Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4)

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  Each unmarried person among the company claimed a band, and Nixon set the bundle ablaze on the wide, deep hearth. The green branches snapped and crackled in the heat of the blaze, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. But the bands held.

  “I declare,” Charlotte cried, “we shall all be left upon the shelf. Can you credit it?”

  No sooner had she spoken than, with a small snapping sound, the first band gave way and fell into the flames. “Well, that settles it—it’s yours, Char.” Granville raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Shall we wish you happiness?” her brother teased.

  “Perhaps not quite yet,” Charlotte replied as Georgiana caught her breath at the smug gleam in her sister’s eye.

  “Oh, listen. How charming!” Emily held up a quieting hand. When the chatter ceased, the high, sweet sound of carols sung on the clear air came into the room.

  “It’s the waits.” The duchess set her cup aside and rose. “Shall we go into the hall so we can hear them better?”

  Good Christian men, rejoice

  With heart and soul and voice;

  Give ye heed to what we say:

  News! News! Jesus Christ is born today!

  The rustic serenaders accompanied themselves on hand bells as they pealed forth the good news.

  Only Georgiana and Granville remained by the fire. “I have hoped for a few moments with you all day,” she said softly.

  “And I with you—to thank you for your Christmas piece.”

  “You did that very adequately last night.” She smiled at him in the glow of the fire.

  Love and joy come to you,

  And to your wassail too,

  And God bless you,

  And send you a Happy New Year.

  The carolers provided a private serenade for the pair sitting in the great empty room.

  “And God send you a happy new year.” Georgiana laid her hand on her cousin’s arm. “He’s going to, you know.”

  “Yes. I am determined.” Granville’s words carried a quiet emphasis. “When I heard them discussing matters of such import tonight at dinner, I decided I have wasted far too much time. I shall join Lincoln’s Inn and become a barrister as soon as possible. Then I’ll stand for a seat in Parliament. When emancipation is voted on, I want to have a part in it. Sandon shall soon want bigger fish than the family borough. Then I shall hope to represent Tiverton.”

  He paused to regard her intently. “And when I do, Georgiana…” He seized her hands, then dropped them in alarm. “Georgie! You’re burning up!”

  He crossed to the bell pull in two strides and yanked it vehemently. “Send for the doctor!” he barked at the footman as only an officer of His Majesty’s Navy could.

  When he returned to Georgiana, she was shivering. The waits were singing an old Sussex carol, “When sin departs before His grace, then life and health come in its place.” But neither heard them as Granville cradled the trembling Georgiana in his arms.

  Fourteen

  Boxing Day brought another round of activities. Her Grace gave gifts to all the servants and assisted as the vicar opened the alms box in the church and distributed its contents to the poor. A steady stream of dustmen, postmen, lamplighters, turncocks and errand boys came round for their Christmas boxes. Then the children gathered in the hall for the Punch and Judy show. Later Worcester got a party up to go into Gloucester to see a monkey and bear troupe.

  But two people were absent from all the festivities. Georgiana was confined to her room under strict orders from Dr. Milkwood, and Granville, who had received a summons from his father to meet him in the duke’s study after luncheon, was left to cool his heels with nothing to do but worry about Georgiana until time for the interview.

  Granville sat staring at an open book, then closed it in irritation and strode across the room to give two abrupt jerks to the bell pull. “Send Agatha to me,” he ordered when the under footman appeared. “No, wait. Don’t interrupt her. Just bring me word of Miss Georgiana’s health. That sawbones has been with her above an hour. What can he be about so long? If he doesn’t know his business, I shall ride to Harley Street for Dr. Knighton. Well, what are you standing about gawking for? Bring me word!”

  The servant departed, and Granville paced the length of the room, alternately running his fingers through his hair and making a shambles of his formerly crisp white neck cloth.

  A few minutes later the harried servant reappeared.

  “Well?” Granville demanded before the young man was across the threshold again.

  “The doctor has just left, sir. He says the case is serious but not dangerous. Her Grace asked me to say that she will bring you a full report soon.” The footman bowed and departed, leaving Granville to continue his pacing. He felt he had been waiting an eternity when the wheels of the physician’s departing carriage sounded on the gravel and the duchess’s footsteps announced her entry into the room.

  In spite of having stayed up with her daughter most of the night, she maintained the hopeful disposition and fresh enthusiasm that marked her special charm. “Granville, I am sorry to keep you in suspense so long, but I simply couldn’t leave until Dr. Milkwood was finished with his examination.”

  “No, most assuredly not, ma’am. I thank you for coming now. How is she?”

  “She is resting easy with a kettle of water boiling on the hearth. Aggie is to administer two grains of tartar of emetic in water every two hours until the fever passes. Dr. Milkwood feels we have every right to hope that it may not develop into pneumonia.”

  “Pneumonia!” Granville’s ashen face showed the terror of the word. “But how is that possible? She seemed recovered from her chill.”

  “I fear she was not so fully recovered as she led us to believe.”

  Granville turned his back to the duchess and, his arms braced against the mantelpiece, lowered his head. “It’s my fault. I was with her when it happened. I should have prevented… I should have insisted she go to the inn rather than ride home. I should have—”

  “Nonsense!” The duchess cut through his self-incrimination. “That ditch bank is notoriously dangerous. She has hunted that field since she was a child and should have known better. If anyone is at fault, it is I. As her mother I should have been more attentive.”

  “But you don’t know the worst. I had behaved abominably. She had just learned of it and was angry and upset—she was racing to escape me.”

  “Now, no more of your fustian.” The duchess spoke with the energy and firmness for which she was famous. “We must place her in the hands of our dear Heavenly Father and trust in His mercy.” Then she laid her hand on his and spoke more quietly. “Granville, you are very special to us.” And with a soft swish of her cambric skirt she was gone. He was alone.

  Alone with his self-accusations. It was easy enough for the duchess to tell him not to blame himself, but it was quite impossible for him to follow her instructions. Would God punish him for his transgressions by taking away the dearest thing in his life? Dearest person in the world. He resumed his pacing, but after one turn around the room, he stopped again before the fireplace. Moments of agonized turmoil passed. Then he struck his fist against the cold, hard marble. All right, God. Let Georgiana recover, and I’ll make myself worthy of Your grace.

  He stood there for some time sunk in a brown study until the entrance of his tutor made him look up. “Hullo, Peacock.” His voice was grim.

  “I have just come from an interview with your father.”

  “The devil,” Granville muttered.

  “Oh, he’s not that bad.”

  “Confounded time for you to develop a sense of humor,” Granville growled. “What did my father want of you?”

  “He wanted to know my duties to the university—regarding my position as a tutor.”

  “And you told him—”

  “I informed His Lordship that the requirement for your degree was that you explain the ground of your claim to it by a writing to which I subscribe and then sen
d to the Master of Trinity. I explained that in the paper you will set out your pedigree in full, and I am required to shoulder the responsibility for its accuracy.”

  “Senseless procedure, conferring academic degrees because of who one’s father is with no requirement of earning it. And was he satisfied with your answer?”

  Peacock raised his thin eyebrows. “How could he be otherwise? The answer was quite precise.”

  “But did he quiz you on my attendance at chapel and lectures, upon my reading habits and, er, pastimes?”

  “I told him there were no requirements for you to attend to a daily schedule and that you did more reading than most of your rank. I have no personal knowledge of your other activities.”

  “Quite so. And he informed you, I have no doubt, that my brother, who is naturally of higher rank than I, applied himself so studiously as to obtain a double first at Oxford. And that while serving in Parliament, he continues his literary and scientific pursuits as well as working toward becoming an accomplished French and Italian scholar. And that this paragon has married the daughter of the first Marquess of Bute, a lady of great beauty and character.”

  Peacock paused, apparently choosing his words. “He mentioned that Lord Sandon is spending the holidays in Switzerland with the marquess’s family.”

  “Don’t spare my feelings, Cock. I can well imagine the homily he treated you to. Don’t mistake me. Sandon is a fine fellow, much deserving of our father’s approbation. I like him myself in spite of having had him thrown at my head since I was in leading strings. I just can’t live up to his pattern card.”

  “There is no need for you to do so.”

  Granville snorted. “Tell that to my honorable father!”

  “You’d best tell him yourself. He said I was to send you to him.”

  Granville strode through the Red Room and entered the East Room, which the duke used as his private study. The room was so filled with family portraits that Granville felt as if he were on public trial. He stifled the thought, knowing that a public trial could be far preferable to a private interview with Lord Harrowby.

  “I wish to inform you first, Granville, that I have discharged your debt to Lord Calthorpe.”

  “Confound it, Father! I pay my own debts!”

  “Not when they are contracted with my friends under dishonorable circumstances. Sit down, Granville.”

  Granville sat. “I wish you to understand, Father, that the circumstances were the height of folly, of which I am profoundly ashamed, but they were not dishonorable.”

  “Indeed. It strikes me that you have a remarkable sense of honor. To spend the night in the company of what is generally known, I believe, as a bird of paradise is sufficiently debased in itself, but then not to be able to settle your account—”

  “That is not how it was, Father. But if you wish to take Lord Calthorpe’s word over mine, there is nothing I can say to it. I shall send you a draft to repay your outlay on my behalf.”

  “That will not be necessary. We shall consider the matter closed between us. What concerns me far more than the money is the behavior. How a son of mine—a Ryder—could be such a wastrel, so prodigal of the talents the Lord has given him…”

  “Are you quite sure He has endowed me with any, Father?”

  “Nonsense, Granville. All that is required is to cease these coltish indulgences and set yourself a worthwhile course.”

  Here was more than Granville had hoped for in this interview—a chance at least to mollify, if not actually satisfy, his father. “I have, Father. I am determined to serve in Parliament.”

  But this announcement did not draw the hoped-for response. “Poppycock! You young cub, do you propose to prepare yourself to serve God and country in that high position by playing at cards, drinking to excess, and attending horse races with fashionable impures?”

  Granville stiffened, his hand tightening on the arm of his chair until his knuckles whitened. For a moment his eyes blazed. Then with barely controlled effort, he lowered his gaze and unclenched his fingers. “You quite mistake the matter, sir.”

  Lord Harrowby rubbed his forehead with the knuckles of his left hand, closing his eyes briefly. “I spoke too harshly. It is a failing of mine.”

  Shocked at what almost amounted to an apology, Granville remained silent as his father massaged his head again.

  “If you think to fill Sandon’s shoes, you must depress your animal spirits, attend to your studies no matter how little the university requires of you, cease your indulgence in worldly amusements, and fraternize with friends of higher mind.”

  Granville jumped to his feet, barely able to keep his clenched fists stiffly at his side. “I have no desire to fill Sandon’s shoes. It is my own shoes I wish to fill.”

  “I can see that I have angered you, and that was not my intention. But there is one more matter I must mention, of more import than all others. I would be unfit to call myself a father if I did not adjure you to look to your soul. If you are thinking of being worthy of public service, as indeed I hope you are, I should remind you of what Wilberforce has said: ‘Submission to Christ is a man’s most important political as well as religious decision.’”

  “Thank you, Father. I am not likely to forget it.” Still white around the mouth, Granville bowed and left the room.

  His tutor was waiting in the library. “How soon can you be packed, Peacock? I would like to leave within the hour.”

  In less than sixty minutes, after thanking his hostess, penning a short farewell to Georgiana, and taking affectionate leave of his mother, Granville tossed his luggage into his phaeton and sprang his pair toward the gatehouse. Only once did he pause—to look up at Georgiana’s rooms where the half-lowered curtains looked back at him ominously.

  He clutched the reins, recalling the times in recent days when he had longed to take Georgiana into his arms and tell her all he felt. Even now he yearned to turn his team and go to her. Yet he knew he must restrain himself. He had no assurance that her feelings toward him matched his. And even if he could be sure, he wasn’t ready to receive her affection. Until he could be assured of God’s acceptance, he could seek no other.

  Behind her half-curtained windows, Georgiana sat propped up in bed, still holding Granville’s farewell note. Looking out the window at the driver below, she wished she could read his thoughts. She followed him down the lane with her eyes. Then as he turned through the gate, she followed him with her heart.

  Where was that faith her mother said had always come to her so naturally? Yes, Lord, I do believe that you are above all, that you will make everything turn out right. Only help me to do what pleases you.

  Fifteen

  The skiff of snow on the frozen quad of Trinity College and the barren branches of the trees on the Backs matched Granville’s icy determination as he crossed the path to attend his maths lecture. The fact that a solid classical education had produced England’s greatest lawyers spurred him on. He had declared himself to his father and had bargained with God for Georgiana’s health—two acts that precluded any possibility of his going back to his former lifestyle.

  “Ryder!” Freddie Perkins’s jovial voice rang on the frosty air. “Missed you at Combi. Strange notion you’ve taken—all this studying. Club at Merry’s tonight.”

  The thought was tempting. Granville hesitated. “Sorry. Need to read.”

  “Peacock on his high ropes again? Shouldn’t let him bear-lead you.”

  “No, it’s not my crammie. I, er, promised someone else.”

  “Rich aunt threatened to cut the purse strings?”

  Granville shook his head. “You’re out there, Perkins, but I can’t explain now.” He strode on with the chill wind whipping his black academical about his knees, leaving Freddie looking perplexed. It was several weeks into term now, and he had not missed a lecture or a chapel service. Nor had he found peace or contentment in his new regimen.

  So why not just one night with his friends? Surely God didn’t require t
hat he become a hermit—a recluse with no friends or pleasures. It often occurred to him lately that perhaps the fault was not with himself but with God—the divine requirements were simply unreasonable. Depressing thought because logic dictated that if unreasonable, then unreachable.

  Later that night, however, when he finally surrendered to Freddie’s urgings and went to Merry’s, he found that the scene, so like that of the numerous nights he had spent in the preceding terms, offered little satisfaction. “What you need, Ryder, is more port. Loosen you up. Relax you,” Freddie said.

  “Gloucestershire must be excessively cold country. You haven’t thawed out since you came back from holiday.” Merry sloshed a bit over the brim as he refilled Granville’s glass.

  “Want to play for pound points?” Lord Hervey called them back to the whist game.

  Badly dipped from unlucky punting, as the cards never did fall out for him, and with an aching head from the unaccustomed amount of strong port he had consumed, Granville sat in morose depression in chapel the next morning. The fact that the sermon was to be preached by his old acquaintance, Charles Simeon, was Granville’s only inducement to stay awake. Furthermore, Simeon’s announced title, “Despondency Reproved,” had a certain autobiographical appeal to Granville.

  Simeon’s opening statement startled Granville. “Nothing is more common than for men to cast reflection upon God when the fault is wholly in themselves. The ungodly world, when urged to devote themselves to God, will allege that those commands are themselves unreasonable because it is not in their power to obey them. Thus they cast the blame not on themselves for the inveteracy of their evil habits and the alienation of their hearts from God, but upon God Himself as requiring too much at their hands.”

  Granville sat forward. Not twenty-four hours ago those very thoughts had entered his mind.

  “We withdraw from a belief in God for fear that our sins will be exposed. Doubt becomes the defense of a guilty, non-trusting soul.”