Harry held her tightly against him. This moment was not for kissing; it was a moment to treasure. No one had ever told him that he was loved; he could barely remember his mother, and his father had never uttered the words; it was not done. He thanked God for his luck and cursed Him at the same time. He knew he did not deserve someone as precious as she was, but to have her and have her love, that was more than he could have possibly imagined.
Harry eventually released Grace. “I have something for you,” he said, standing up and walking towards a short wall. He reached down and lifted up a small plant pot. There were three tulips stems growing from the pot. “This is my favourite flower, after the orchids of course,” Harry said with a smile. “I was hoping when you see them flower, they would become your second favourite as well.”
Grace smiled, taking the pot from him and reaching up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you; I can’t wait to see the colour.”
“I shall see if you approve of my choice,” Harry said.
“Shall we have tulips in our garden?” Grace asked, flushing, but forcing herself to have the courage to ask the question.
“Grace,” Harry said with a warning tone.
“Harry indulge me; let me have my dreams,” Grace said quietly. She had to be allowed to dream about their future together; she had been truthful when she told him she did not know how she was going to face it without him.
Harry could never have refused her anything, so he nodded slightly. “What type of house would you like?” he asked.
“I’ve never thought about that,” Grace admitted. “I’ve always planned what I would want in the garden, never thinking about the house.”
Harry laughed at her. “I’m not surprised.”
Grace smiled. “How much garden is attached to your cottage?”
“It is reasonable enough, the front being suitable for flowers, and I have a small vegetable patch at the rear. I don’t really need one,” Harry admitted, “But my father started it, so I’ve just carried it on.”
“That sounds perfect. My ideal house would be the gardener’s cottage at Sudworth Hall,” Grace said with a satisfied smile.
“Grace, don’t,” Harry said quietly. “You deserve more than my ramshackle cottage.”
“Why do I deserve it?” Grace asked in genuine bewilderment. “I have done nothing extraordinary with my life; I’ve muddled through, if I’m honest. All I want is my own garden to grow what I wish; what house I live in is irrelevant.”
“It shouldn’t be; you should want the best money can buy,” Harry insisted.
“I would rather be happy,” Grace said with a shrug. “I have all the fine clothes I could ever possibly want, and I never feel comfortable in them.”
“Why not?” Harry asked, amused at the look on consternation on Grace’s face.
“They have been made of the finest materials; my mother was enough a slave of the latest trends to make sure her daughters were dressed in the best money could buy. My hair would be set, and I would wear jewels that finished off the outfit to perfection, and I hated it; I still do,” Grace admitted.
“Really? That’s not the usual opinion of young ladies, is it?” Harry teased gently.
Grace laughed. “No! If my mother realised, I’m sure she would disown me on the spot. I once wore a dress to a function my father had arranged. It was a grand affair, and I was dressed in a cream silk dress with the tiniest of crystals all over it. Rosalind said I shimmered like a star.”
“You must have looked beautiful,” Harry said quietly.
Grace smiled, “The truth of the matter was, I kept catching the crystals and they were constantly falling off! At the end of the night, I’m sure there were more on the floor than on my dress. I hated that dress with a passion. Give me a dress made of thick cotton with pockets for my shears, and I am comfortable and happy.”
“You are unique,” Harry said, grabbing Grace around her waist and pulling her towards him.
“I hope you never tire of my silliness,” Grace said wrapping her arms around Harry’s neck and pulling him towards her.
“Never!” Harry said with a growl before stopping any further conversation for a very long time.
Chapter 11
Grace had placed the tulips on a table in front of the window nearest her bed. She wanted to see the plant as soon as she awoke and it be the last thing she saw as she closed her eyes each night. Each day she was falling more in love with Harry, and she never wanted the feeling to stop. She knew their pairing would be difficult for others to accept, but she had to find a way of telling Rosalind about her attachment. She had decided to seek Rosalind out after the picnic. It was time to be honest with her sister and face the consequences. She wanted to be able to speak of Harry and introduce him to her family; the time for hiding was coming to an end. She was not ashamed of her relationship with him and, although she realised she would have some persuading to do, she was sure Rosalind would realise Harry was perfect for her.
Everyone gathered at the allotted time, spreading out over the large lawn. Grace had joined Annie, entertaining her by spending some time walking along beside the flower beds whilst Grace told Annie about the plants she liked. Mrs Adams approached the pair as they headed back towards the group.
“Your sister was not exaggerating about your knowledge,” Mrs Adams said with approval as she listened to Grace describing the flowers to Annie.
Grace blushed. “I’ve always loved plants; they aren’t as difficult as people!”
Mrs Adams laughed. “You are correct, child. With some of the people I have had to endure I wish I could have condemned half of them to the far reaches of the garden; it would have made my life a lot pleasanter.”
Grace smiled, “I’m sure you have your own way of sorting them out so they don’t make the same mistake with you again. I envy your abilities; I have not your courage to stand up to them as you do,” she said quietly.
Mrs Adams looked assessingly at the young woman before her. “They say the quiet ones are the ones to watch for their ability to see all and speak the truth; it seems the saying is correct. You are an intelligent little imp aren’t you?”
“At my age I’m hardly an imp, but I will accept the compliment with thanks,” Grace said with a smile.
Mrs Adams chuckled, “Are you going to speak to that young man at all today?” she asked, changing the subject.
Grace was a little disconcerted at the rapid change of subject. “Who do you mean?” she asked.
“Mr Workman has been following you around the garden with his eyes since he arrived here,” Mrs Adams laughed. “Why not go and put him out of his misery and speak to him? I can entertain Annie.”
“Do I have to?” Grace said, forgetting herself for a moment.
Mrs Adams, let out a roar of a laugh, making Grace jump and drawing the attention of the other members of the group. “The poor boy; I see his hopes are to be dashed sometime soon.”
Grace grinned, “I’m afraid so, but I have been consistent with my opinion; it is just that no one seems to ever wish to listen to me,” she said with feeling.
“No one listens to you?” Mrs Adams asked intrigued. She wondered if Rosalind realised her sister’s sentiments.
“There has only ever been one person who has listened to me. He actually thinks what I have to say is important, but unfortunately he can’t share entertainments like this at the moment. I hope to persuade Rosalind to give him a chance in the future.” Grace said more than she intended, but she had decided that her feelings for Harry were not to be ashamed of and, although she would not name him until she had spoken to Rosalind, there was no need to hide her feelings any longer.
Mrs Adams looked at Grace curiously; there was a vast amount of feeling in her words, and she had also revealed something Mrs Adams was sure Rosalind was not aware of. It was clear Grace’s affections were already engaged. She nodded her head slightly, “I’m afraid you will be obliged to be polite to a guest of your sister, for today at leas
t,” she said gently, intending to speak to Rosalind when the opportunity arose.
“I know I am being rude; I just hate the thought of everyone’s eyes boring into us while we talk, planning things that will never happen,” Grace admitted.
“I promise I shall not look your way once,” Mrs Adams assured her, taking pity on Grace, not something she would do for everyone.
“I wish you could influence everyone!” Grace said with feeling before leaving the old woman in order to approach Mr Workman.
Mr Workman stood as Grace approached him. “Miss Johnson,” he said with a smile, bowing before her. “I hope you are well?”
“I am, thank you,” Grace said with a curtsey.
“It’s a beautiful day for a picnic,” Mr Workman continued. “My cousin and I were delighted to receive the invitation from the Duchess; we never expected it.”
Grace had queried Rosalind about sending out only two sets of invitations, one to Lord and Lady Kettering and one to the vicar and his family, but Rosalind had dismissed her concerns. “We should not stand on outdated ceremony,” Rosalind had said. “With our background, we should welcome every rank, and I like the vicar’s wife; she is very pleasant and is excellent with Annie.”
Grace was thoroughly aware Rosalind normally invited only a few people so as not to overwhelm Annie who soon became nervous with strangers. On this occasion though, Grace was certain it was more to do with creating further opportunities for Mr Workman to spend time with herself that was driving Rosalind. No matter what Rosalind claimed, she was matchmaking.
Grace brought herself back to the conversation. “It is a lovely day,” she acknowledged, not wanting to be drawn into further conversation about who should and should not have been invited.
The pair sat, and Mr Workman took out a handkerchief from his pocket. “I saw these on my ride this morning,” he said showing the material bulging with blackberries. “As soon as I saw them, I thought of you,” Mr Workman said.
“Oh,” Grace said, flushing. “They are not a variety I recognise.”
“They were growing in the hedgerow,” Mr Workman explained. “It was pure chance that I spotted them. With your love of plants, I immediately thought you would enjoy them.”
Lady Kettering approached Rosalind with a smile, “Should we expect an announcement in the near future?” she asked pleasantly. It seemed only a short while ago that Lady Kettering would have given Rosalind a sneer rather than a smile, but her own daughter had been foolish in ruining herself with the Duke’s brother. The support and inclusion of the illegitimate child by Rosalind and her husband had made Lady Kettering reassess her opinions and see Rosalind for the good person she was.
“I think so,” Rosalind confirmed. “It’s obvious he likes her, but Grace has always been more withdrawn than the rest of us, so I hope he’s patient with her.”
“He seems a pleasant young man,” Lady Kettering said, looking over at the pair. “My husband mentioned you had received news from Italy?”
“Yes,” Rosalind replied. “It seemed Robert had no intention of marrying Isabella either,” she said gently. She was fully aware of how the Kettering’s must feel about the previous Duke; her own feelings were those of disgust and horror at his behaviour and complete lack of regard for anyone but himself.
“I suppose we should take comfort in knowing our daughter wasn’t the only fool to fall for his charms,” Lady Kettering said her tone bitter, looking at Isabella playing with Roberto and Mathilda. She wondered if the woman would be so welcoming if she knew Roberto and Mathilda were blood relations.
“With them virtually growing up together, I suppose Lady Joan developed a tendre for him from an early age,” Rosalind mused. It often happened that way and would have not reflected badly on Joan.
“I’m inclined to think it was the mutual attraction of two selfish souls,” Lady Kettering said honestly. “I cannot forgive Joan for the way she behaved towards Mathilda. She still never asks about her in her letters; it is all about what Joan is doing: no one else matters.”
“It’s sad, but I suppose her life is so much different in India than what it was here, it must be easier to forget,” Rosalind offered, trying to be diplomatic. The reality was that Lady Joan was a selfish, spiteful character.
“At least Mathilda seems to have inherited very little from either of her parents,” Lady Kettering said, looking over at the young child. Mathilda had moved away from Roberto and was playing a game with Annie, who was delighted with the child. Both were on a rug placed on the grass; they were playing something that made them both roll over with fits of giggles.
“We all think the world of her already,” Rosalind admitted, but her attention was drawn away from the young child and towards Grace’s movements.
Grace had suddenly stood up, grasping at her throat and seeming unable to speak. Mr Workman had also risen, trying to comfort Grace, but she was trying to push him away. Rosalind ran over to where Grace was.
“Grace? What is it?” Rosalind asked, concerned at the strange noises coming from Grace.
Grace scrabbled at her throat, looking panic stricken at Rosalind before collapsing on the ground. Rosalind sank to her knees next to her sister while everyone else gathered around. Rosalind looked quickly at her husband, who had been chatting with Lord Kettering but was approaching her. “She’s in a faint; we need to get her back to the hall.”
The group was interrupted by the sudden arrival of Harry. He pushed unceremoniously through the onlookers and sank to his knees beside Grace. “What has happened?” he demanded, his tone short, his face like thunder. “What has he done to her?” The glare he gave Mr Workman made the young man pale even further than he was already.
“I-I did nothing,” Mr Workman stammered.
“So she collapsed for the fun of it!” Harry snapped. “What has she eaten?” He had turned Grace onto her side, moving her gently but with speed.
Mr Workman looked horror-struck and pointed to the table. “I-I brought her some berries; she’s had a few, but they were only blackberries!” he responded defensively.
Harry stood and grabbed the handkerchief, now stained with the juice from the berries. He examined them closely before returning his stare to Mr Workman. “Where did you get these?” he demanded.
“From the wayside on my ride this morning, I’ve eaten some, and I’m fine,” Mr Workman said, getting a little defensive at what he was obviously being accused of.
“How many did she eat?” Harry demanded.
“About four or five,” Mr Workman said, looking doubtful.
“And you?”
“Two.”
“You are three times the size of her and have eaten less than half and you wonder why you haven’t had any symptoms!” Harry snapped.
“Harry?” Peter asked. He was aware that his gardener was no fool and would not be reacting so out of character without a valid reason.
Harry ignored his employer, trying to suppress the panic he felt. If he panicked now, he would lose control, and Grace needed him to be in control more than she had ever done.
Harry stepped to the side of those gathered. “Billy! Come here now!” he shouted to a figure hovering in the archway.
“We need to get her back to the hall,” Peter said, moving towards Grace.
“No! It will be too late; I need to deal with her here,” Harry said firmly, stilling Peter with his words. He turned to Billy as he arrived, the boy looking embarrassed to be around so many of his betters. “Billy go into the orangery and through the door at the back. There is a cabinet facing the doorway; use this key and take the bottle from the top shelf. The top shelf, do you hear? Bring it here and run! Hurry lad!”
Billy set off as if the devil were behind him. Harry knelt down by the side of Grace once more and checked that she was still breathing; she was, but it didn’t lessen the tightness of his chest any: there was still too much danger. He took off her bonnet and threw it to one side before placing her head gently back
on the ground.
“Harry?” Peter asked again.
“He’s poisoned her: the berries aren’t blackberries; they’re from the redoul plant. Its leaves were used for tanning but not in this country. It’s a shrub, but it doesn’t normally grow here. I don’t understand; it’s usually only found abroad.If we don’t get it out of her system quickly, she’ll die; it would kill a child outright; she’s barely bigger than a child….”
The group were silenced by Harry’s words, but then Annie started to wail, which upset Mathilda and Roberto.
Annie’s cries were getting louder; the group were hovering, not sure of what to do. Harry looked at Peter. “When Billy comes back, I need to give her some of the liquid. It isn’t going to be pleasant,” he said.
Peter took the meaning correctly and ushered everyone away from Grace. Mrs Adams approached Harry before leaving; she rested her hand on his shoulder and whispered something in his ear. No one else could make out her words, but Harry looked at her in some surprise. After a moment he nodded his understanding and then returned his gaze to Grace.
When Billy returned the group had reduced to consist of Peter, Rosalind, Harry and Grace. Mr Workman had tried to stay, but Peter had asked him to return to the hall. His decision had been based on the look Harry had given the young man, convincing Peter that his gardener would likely kill Workman if Grace deteriorated.
Harry bent with the small bottle to Grace’s head. “Grace, my sweet, you have to drink this for me. It isn’t going to taste very nice, but you have to drink it; do you hear me? I promise it will make it better, my love,” he said quietly, not noticing the looks passing between Rosalind and Peter. He was too involved in trying to save the love of his life rather than concerning himself with the consequences of his words.
Harry struggled to get some of the liquid down Grace’s throat, but they all knew when it had reached her stomach. She turned her head and started to vomit over the grass. Harry cradled Grace’s head, wiping her mouth and encouraging her all the time. His words would have suggested she was achieving greatness if the horrifying scene had not been before the two onlookers.
Grace: A Regency Romance (The Four Sisters' Series Book 3) Page 12
