

  “The hunter belongs to Matthew,” he reminded her, raising one shoulder in a shrug. “It would be presumptuous of me to use him if Matthew chose not to. At the moment, I can ride him all I wish when I know Matthew is seeing to estate business or is out with the carriage visiting Mrs. Muir.”

  Grace hoped the eldest Mr. Barnes would realize his brother needed a horse and offer one to him. Once Jacob became a vicar, his funds would not allow for too many expenditures, and he certainly did not think himself equal to affording a horse at present.

  “I suppose that makes sense,” she admitted. “At least it is not a very far distance. I wonder if Isaac retained his French cook when he went to the Continent? I do not think I have ever heard.”

  For a few minutes, they spoke of the staff at Fox Hall and how busy Isaac must have been when he returned, trying to see to everything at once. Their conversation turned to their other friend, Silas, and his bride.

  “I do hope Esther is enjoying herself in London,” Grace said during a lull in their conversation. “She seemed eager to go, though I cannot imagine why.”

  “Can you not?” Jacob opened one eye, tilting to one side the better to fix her with his incredulous stare. “I understand you not wishing to travel over the ocean, but have you no desire to tramp down London’s fine streets?”

  “None at all,” she said airily. “The few times I have been to London I have not been impressed. The city is filthy, the streets crowded, the parties loud, and neighbors far too interested in gossip. I cannot understand the appeal of it.”

  The Harpers’ cottage, which really was more like a stone hovel, came into view, skulking back into a hillside.

  “I confess, I have no great desire to spend my time in London. But Oxford—I could have spent ten more years there and never had enough of that charming town.” Jacob climbed down from the cart and came around to lift her down, his hands going to her waist rather than reaching for her hand.

  She hesitated before allowing him to assist in such a way. The more familiar manner, one she thought he must have perfected while helping his younger sisters in and out of wheeled conveyances, allowed her feet to land more lightly upon the ground than if he had taken her hand for her to hop from her seat. Her hands fell quite naturally to his arms, and she felt the strength in them as he lowered her to the ground.

  “I think you would like Oxford,” Jacob said, staring down into her eyes, his hands still upon her waist. “It is a charming old town, and far less clamorous than London.”

  Grace’s heart tripped along at a faster pace than necessary. He stood so near, the weight of his hands both inviting and somehow familiar. “Perhaps I will visit someday, given how highly you recommend it.”

  A horse’s snort reminded Grace of the groom, their chaperone, and she stepped away. The moment she put distance between them, his hands falling from her waist, the air between them cooled. Still, her cheeks remained abominably hot. Jacob fetched the smaller of the two baskets from the rear of her cart. Hopefully he didn’t see her blush.

  The path to the Harpers’ door consisted of well-packed dirt, and Mrs. Harper had taken pains to line the way with tiny white flowers. Mr. Harper had painted the door a deep blue, giving the cottage another bit of cheer. Regardless of their age and humble circumstances, the two lived most happily together from what Grace could tell.

  Basket in hand, Jacob led the way to the door. He knocked, and voices drifted through the old wood.

  “Did someone knock?” asked Mr. Harper, voice raised.

  “Yes, I think they must’ve.” Mrs. Harper fairly shouted her reply.

  Grace caught Jacob’s grin and returned it.

  Several moments went by before the door opened, Mr. Harper standing there, stooped over and smiling. “Ah, good mornin’ Miss Grace.”

  She blanched and opened her mouth to correct him, to announce herself as Hope. But why bother? The Harpers wouldn’t go about saying the wrong twin remained at home, as they likely had no idea either sister had left the county. Her lips closed over the denial of her identity and she curtsied instead.

  “And the future vicar. Come in, come in.” Mr. Harper allowed them inside and shuffled to the table where his wife sat, a net spread out before her on their old table. With a bit of thin rope in her wrinkled hands, she deftly finished off a knot in the mesh before standing and making her curtsy.

  “Ah, Miss Grace and Mr. Barnes. A fine morning it is to bring such kind guests to us. Won’t you sit for a moment? Might I offer you some cider?”

  “You may, Mrs. Harper, but only if you allow me to take your place at the nets.” Jacob bowed and slipped into her seat before she could say otherwise. “I have not forgotten your lessons.” After he dropped his hat upo
n the table he took up more of her rope and started looping it through the mesh.

  The old lady laughed and waved her hands at him. “Oh, you are a quick one. Mind your sider knots, lad.” She looked to Grace. “And you, Miss Grace?”

  As the cider had come from the Everly orchards, Grace knew it would be worth partaking. “Please, Mrs. Harper.” She settled her basket on the small hutch that was sideboard and pantry both, then turned her attention to Mr. Harper. He whittled by the fire rather than work on the net. “What is that you work on, sir?” Though the pair were hard of hearing, Grace had to enunciate her words with a little more force than normal to be understood.

  “Ah, nothin’ of much prettiness, miss. Here, have a look if ye like.” He held up the figure and she took it with delicacy. The wood, while still rough, clearly depicted two little birds huddled next to each other, one with a wing stretched over the other. “This is beautiful, Mr. Harper.”

  “Thank ye. They be two turtledoves.” He took them back from her. “I’ve been makin’ it as a present for someone. Not sure who yet. S’pose the next person of our acquaintance to wed.”

  Mrs. Harper shook her head with a fond smile deepening the wrinkles of her face. “He gives away most everything he makes. Everyone hereabouts has one of his little creatures.” She came over with tin mugs full of cider, setting one before Jacob as she passed him. “Here, miss. It’s really fine cider. Your father’s crops did well last year.”

  “He will be glad to know you are enjoying it.” Grace sipped at the drink, relieved to find it had been mixed with something less strong, perhaps dandelion tea.

  Waving the large needle in the air, Jacob gestured to his work. “How is this, madam? Is it done to your satisfaction?”

  “Likely not,” Mrs. Harper answered with an amused sniff. “You cannot possibly know what you are about. You weren’t born to the work.” She came closer to him and peered at the net. “So you remembered your knots, but here.” She reached out and with a quick pull had his rope dangling. “A good knot is a sure knot, Mr. Barnes.”

  His eyebrows shot up and his mouth dropped open as he stared at his work undone. Grace could not help the laugh that escaped her, though she swiftly covered her mouth and turned away. Mr. Harper’s dim gray eyes were dancing with equal amusement to hers.

  “Tell me, Mr. Barnes,” the old man said, “are ye as handy with sermons as ye’re netting?” He rested his gnarled brown hand on his knee and leaned forward. “There’s a great deal of eagerness in Aldersy as we all wait to hear from ye.”

  Grace watched Jacob give his seat to the old fishwife. He took up his cider in one hand and came to stand next to her. “I should hope I’m better at my trade than I am at yours. Will you come and let me know how you judge? I make my first sermon the third Sunday from now.”

  “So soon? Aye, we’ll be there.”

  “Unless it rains,” his wife put in from where she sat. “Mr. Harper’s rheumatism is awful when the sky’s falling.”

  Mr. Harper straightened his stooped posture. “Can’t let a little thing like a sore knee put me off hearin’ from the new vicar.”

  The two of them argued the matter, she reminding him how it would be if his leg pained him and he insisting he would be just fine. Their words had the sound of an old argument between them, yet each point was made without heat and the two were smiling across the room at each other like young lovers instead of an aged couple.

  Warmth tickled Grace’s ear when Jacob leaned down to murmur, “We could leave now and they would never notice we were gone.” She covered her mouth to hide her smile, then shot him a glare.

  “Manners, vicar.”

  He chuckled and interrupted the argument in a friendly manner. “I think we must give way to Mrs. Harper’s concerns, sir. I would not like you to displease her for one of my sermons. She would likely come to hold me in contempt.”

  Laughter trickled from the old woman, soft and light. “Never, lad. Though if you touch my nets again, it will be a near thing.”

  Jacob blushed to the tips of his ears and Grace, taking pity on him, laced her arm through his. “Thank you so much for the visit, Mrs. Harper. Mr. Harper. We have enjoyed the time with you so much.”

  Mr. Harper leveraged himself to his feet with a grunt. “Ye are a good girl, Miss Grace, to come lookin’ in on us. And Mr. Barnes. Though I must tell ye, sir, that your visit is more enjoyable when ye come with this one.” Then he winked, bold as brass. “Best make it a habit if ye can.”

  Grace’s cheeks burned, but she confined herself to bidding the woman of the house farewell before Mr. Harper let them out the front door. The cool breeze brushed against her face, granting her some relief.

  The groom remained at the road, letting his unmounted horse chew up the long grasses lining the way.

  “They’re good people,” Jacob said, coming along beside her. “It has been too long since I visited.”

  Grace focused her attention on that idea rather than dwell on any more uncomfortable thoughts. “I did not know you had ever been before. It took me by surprise to see you so familiar to them.” As they walked to the cart she nudged his arm gently with hers. “When did you visit last?”

  Jacob tucked his hands behind his back and turned his face into the breeze. “About a month ago, with Mr. Spratt. He took me around to all the cottagers and tenants he could think of to introduce me as his replacement.” A lock of his dark blond hair fell into his face and he combed it back with his fingers. “Is the wind picking up?” he asked, putting his hat upon his head once more.

  “Not enough to worry over.” Grace came to the cart and rushed inelegantly to climb up without Jacob’s help. “And the Wrights do not live far.”

  “Half a mile down the road, if I remember correctly.” Jacob went to his side and stepped up. “What made you think of them? Mr. Wright is employed at Inglewood, is he not?”

  “Yes, but they are expecting a child soon, and Esther is away or else I am certain she would make this visit.” Grace took up the reins and with a gentle slap of leather to the pony’s back they were on their way once more. “As this is their third child and Mrs. Wright certainly knows what she is doing, they will appreciate a few little things to make the time go more easily.”

  Jacob folded his arms before him and angled his body enough so he could look at her fully. “You are most thoughtful, Grace.”

  She had no wish to color under his praise, mild as it might be. Grace tilted her chin upward. His words meant very little, of that she assured herself. “I have always liked visiting with my neighbors. That is all.”

  “Indeed? For what purpose?” He lifted one of his eyebrows at her, and a corner of his mouth twitched upward as well. “For the local gossip?”

  “Why else? I especially enjoy hearing all the tittle-tattle about the new vicar.” Why had she said that? Grace pressed her lips together tightly and busied herself with the reins to avoid looking at him. She was ill-equipped to tease and flirt. Those were Hope’s tools, not Grace’s.

  “I hear he is a tiresome fellow.” Jacob tilted his hat back upon his head. “All his sermons shall be dull and his prayer-making long and drawn out. Half the parishioners will fall into a stupor and the other half will call for his resignation.” He released a deep, dramatic sigh.

  “Never,” she said firmly. “Unless he reads directly from a book. I understand he is not a very great reader. Lacks the voice for it.” Her attempt to tease surprised her, and when Jacob laughed it took her a moment to join in his amusement. She had not heard him laugh at all since he discovered it was she and not her sister who remained at home. Perhaps he might one day overcome his disappointment.

  Or else he had cheered himself by thinking on Hope’s return in a year’s time.

  Jacob corrected his posture, and his hat. “Thank you for that, Grace. I will always have you to keep me humble, I hope.”

  She nearly promised that he might. Except Grace knew, before long, it would no longer be her place to
speak to Jacob in such a manner. She answered more circumspectly. “I am certain you will do well enough without me to tease you.” She slowed the horses before the Inglewood tenant cottages. “There is a great deal of interest in what subject you will choose for your first sermon. It will set the entire path for your time as a vicar.”

  “I have given it a great deal of thought,” he admitted as he swung down.

  With the memory of his hands on her waist, Grace tried to lower herself to the ground before he could touch her again. Unfortunately, as one foot hit upon the dirt, her hand slipped from its hold on the seat and she fell backward, directly into his chest.

  Jacob caught her around the shoulders and they both stumbled backward, but he acted quickly enough, pushing forward again, to settle Grace firmly upon her feet.

  He kept a firm hold upon her.

  “Are you unharmed?” Jacob asked, bending down to her ear as he had in the Harpers’ cottage. She nodded, mutely. “Wait next time,” he said softly, giving her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Let me help you.”

  Her heart fell back into its normal rhythm, though it ached as he let her go to fetch the basket.

  Why, after years of successfully burying her feelings for Jacob, was she so undone by such a simple thing as his touch? For so long she had kept her heart still in his presence, had betrayed nothing of her feelings, and Grace would not risk their friendship now. Not when she needed his support, his care.

  Perhaps if Hope had been present, Grace needn’t have struggled. Hope had been the perfect buffer, a barrier wall to combat the rising tide of Grace’s admiration, without even realizing how she protected them all. If Grace gave a hint to how she felt, it might make things awkward for Jacob, who preferred Hope. He had seemed amenable to the idea of courting her when she returned, if the gossip died away.

  Grace mulled this over in her mind as she followed him to the tenant house door. She stood mutely by his side as he knocked, eyeing his profile discreetly.

  What did Hope have that Grace lacked? How could Jacob not see, not understand, that Hope would never be the complacent wife of a vicar?