by Ella Edon
Thomas shook his head, leaning down and resting his forearms atop the low stone wall. He still wore his black riding gloves, for his hands were sore and scraped and bruised after last night's altercation. "Tanner said that Grace's family were servants at Northcliffe. That her mother was a kitchen maid, her father was a coachman, and she herself was naught, but a maid-of-all-work."
"Those things are all honest labor and should bring shame to no one," said Simon. "So, the question remains: Why would this young woman misrepresent herself to you? Why would she tell you she was simply a tradesman's daughter whose mother was a widow?"
"Why did she lie," said Thomas, through gritted teeth. "The question remains: Why did she lie?"
"I'm afraid she is the only one who can answer that for you, though no doubt others will try. My wife is full to bursting on the gossip that keeps coming in about how such a lovely, perfect evening came to a sudden ending with one coachman nearly killing another one right in the middle of the street – and apparently, while fighting over a young woman that hardly anyone even knows."
Thomas looked down again. "At least my little ruse does not seem to have come out."
"No, but only because the mob has much sweeter cake to chew on at the moment. All they talk about is the imposter at the second assembly ball and the great street brawl that broke out over her the moment the ball was over."
Thomas straightened, taking his arms off of the stone wall, and closed his eyes. "She appears to be exactly what I wanted to avoid – a girl and her family who will do anything to marry a wealthy man, whether she has one tiny shred of affection for him or not. I still have no intention of placing myself at the mercy of some female who would leave me in pain on my deathbed if I did not give her sufficient gifts that day."
Simon said nothing, and looked away.
"Yet, up until that moment, when I saw Tanner shouting at her in the street, I had never met a kinder or – I thought – more honest young woman. It does not seem possible that she is nothing but one more manipulative female hoping to ensnare a wealthy man."
"I have to wonder," said Simon, "how much her family might have put her up to this. If it is true at all," he added quickly. "I’m acquainted with Leonard Vane and his wife, Betsey. They seem honest enough merchant folk. But I do not know her mother or her brothers at all, any more than I know the woman herself."
Thomas glanced at him. "She would not be the first girl whose family pushed her hard to marry well above herself. Sometimes the whole family will pool whatever they have to push forward their prettiest daughter and have her appear to be better than she is."
"You're right," said Simon, turning back to his friend. "But that’s one thing. It's another thing entirely to be so false about her identity and her origins that she qualifies as an imposter."
"It is. And I am tormented by wondering why that man would shout those things about her in front of the whole town if there was no truth in them at all."
"I think there is only way to get the truth, my friend. And I think you know it just as well as I do."
Thomas nodded, and then sighed. "I thought perhaps I could just let it go and forget her. But I find that I cannot. There is too much about her that I found attractive, and until last night, I never doubted that she was who and what she seemed to be. I even met her young brothers. It was obvious to me that this family had little, but were respectable. And that is what matters most to me when it comes to looking for a woman I might marry."
"You’re going to have to find her and confront her directly. Don’t you think?"
After a moment, Thomas nodded. "It seems the only way to get the truth. And I will learn as much from what she doesn't say as from what she does say."
The following morning, Grace could hardly bring herself to get up from her pallet in front of the fire – but her mother had other ideas.
"Yes, yes, everyone knows what happened. The entire town is talking of nothing else. I already heard all about it from two of the neighbors, who made a point of telling me the moment I stepped outside at dawn."
Grace sat up. She didn’t know how she had slept at all, but the sheer exhaustion of the night had been welcome, for once, and had proved as effective as any sleeping draught. "I did tell you what happened last night, Mother."
"You did. But it's always good to get all sides. And it sounds like this Mr. Wheeler did, at least, come to your aid."
She wished she could smile. "He did. But I'm afraid it will be no help to me now. Oh, Mother, I am so, so sorry. There’s nothing I can do to help us now. Any hope I had of making a good match ended in the middle of the street last night."
"Elam Tanner is a vile and hateful man," said her mother, pouring out two cups of tea from the bronze kettle hanging over the fire. "If he's gone, it was almost worth it."
"Worth it?" Grace managed to stand up, pushing her long dark hair back from her face. "He might be gone, but I think he's taken all our hopes with him. You didn’t see the look on the faces of every single man and woman when he shouted me down in the street last night . . . I didn’t know it was possible to feel so horrified and so humiliated, all at once."
The worst of it, though, by far, was Adam. She didn’t know if he would ever want to speak to her again. He had behaved heroically by silencing her tormenter out in the street, but how could he be willing to pursue his courtship of her now?
"Well, you'd best get past that in a hurry." Her mother handed her a cup of tea. "As soon as you've finished that, and you're dressed, I want you to go into town. We're in need of a few things."
"In – town?" Quickly, Grace set down the teacup. "Oh, Mother – surely you don't mean that! You could not expect me to – "
"I certainly do. You've done nothing wrong. It wasn’t your fault that a drunken, vindictive man made a fool of himself, thinking you were somebody else."
"But – "
"Grace Margaret! You don't think you're going to give up now, do you?"
"But, Mother! You don't understand. You weren't there. You didn't see how terrible it was! I’m telling you that no man would consider me now. No decent man at all. Earl Worthington wouldn’t consider being in the same room with me, even if I did have the chance to meet him. Which now . . . I never will." Grace fought back the tears, being very, very weary of crying.
Her mother sighed, fussing with her own cup of tea. "It was never certain that the earl would accept you anyway. But that does not mean that some good tradesman might not find you very much to his liking."
Grace closed her eyes. "I thought I was supposed to hold out for better. For a man with a better fortune. The earl, if at all possible, or at least one of his friends of higher station than a mere tradesman."
"Yes, you were. That is what we hoped for. But if it's done, it's done. Better a good honest farmer with a decent income every year than – than no one at all."
Quickly, Grace looked away, but she couldn’t fool her mother. "I know very well who you think of," said Patience. "It's that coachman, isn't it? Handsome he is, but a coachman nonetheless."
She raised her chin. "That coachman was the only one who came to my defense. And my father was a coachman, too."
"He was. And a good man that he started out to be, all of us still had to work in service, so that all of us might eat. Your brothers would have been next. Grace, you must understand . . . that coachman's broad shoulders and tall frame will not buy you food, or shoes, or put a roof above your head . . . much less help any of the rest of us with those things."
Her mother was right. There was no denying it. A man like Adam couldn’t support them all. If she chose him – assuming he would even still have her now – she would be abandoning her family at the same time.
It was an impossible choice.
"But, let's not be hasty! Do not count the earl out yet. No doubt he will hear the story soon enough and may be intrigued. Don't look so askance at me! You have much to learn about how men think."
"I certainly do," Grace murmured.
"Now, go get dressed. Then, take this basket, put on your bonnet, and buy a little bar of Pears soap and as much soothing cream as can be had for a shilling. You've spent two days weeping. Your hair and skin are in dire need of care."
"I will, mother." Grace knew it was no use arguing that spending a shilling on such luxuries was a terrible waste. Instead, she went into the second small sleeping room, which her brothers shared with each other, and opened the small battered trunk that belonged to her.
A few moments later, she emerged wearing her oldest clothes and had her bonnet pulled well down over her face. "Oh, Grace!" her mother complained. "Even if the earl is not in town today, there will be plenty of farmers and their sons about! A good farmer would do well by all of us. Surely one of them – "
But Grace only looked down again, feeling like she was ready to break down weeping again.
Her mother came over and caught her by the shoulders. "Grace! You must face this and act like nothing is the matter! Then people will believe there isn't anything the matter."
"But Tanner was right. He was right."
Patience sighed deeply. "But nobody else knows that, now, do they? The word is that his master at Feathering Park sent him packing. He won't be back again. So, don't think any more of it and just go on like you did before."
Patience picked up the empty basket and handed it to her. "People will see what you want them to see. Always remember that. Now, go to the market and show them what you want them to see."
Chapter Twenty-Five
Answers Will Be Had
Somehow, Grace endured the trip into town. She looked at no one and tried to pretend she did not know that they were very much looking at her. The bonnet served her the way a pair of blinkers served a carriage horse, by blocking out the sight of things that were better left unseen.
She walked into the Dove & Daisy and bought the requested soap and face cream from Mr. Branch, in the back section of the store. On the way out, she stopped in the front just long enough to buy some brown sugar bits and two pieces of candied ginger from Mrs. Branch, to give to John and Noah.
Then, Grace made her escape and walked as fast as she could to the east road, following it back to Applewood Cottage. She almost felt a little better. Perhaps her mother had been right. The worst was over— she had gone into town and nothing had happened. Most likely, any gossip would take place behind her back and there was nothing she could do to stop that.
She was very glad to be back at the cottage. Her tasks here would take up the rest of her day and keep her too busy to think of much else. Waiting for her, there was a big pile of clothes that needed mending and washing, a vegetable garden that needed weeding, and –
Adam Wheeler stood, waiting for her at the top of the lane. He was right beside the stone wall, leaning against it as he watched her approach. And he had a very determined look on his handsome face.
At the sight of Adam waiting for her on the road just outside of her house, Grace stopped dead and quickly turned away from him. She knew she simply could not bring herself to talk to him, or even look at him.
All she wanted to do was get back inside. Maybe she could go around the wall to the orchard, and then to the back gate, and into the cottage that way.
But Adam caught her arm and made her turn back around to face him. "Grace," he said. His voice was low but very firm. "Grace, I want to speak to you."
With her eyes tightly closed, she shook her head. "No. No, " she moaned. "I cannot. You must let me go. I will return inside and trouble no one again. I cannot speak to you or to anyone."
She started to pull away again, but Adam stopped her and made her face him. "Of course, you can." He placed both hands on her arms, as though afraid she might try to walk away again. "I must know some things, Grace. I cannot leave with such mystery hanging over both of us. And I won't."
Leave . . .
Finally, she opened her eyes and looked up into his face. Beneath the flat cloth cap, his hazel eyes were narrowed and his expression very serious. "You – are leaving, Adam? Is that why you’ve come to speak to me?"
His let go of her arm and stood back. "It is," he said, letting his hands fall away. "I will be leaving the county very soon. I have a permanent place . . . elsewhere."
"Elsewhere." Grace hadn’t thought she could feel any emptier than she already did, but at his words, it seemed that the last bit of strength and will drained out of her. " You're going – somewhere else? Far away?"
Now, it was his turn to look empty. "I told you I was only working here on the temporary. Now, I’m going back home . . . Paris and Rome, the best place is home." He tried to smile at her. "But I didn’t want to simply disappear. I wished to say a proper goodbye to you, for I have much respect for you, and – and I wish for us to part on good terms."
It was as though the world had simply dropped out from under her, here on this quiet country lane. "You sound like a master sacking a servant," she whispered, with her teeth clenched. "Part on good terms, indeed."
"It is nothing of the kind. I promise you— it is not. I must go and it cannot be helped, not for any reason."
She turned away again, trying to look anywhere except at his tense face and narrowed eyes. "I suppose I should have known. I suppose I shouldn’t have allowed myself to – to feel affection for you. I suppose I should have – "
"Grace." His voice stopped her. "I wish to speak to you one more time. I will explain a few things, and then you may talk as long as you wish, and ask any questions you wish. I will answer as best I can."
She hesitated, but finally gave him a brief nod.
"Good. Now, go inside. Take your basket to your mother. I will return at sunset. We can speak in the yard, on the bench before the cottage, or wherever you wish. I promise you— I will be here . . . to see you one last time."
The sun was setting when Thomas, Earl Worthington – still presenting himself as Adam Wheeler – picked up a few pebbles from the ground, dropped them into his left boot, and walked down the road that ran behind the eastern side of Birdwell and toward Applewood Cottage.
He hoped that, by now, Grace had had a chance to compose herself after her distress of the last night and this morning. But, as he had told Simon, he was determined to get the whole truth about her this very night.
He did wish to say a proper farewell to her before Adam Wheeler was gone forever . . . even if she never knew the truth about who Adam really was. He didn’t feel it was fair to burden her with that, and so he fully intended to keep the little ruse to himself.
Forever, if possible.
Thomas was sure that any resemblance she might see between Adam Wheeler and Earl Worthington could be explained as mere chance, or even by suggesting that perhaps Adam was a distant cousin from the wrong side of the blanket. Everyone knew that such things happened, even if they didn’t talk about them in public.
As he approached the cottage in the fading light, Thomas saw a couple of small lanterns shining out from the windows. And there was also the sound of . . . weeping.
Beneath the oak tree in front of the house, Grace sat on the rickety little bench. She sat very still and seemed not to notice anything about the beautiful sunset going on across the road from her. Then he saw that she looked exhausted – drained – as though she had been sobbing for hours. Thomas realized that she had probably been doing exactly that.
He stopped at the head of the lane, beside the wall that ran across the front of the property. Grace slowly looked up at him. The weeping faded away, as though she had no tears left, but she didn’t react to or acknowledge him at all.
Thomas walked over, stopping a few feet in front of her. "I’m glad to see you, Miss Miller," he said, and made her a small bow. "Might I sit with you?"
He found that Earl Worthington was slipping back in and had to keep reminding himself to keep up the disguise. Fortunately, he would not have to do so much longer.
"Sit. If you wish."
The voice was a whisper.
Thomas sat down on the bench, a little distance away from her. "Thank you for allowing me to see you at your home."
She seemed not to have heard him. "I should be doing my chores," she said faintly. "My tasks. My work. I have done nothing of any use all day, except for a brief errand in town – and only because my mother made me do that. I cannot think. I cannot eat. I cannot do anything at all, except sit here and weep."
"I’m sorry to see you so distressed. But I feel it is important to clear the air between us while we still can."
"I suppose so."
Thomas leaned forward and clasped his hands on his knees. The dusk hid his bruised knuckles well enough. "Very well, then. Since I am here now, I hope that you will tell me the entire truth. And perhaps – after what Tanner said to everyone in Birdwell, out in the streets – persuade me as to why I should believe anything you have to say."
