Grace: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 3)

by Audrey Harrison

  Grace followed Rosalind’s lead, mortified at the uncouth behaviour of Isabella. She might become the Dowager Duchess if her claim were correct, but Grace thought Isabella should spare a thought to the turmoil Rosalind and Peter must be feeling. Grace moved to her sister and linked her arm through Rosalind’s. She squeezed gently, wanting to show support without saying the words. Rosalind smiled at Grace and rolled her eyes slightly.

  Isabella stood but started to speak rather than following the two ladies. “I shall retire to the Dowager House. I have a lot to be think about.”

  “As you wish,” Rosalind said, turning and leading the way through the dining room door. She would not be sorry to see the conversation of ended.

  After seeing Isabella off the premises, Rosalind returned to the drawing room where Grace was seated on one of the sofas, drinking tea and gazing into the fire. She looked pre-occupied and Rosalind felt sympathy for her sensitive sister having to witness Isabella’s outbursts. Rosalind helped herself to tea before joining Grace on the sofa.

  “That wasn’t how I’d planned the evening to go,” she said with a smile.

  “She’s a forceful character isn’t she?” Grace said. “I was mortified with what she was saying. She shouldn’t say things like that to you or Peter; it shows she has no consideration of your feelings in all this.”

  “Yes, she is lacking in tact,” Rosalind admitted. “It may have been the thing that attracted Robert to her; he seems to have preferred strong women from the two I have seen that he was connected with. Isabella had no fortune, and yet Robert pursued her beyond the levels he ever pursued anyone else, as far as we can tell, so he may have truly loved her; I don’t suppose we’ll ever know.”

  “He must have told her about all his riches,” Grace said.

  “Yes, he obviously told her many untruths,” Rosalind said with a shake of her head. “He lived beyond his means when he was here and in Italy; Isabella said she was faced with many unpaid bills when he died.”

  “I could never live with so little security,” Grace said with feeling.

  “Luckily you won’t have to,” Rosalind said with a smile. “We are fortunate in some respects that father is prepared to settle so much on us.”

  “As long as we marry titles!” Grace said indignantly.

  “I’m sure he won’t be too upset if you marry a mere mister,” Rosalind soothed. “Annabelle and I have secured the titles; you need to look to fall in love with someone who will treat you well.”

  A pair of grey eyes flashed before Grace’s mind’s eye, but she tried to dismiss them. It was no use dreaming; that particular mister would never be approved.

  Chapter 7

  Grace went straight to the secret gate for once not stopping to examine any blooms. She opened the sturdy wooden gate, excitement fluttering in her stomach when it swung open easily. She had dressed practically in a cotton chequered day dress. The greens of the squares suited her skin tone and brought out the green in her eyes. She had inwardly cursed her vanity but had argued to herself that the dress was still practical.

  When she closed the gate, one of the under-gardeners saw her and nodded his head. He doffed his cap and Grace nodded in return, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She was not aware of the instructions Harry had issued to his staff. He had been clear with his words: any disrespectful behaviour to the Duchess’s sister, and they would be cast off without a reference. Little did the staff know those thoughts were the ones that haunted Harry’s every waking moment as his biggest fear for himself.

  Grace walked quickly to the glasshouses and opened the door of the second one. She wanted to be out of sight of the other staff, but it did not stop her pausing at the door, enjoying the heady smell that greeted her every time she opened the door of a hothouse. People would think her peculiar, but she loved the earthy smell of soil.

  Harry was bent over some pots, working methodically. Grace was able to enjoy looking at him for a few seconds before he straightened as a result of her entrance. She loved to see his eyes; she had never seen a colour like them before: clear grey, like a cloudy day. The feelings they stirred were partly because she wanted to make them light up as if the sun had just peeked through the clouds but, even when they darkened as if a thunderstorm were approaching, she still found them drawing her to him.

  She smiled as she approached. “I’m here for duty, sir,” she said teasingly. Only later would she cringe that she had openly teased a man; for now she was going to enjoy every moment she could.

  Harry did not respond openly to her teasing, but she saw a slight change of shade in his eyes and was reassured he was at least a little amused at her words. “We have a lot of work to do,” he said gruffly.

  “What would you like me to do?” Grace asked, standing beside him, putting on a pair of working gloves that had been laid out for her.

  “Put this on as a start.” He handed her an apron made of thick rough cotton to put over her dress. Grace stopped herself from smiling; she should not have worried about which dress to wear: the apron almost covered her completely, it was so large. She tied the ties around her waist twice before securing them with a knot. Harry had watched, his mouth drying slightly at the way the apron emphasised her waist. Never before had a rough cotton apron looked so appealing.

  Harry gave her instructions, explaining which seeds went in which trays. He was very firm in how many should go in into each one and how far apart they should be. His instructions were clear and to the point. Grace smiled; he never wasted a word. He said what had to be said but nothing more. She liked it; there would never be any hidden motive with a man like Harry. She listened carefully not wishing to get anything wrong. The last thing she needed would be to make a mistake and give Harry an excuse to refuse access in the future. Her concentration was more than just wanting continued access to the area: she wanted Harry’s approval. She wanted to be able to show him she was not some cosseted miss but a woman who could work well and was educated in the areas he cared about.

  She started planting, and they worked together in comfortable silence. Harry watched Grace as she planted seeds. She was confident with her movements, obviously used to doing the task. If he had any doubts, he was reassured she had at least some experience of gardening.

  Grace met Harry’s look and smiled. “How do you decide which plants to grow? Do you have free rein?” she asked. Grace did not feel as reserved around Harry, which she did with others; even their first encounter had not left her lost for words, which was unknown with her in other situations with men. Whether it was because she was most confident in a garden environment or whether it was just him, she was not sure, and she was not quite ready to accept the implications of her feelings if it turned out to be the latter.

  “In the main, yes,” Harry replied. “It is only this Duke who has shown any interest in the garden; his brother and father before him did not.”

  “They can’t have been easy to work for. From what has been said they were both of them difficult characters. I’m not sure I would have liked to have met either of them.” Grace admitted, knowing she probably should not be discussing such things, but she knew without doubt he would never betray what they had been speaking of.

  “No,” Harry said simply. “The garden staff were ignored, but the house staff were run ragged with demands.”

  “The current Duke says your father was an excellent gardener,” Grace said with a slight flush.

  “He was,” Harry responded. He was curious as to why she had been talking to the Duke about him, but he was not about to ask. It was perhaps better he did not know.

  “It must have been lovely to be able to learn from someone so knowledgeable. I envy you having someone with so much expertise so close at hand. I have tried to increase my knowledge, but books are no match for practical experience,” Grace said.

  “Probably not; I grew up learning. Most of the time I never even knew I was being taught,” Harry admitted. “When did you discover your own inter
est in gardening?” Grace would have been inordinately pleased if she had realised just how rare it was to hear Harry Long asking questions about anyone.

  “When I was very young,” Grace admitted. “It was silly the way it happened: mother had some flowers delivered to decorate the house. I thought they were so pretty I asked for some in my bedchamber. The problem was I hadn’t realised they would die, so I was deeply upset when, as each day passed, they became more wilted. When Rosalind comforted my loss at their final removal from the room, she suggested I speak to our gardener and see if he would allow me to learn about how plants grew. He was good enough to indulge a curious child and, from then on, it’s been a life-long fascination,” Grace said, probably saying more about herself than she had to anyone else in her acquaintance.

  “What did your mother say about your working with the gardener?” Harry asked, his curiosity piqued enough to keep asking questions.

  Grace laughed, “I don’t think she noticed for years! She wasn’t a mother who believed in taking much interest in her children’s lives. We were not neglected as such; we were well dressed and well fed, but I can remember spending very little time talking with Mother. As long as we didn’t disturb her, we could have done whatever we wished,” she explained their unusual family life.

  “So you grew up wild?” Harry teased with a smile. There was nothing wild about the woman before him; she was the most refined creature he had ever seen.

  Grace smiled, unable to stop her lips lifting to match Harry’s expression, “We would have done, if not for Rosalind’s care. She became sister and mother to myself and my two sisters. She kept us steady and encouraged us to learn and read as we grew.”

  “She sounds a very special sister; not everyone would do that,” Harry acknowledged.

  “She is,” Grace admitted. “I don’t think we appreciated her when she was trying to make us learn our lessons though. We were more likely to try and find a way of not studying. She employed all sorts of tricks to encourage us; I don’t know how she did it. I certainly don’t think I would have had the patience or the stamina to keep the three of us in line.”

  Harry smiled, “You do have patience; anyone seeing you work this morning would see that. Your seed rows are perfect.”

  Grace flushed with pleasure at the compliment but twisted it mischievously, feeling unusually bold. “A compliment from the great Harry Long! Will I ever reach such heady heights again?”

  Harry’s eyes twinkled with amusement, and he chuckled in response to her words. “I doubt it; it is probably a once in a lifetime achievement,” he said, trying to sound serious.

  “I thought so,” Grace said with a mock sigh. “Oh well, back to work.”

  When she finished the planting, she turned to Harry. “What’s next?”

  “Do you not have to return to the hall?” Harry asked. He wanted her to stay, but was aware of where she belonged.

  “No, my time is my own,” Grace said. “I have only to survive morning visits and then I am free to do as I please! I have done my penance this morning, so there are no further engagements today thankfully.”

  “In that case follow me,” Harry said, moving to the rear of the glass house. He motioned to some seedlings that were in trays. “These need to be transplanted into the larger growing beds. Would you like to do it?”

  “Yes, please,” Grace said with a smile. “I’m happy to do anything you wish.”

  Harry dampened down his thoughts before he got carried away. “Just do what you can,” he instructed roughly.

  Grace continued to work happily. She could not think of anything better than an afternoon spent with Harry alone while working with the flowers. “What plants are these?” she asked as she worked. The seedlings were too small for her to be able to identify easily.

  “Fuchsia,” Harry said. “There are some in the borders of the lawn area, but I’ve been experimenting with the colours. These should be a mixture of white and purples.”

  “Lovely!” Grace said. “It must be wonderful to see them grow into a beautiful flower when you have created the variegation.”

  “If it doesn’t work, it can be a lot of wasted time,” Harry countered with a half-smile.

  Grace turned to him and put her hands on her hips in mock indignation. “And how often does that happen? Anyone can see you are thoroughly knowledgeable and probably infallible when it comes to anything to do with gardening! There is not a chance you would fail in your experimentation, is there?” she demanded.

  Harry tried to control his smile; it was the first time he had ever seen an angry pixie. “It could happen,” he defended himself.

  “How often?” Grace said, attempting to stop the smile spreading across her own face.

  “Never. Happy?” Harry growled.

  “Yes, I knew you were a perfect gardener,” Grace said removing her hands from her hips and returning to the seed trays.

  “No one can claim that,” Harry said gruffly. He was not comfortable with accepting compliments, let alone unrealistic ones.

  Grace smiled at him shyly, “Don’t destroy my illusion. From what I’ve seen and heard, I think you are the perfect gardener.”

  “Think whatever you like,” Harry shrugged.

  A silence descended on them as they continued to work. After Grace transplanted far more than Harry expected her to, she stood straight and stretched her back. “How do you do this every day?” she wiped the back of her hand across her forehead.

  “I don’t,” Harry admitted.

  Grace smiled. “You’ve always got an answer for everything, but you can’t intimidate me; I want to return to help again,” she said.

  Harry’s expression showed the surprise he felt at her words. “I don’t try to intimidate you,” he responded honestly.

  “What, not even the first time we met?” Grace asked with the arch of an eyebrow. If any of her sisters had seen the Grace standing by Harry’s side, they would not have recognised the confident woman. She was doing everything they had tried to teach her: teasing, flirting, enjoying the company of a man. It was the first time Grace had felt comfortable enough to be so forward and actually enjoy herself in a virtual stranger’s company; although as each moment passed he no longer felt like a stranger. He felt like something far more important to Grace than that.

  Harry smiled a little, “That was different; you were trying to kill my blooms.”

  “I wouldn’t dare; I would never try to do something so destructive, especially now that I know who they belong to.” Grace responded teasingly.

  “They belong to the Duke,” Harry said, trying to remind her what the reality was. “He owns us all and every flower.”

  “Yes, but they are still yours,” Grace said. “You have reminded me I should be thinking of going back. I suppose I’d better return and dress for dinner,” she said with a sigh.

  “Yes.”

  “Can I return?” she asked, the tone of her voice betraying how much working with him meant to her.

  “I can’t stop you,” Harry said. He knew he was being a little unfair with his tone, but he could not encourage her for both their sakes.

  “That’s not quite the invitation I wanted, but I will take it as a yes,” Grace said, tilting her head slightly. “We’re going to the Assembly tomorrow, so I’m not sure Rosalind will want me spending too much time in the garden beforehand; Sunday we shall be at church and Mrs Adams is visiting, so will Monday be acceptable?”

  Harry wanted to see her before Monday, but he could not demand such a thing from her. “Yes,” he replied brusquely.

  “Good,” Grace said happily. “I shall count the hours. Until then.”

  Harry felt a strange fizzing on his insides at her words. He had never met anyone like her; she was so unaffected, honest and good. He started to wonder if he was dealing with an angel rather than a pixie but soon got hold of his foolish feelings and turned back to work. The glasshouses would seem a little darker now the sunshine had returned to the hall.


  *

  Grace was dressed for the Assembly. She was not one to fidget apart from when she was in her finest clothes, as she was now. The dress was beautiful; she could see that, but it made her feel uncomfortable. It was made of ivory silk, with ivory flowers around the hem. There was a second row of flowers that followed the hemline until sweeping up towards the waistline on one side. The puffed sleeves showed off the slender arms of the wearer to perfection. Her hair was loosely fashioned into a bun, ringlets falling around her head when she moved. She wore a clip of ivory feathers in her hair and pearls around her neck.

  Grace entered the drawing room not able to stay in her bedchamber any longer. The sooner the night started, the sooner it would be over.

  Rosalind and Isabella were already in the room; Isabella was accompanying them on their outing. It had been explained to Grace that Isabella did spend some time with the family, which increased Grace’s appreciation of how patient and understanding both Rosalind and Peter were, having to accept the often inappropriate Italian woman into their midst.

  Rosalind smiled at her sister; Grace looked beautiful. The ivory suited her colouring perfectly. In fact it made her skin seem even more luminous than normal. Her tiny frame and slender figure made her seem fragile, but Rosalind was aware of how strong Grace was: she could wield a spade without flinching at its weight.

  “Are you excited?” Rosalind asked.

  “Yes, Harry has been experimenting with the colours of your Fuchsia plants; I can’t wait to see them bloom!” Grace said with a mischievous smile.

  Rosalind laughed, “I might have known! You know full well I was referring to your first two dances.”

  “I know,” Grace frowned. “I hope you aren’t matchmaking Rosalind.”

  “I’m not, I promise,” Rosalind said, holding up her hands. “I don’t want you travelling half way across the world, although if he were the love of your life….”