Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4)

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  The duchess gave her sister-in-law a patient smile. “I’ll allow the question did trouble me severely at first, Harriet. As soon as I saw the Light, I introduced family prayers into our home, a valued custom that still continues. I used for that office a handbook edited by Mr. Charles Simeon; so when this troubling question arose concerning entertainments, it was natural that I should turn to the reverend Mr. Simeon for advice.”

  “And he no doubt told you to discontinue them at once for your soul’s sake?”

  “On the contrary. He did his best to help me see the difference between Christian liberty and Christian duty. He said that although he himself possessed no talent and felt no inclination for worldly pleasures, he realized that the position of Christians in high society is far different.”

  “My, my. How encouraging to learn that even the holy Simeon is capable of thinking in shades of gray.” light strains of music and the soft swish of dancers’ feet accompanied their conversation.

  “Pray do not be hard on him, sister. He has been of great help to me. He wrote me a most well-reasoned letter to guide me through my dilemma. ‘What would be wrong if done from choice might not be wrong if done for fear of offending others, or of casting a stumbling block before them, or with a view to win them,’ he said.”

  “And so you chose to continue dancing. Very wise of you, Sophia.”

  “Yes, I did, and I trust it has been the right decision. At things sinful in themselves, such as card parties and races, I requested the duke to excuse myself and our daughters; but as to balls and rout parties, I assured him we were ready to go whenever he wished it. It has been a happy arrangement.”

  “Well, I am pleased to hear it.” Harriet waved her purple satin fan. “Still I cannot but think, sister, that this evangelical life is a very melancholy one for the maiden Ladies Somerset. Only think, the eldest must content themselves with court balls, and the prospects of those remaining in the nursery grow darker still—why, just look at dear Georgie.”

  “Shocking, isn’t it, Auntie?” Georgiana good-humoredly kissed her Aunt Harriet. “Quite upon the shelf, I know. And then there’s poor Charlotte, five years older. Why, she’s been at her last prayers for ages.”

  “You may mock me, miss, but you’ll find to your discredit that not every man wants to marry into a family of enthusiasts, no matter how high the rank. Why, I don’t mind telling you that if it hadn’t been for the inducement of seeing his dear sister to whom he’s devoted, my husband should not have been above half pleased to come here.”

  At that moment they were joined by Lord Granville, for whom his sisters had each named their second sons. “Now, now, my pet, that’s doing it much too brown. Mustn’t be so hard on my sister, although I will say, Sophia, things have much improved here. Why, I remember when we used to occupy ourselves, all of us, the whole evening in playing chess. Our days were all alike—breakfast about twelve; then the post would come in about two; then Harriet and I would read the Nouvelle Heloise together till time to dress for dinner; after dinner we would play at chess and go to bed between one and two.”

  “What a shocking bore, Uncle! How did you ever manage to bear with us?” Georgiana’s eyes sparkled in the firelight.

  “Fond of my sister. My only excuse. But the place was always so full of children. Children everywhere, Sophia. Can’t imagine what you were thinking of. Much better now that some of you are grown up, Puss.” He tweaked Georgiana’s cheek. “Do you remember the lessons your Aunt Harriet used to give you and Charlotte upon the harpsichord?”

  “Indeed, I do, Uncle. But I fear Charlotte’s produced more lasting results than mine. I am a sad duffer at the instrument.”

  “Your talk of children reminds me of my duty, brother,” the duchess said. “It’s time for the younger ones to bid our guests good night. Come with me, Georgiana. They’ll be none too anxious to leave the party.” She gathered the gray and silver skirts of her dress and turned in the glowing light of the festive room.

  “Who would ever think you the mother of twelve children? You’re quite amazing, Mama. I only hope I shall do as well—unless, of course, my aunt’s gloomy predictions come true.”

  “I have no doubt of your doing far better, my dear.” Her mother smiled as they walked under one of the dazzling crystal chandeliers.

  “Mama, I’m so glad you chose to wear those earrings.” Georgiana admired the long pearl and diamond pendants that shone like the chandeliers themselves. She recalled that her mother had worn them at the hunt ball the night Granville returned.

  “Yes, they are my second best, but quite my favorites. I did want to wear them this one last time.”

  “Last time?” But Georgiana’s question went unanswered as they had reached her little sisters Blanche and Mary Octavia.

  “Girls, you must find your sisters. I believe they are playing blindman’s bluff in the yellow room. And bid your papa good night now. We shall be up early to go to church in the morning, and I won’t have you falling asleep.” With only the briefest demur, the girls kissed their mother and went off to do her bidding under the eye of their nurse. “I do wish Granville Charles and Elizabeth Susan could be here too. It has been so long since we were a complete family.” The duchess watched Susanna, Louisa, and Isabella join their younger sisters in kissing the duke. “But now,” she turned to Georgiana, “you have spent enough time doing the polite. Go join the young people. I do hope your brother Worcester isn’t taking the departure of Lady Jane too much to heart. Do see if he’s in want of cheering up.”

  Georgiana kissed her mother and joined Henry just in time for them to make up a set in a country dance. Afterward he served her from the sumptuous supper buffet set up in the dining room.

  “Shall we sit in the red room with these?” He did a valiant job of balancing two plates piled high with cakes, jellies, creams, and fruit.

  The warm red-flocked wallpaper, the family portraits brought from Raglan Castle and now draped with Christmas greens, and the glowing flames in the marble fireplace painted by Angelica Kaufman welcomed them as they settled on a red leather sofa. “Not suffering any ill effects from your dunking in the field yesterday, are you, Georgiana?”

  Ignoring the soreness of her throat that refused to go away, Georgiana swallowed a bit of smooth lemon cream. “Not the least, Henry. But if I may inquire without prying, what about the results of your day?”

  “You refer, I assume, to the hasty departure of Lady Jane after our public tête-à-tête in the field? What a wet goose—demanding that I leave my duties as hunt master to ride home with her.”

  “You were lucky to find out now.”

  “Dashed lucky! Can you imagine being leg-shackled to such a creature? But, Georgiana, it’s more than that. If she’d been the hardest goer in the field, I knew it wasn’t right. Do you know what I’m saying? Marriage is more than catching the prime prize in the marriage mart.”

  “Which you are, Henry!”

  “Don’t I know it—with half the mothers in London throwing their daughters at my head.” He shook his head ruefully. “I won’t go to Almacks anymore—it’s a veritable onrush. But that’s by the by. I didn’t wish to discuss my own situation. What I want to say, wanted you to remember, Georgiana—for yourself—is that there will be someone who is right. And don’t settle for less just because it’s convenient.”

  “Do you, er, have any ideas who might be right for you?”

  Worcester laughed. “Not a word of this to any of those prying London mamas—but, yes, I have an idea. I should have realized it before.”

  The sound of voices at the door prevented Georgiana from questioning her brother further. Charlotte and Granville appeared in the doorway, then momentarily checked their entrance uncomfortably at the sight of Georgiana and Worcester. “Come, come.” Lord Worcester indicated the empty sofa facing them. “Season’s felicitations and all that. Join us in celebrating.”

  “Don’t want to interrupt,” Granville said.

  “Nonse
nse. We’re all family,” Worcester insisted.

  Georgiana’s mind faltered at the words. Then she reminded herself that her brother was right, but it was impossible for her to think of Granville as just a cousin. As he handed Charlotte her plate and attended to her bright chatter, Georgiana wondered how Charlotte regarded their cousin—and, more importantly, how he regarded her.

  Then Georgiana thought of the Christmas piece she had tucked in one of the drawers of the Florentine cabinet in the Great Drawing Room. Would she find a chance to give it to Granville?

  Well, she thought, as she looked across at the couple facing them, not if he continues to dance with Charlotte the rest of the evening.

  As Charlotte’s flow of chatter continued (much to Granville’s apparent amusement), Georgiana became convinced that, indeed, that was what was going to occur. She mentally assigned her carefully composed note to oblivion.

  Then her brother spoke. “Well, Char, the musicians are beginning their racket again. What do you say we take a turn around the floor before toddling off to bed? Mama will have us all up while it’s still dark in the morning—must set the right example for the village folk by filling the family box. Thank goodness the rails are high enough no one can see if we fall asleep, especially since the Bishop of Gloucester is to preach. Sorry, Gran. I know he’s your uncle, but what a man to prose on.”

  On this note of slander against a man often declared to be among the best preachers of the day, Lord Worcester swept his sister from the room. Georgiana and Granville faced one another across the expanse of Persian carpet.

  “Worcester said the most brotherly things to me. I am quite astonished,” Georgiana mused softly.

  Granville leaned forward at her soft words. “What did you say?” Then he put a hand to his ear in irritation. “What a blasted nuisance! I hope you do not find it—” He hesitated with a diffidence she had never before seen in him. “—annoying.”

  “Oh, Gran, you silly!” She crossed the room to him, then could say no more as their eyes held.

  “Would you care to dance, Georgiana?”

  Georgiana caught her breath at his purposeful use of her full name. Meeting the serious look in his eye, she took his hand.

  At the end of the next tune the company thinned noticeably as their elders took to their beds. Now the dances changed from the lively country airs where couples stood in two rows and worked their way up and down the line in intricate patterns to the more gliding waltz where couples danced in pairs.

  Georgiana expected Granville to release her at any moment and bid her good night. Instead, when the musicians slid easily from one melody into the next with barely a pause, he continued to turn her around the floor without even requesting her permission.

  Finally, when the room was all but deserted, the musicians began folding their music and wearily putting their instruments in their cases. As the steps of the dance had led them to the north end of the room, Georgiana found herself standing directly in front of the Pietradura cabinet where Aggie had secreted her Christmas greeting. Georgiana looked up at the stupendous piece of ebony furniture rising almost to the ceiling, knowing that now was the time to make her presentation if she was ever to do it.

  Granville caught the drift of her gaze. “It’s a magnificent piece of work, isn’t it?”

  Georgiana ran her finger over one of the bird and flower designs fashioned from inset marble and semiprecious stones. “Yes, the third duke purchased this on his Grand Tour a hundred years ago. Many of his treasures were lost to Spanish pirates on the way home, but I’m glad this one survived.”

  “Perfect for the display of objets d’art as well as being one itself.”

  Granville’s remark was off-handed, but it gave Georgiana the lead-in she needed. “Well, there’s one thing in it that isn’t exactly art.” She pulled open the drawer on the lower right. “But I thought it might interest you.”

  He peered into the small drawer with a quizzical look and drew out the cylinder of paper. “For me?”

  She nodded and looked shyly away before he broke the wafer. He read the small verse three times, each time the look of wonder—and of something else—deepening on his face. At last he folded the crisp parchment and slipped it into his inside coat pocket over his heart.

  His hand on Georgiana’s shoulder, he drew her wordlessly to the center of the room beneath the kissing bough. The room was deserted now except for a few servants cleaning up. But Georgiana wouldn’t have noticed if there had been a roomful of guests as Granville pulled her into his arms.

  Thirteen

  The next morning as the family walked to the chapel well before the first light of dawn, Georgiana’s way was lighted for her not by the candle she carried but by the glow Granville’s kiss had ignited in her heart. Since the family pew in a gallery at the back of the church was reached from a passage through the library, it wasn’t necessary to go out into the chill morning—a circumstance for which Georgiana was grateful as her scratchy throat and drippy nose persisted.

  As three bells in the tower rang changes, the high wooden pews below, running between walls lined with monuments to all the previous Dukes of Beaufort, filled rapidly with villagers. The church was both family chapel and parish church. In the gallery the families Somerset and Ryder settled into large leather armchairs beside a splendid fireplace. The local vicar led their presiding guest, Henry Ryder, Bishop of Gloucester, to the altar. Then those in the gallery gathered around the large prayer books at the front of the box for the only time their presence would be visible to those below and joined the congregation in the Christmas Day Collect.

  “Almighty God, who hast given us Thy only begotten Son to take our nature upon Him and as at this time to be born of a pure virgin…”

  Georgiana looked across the bowed heads of her family to Granville. His dark curly hair fell forward on his brow bent over the prayer book. His face was sober, his attention focused on the words he was saying.

  “Grant that we being regenerate and made Thy children by adoption and grace may daily be renewed by Thy Holy Spirit; through the same our Lord Jesus Christ, who liveth and reigneth with Thee and the same Spirit ever, one God, world without end. Amen.”

  They then sang all nine verses of the Charles Wesley hymn, “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing.” Georgiana’s heart swelling as she sang “Glory to the newborn King!” from the depths of her heart. At the conclusion of the song, the men in the gallery resumed their seats rather than sneaking out before the sermon, as her father and brother often did. But then they didn’t often have the opportunity to hear so noted a speaker as Bishop Ryder.

  In spite of his eloquence, however, Georgiana had some trouble focusing on his words. Her mind and heart kept repeating the words of the carol:

  Hail the heav’n-born Prince of Peace!

  Hail the Sun of Righteousness!

  Light and life to all He brings…

  As if he were recalling her prayer for his own peace, Granville smiled at her across the balcony. In an attempt to focus her thoughts on the service, Georgiana looked at the Christmas crib by the altar. Such a scene was common only in Roman Catholic homes, but these china figures of the nativity had been in their family since the time of Charles I when the Somersets were Catholic. This year, however, there seemed to be something new. Georgiana puzzled over it for some time. Perhaps it was just the streaks of light beginning to come through the leaded-glass window behind the altar, but it looked as if something shiny nestled in the straw beside the baby.

  Georgiana’s mind could have continued to wander throughout the service had she not ventured another glance at her cousin. His intent interest in the sermon finally led her to the bishop’s words.

  “We must, then, embrace our own thorough sinfulness and helplessness and our unqualified need of the atonement of Christ and the renewing influence of the Holy Spirit…”

  Apparently, even on Christmas morning, the bishop was preaching salvation. But then, Georgiana considered, when co
uld it be more appropriate? Especially as the church was filled with those who would only come again at Easter and Harvest Home.

  “Eternal life, therefore—not only forgiveness, but also acceptance as righteous, not only acquittal from guilt, but also title to a gracious recompense—is to be ascribed to the mercy of God, to the sacrifice and righteousness of Christ, and to faith only as the instrumental cause.”

  The light outside the window grew stronger, and Georgiana looked again at the crib. It looked for all the world as if someone had scattered diamonds among the figures.

  But then the bishop’s closing words drew her back. “Come in true repentance and lively faith to the Savior and receive your portion of His meritorious atonement, prevailing intercession, efficacious grace, and unspotted righteousness if you would be converted and saved.”

  And then in the full glory of a Christmas morning sunrise, they sang the final hymn:

  O Christ, Redeemer of our race.

  Thou that art very light of Light,

  Unfailing Hope in sin’s dark night,

  Today, as year by year its light

  Sheds o’er the world a radiance bright,

  One precious truth is echoed on,

  ’Tis Thou hast saved us, Thou alone,

  And gladsome too are we today,

  Redeem’d the new-made song we sing;

  It is the birthday of our King.

  They left the service accompanied by that most English of sounds, pealing church bells, which would continue to ring in Christmas throughout the day and on to the New Year.

  Breakfast followed immediately, served from a sideboard sagging under the weight of its bounty. Beside the more usual breakfast foods were miniature mince pies, which would be served at each breakfast throughout the season. As the little pastry “coffins” of minced chicken, neat’s tongue, mutton, eggs, spices, and raisins were passed around, Georgiana raised hers to Granville sitting across the table from her. “Eat one on each of the twelve days of Christmas and have twelve happy months ahead,” she quoted the traditional proverb.