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The major leaned toward her, frowning. “I heard you haven’t been summoned from your room since we arrived.” Standing two steps above her, he seemed even more formidable. “That’s outrageous.”
Under his scrutiny, Anna drew in a bracing breath and somehow managed a light laugh. “I am certain Lady Greystone understood my need to recover from the journey. You cannot imagine how I appreciated the opportunity to rest.”
He relaxed a bit and his frown slowly faded, replaced by a sad smile. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?” He resumed his descent and she fell in beside him. “In fact, I’ve slept these two days myself.”
“Ah. Then you do feel better?”
By the time they reached the ground floor, their conversation had shifted to the safe topic of weather and hopes of spending time outside in the sunshine before winter closed in.
“Perhaps you can begin your riding lessons.” The major’s firm, well-formed lips quirked up on one side, and one eyebrow lifted. He was teasing her, just as Peter used to do, and her heart skipped.
In response, she shuddered comically. “And perhaps not.”
His laughter echoed throughout the hall just as they reached a door a footman held open for them. Anna surmised it was the breakfast room, for the aromas of coffee, sausages, eggs and freshly baked bread greeted her senses in the most pleasant way. Her stomach registered its request for satisfaction, and she hoped no one could hear. As she, the major and Matthews entered, the inhabitants seated at the dining table turned as one. Two gentlemen stood and offered enthusiastic greetings to the major.
“Here comes the hero.” The man at the head of the table, surely the viscount, strode toward them. As tall as the major and equally well-proportioned, he might have been a twin save for his sky-blue eyes.
“Brother.” The second man, almost a triplet except for his lighter brown hair, also approached him. “Welcome home.” Anna assumed this gentleman was the cleric Major Grenville had spoke of during their journey.
Lady Greystone, seated at the foot of the table, regarded them through her quizzing glass. “It is past time you put in an appearance, Edmond.” Her stare landed briefly on Anna, and her lips curled up with distaste before she turned back to her youngest son. “What, pray tell, did you find so humorous before you entered the room?”
* * *
Edmond ignored Mother’s question, choosing instead to plunge into the embrace of his two older brothers. “Greystone. Richard.” Much backslapping and many endearing insults ensued while the brothers reestablished the bond that had been their lifeline since they were boys. Separated by mere fourteen-month intervals, they now appeared very near the same age, or so it seemed to Edmond.
“So, Greystone, what news from Parliament? Have you saved the country from the French yet?”
The viscount waved away the question. “You first. You must tell us about the war in America.”
“Only after I congratulate Richard for his ordination.” With the hope that no one would ask him about the war again, at least not in Miss Newfield’s company, Edmond clapped a hand on his middle brother’s shoulder. “Do you have a living yet?”
Richard glanced in Mother’s direction. “Um, well—”
“Never mind,” Edmond murmured. No doubt Mother was directing Richard’s appointments as she did his own. “You can tell me later.”
“Yes, well.” Greystone gripped Edmond’s arm. “Richard, you must present our baby brother to our new sister.”
“Ah, I’d heard that you married.” Edmond followed Richard to the table, where a pretty and very expectant young lady stood, a light blush coloring her pale cheeks. “Mary, may I present my brother Edmond of His Majesty’s Royal Dragoons.”
“Mrs. Grenville.” Edmond bent over her offered hand, while she dipped an unsteady curtsey and then leaned against Richard. The tender look that passed between them sent a strange longing through Edmond, even as he rejoiced in his brother’s happiness. “What a lovely addition to our family. Welcome.”
“Thank you, Major. You must call me Mary.”
“And I am Edmond.” He glanced at Mother, who sat observing the melee with her usual imperious facade. Was she pleased at the prospect of her first grandchild? He walked around the table and kissed her cheek. “Good morning, madam.”
“Humph.” While she did not rebuff him, she also did not return his kiss. “Sit down and eat. The sooner you regain your strength, the sooner you can return to duty.”
Not if he could sell his commission and resume his study of law. “Yes, madam.” As he moved toward his assigned seat where he had eaten many a meal while growing up, he noticed Miss Newfield still standing by the door. Remembering Mother’s neglect, he started to invite the young lady to the table.
“Come, come, Newfield.” Mother whipped her hand in the air, summoning her and indicating her place adjacent to the foot of the table in one gesture. “Here beside me.”
“Yes, my lady.” Miss Newfield’s voice was strong and confident. With a grace worthy of an aristocrat, she sat in the chair pulled out by the footman. Once again Edmond experienced no shame for bringing the lady to his mother, for she had not cowered in the midst of the family chaos. Seated beside her, he offered a smile, to which she responded in kind.
When a footman brought serving dishes, Edmond saw the hesitation in the lady’s eyes. Directing the man with a tilt of his head, he demonstrated how to serve his own plate. She followed suit, smiling her appreciation of the silent lesson. During their journey he had learned of her limited experience with servants, so he must look for opportunities to inform her of how to accept their service.
“This is my new companion,” Mother said amidst the flurry of breakfast being distributed around the table. “Her name is Newfield.” She took a sip of coffee. “Now, today I should like—”
The door opened and Johnson brought in the mail on a silver tray. He paused and glanced between Mother and Greystone, then carried the tray to the viscount. Edmond guessed the senior servants were often confused when Greystone was in residence, for Mother had ruled the house since Father had died some twenty-three years ago. When Greystone reached his majority six years ago, other than his entering Parliament, nothing changed. But then, Edmond’s eldest brother had always been an agreeable fellow, taking Mother’s dominance in stride.
When Johnson delivered the tray to Greystone, Edmond experienced a hint of satisfaction. Then a hint of shame. Scripture instructed a man to honor his parents, but it was rarely an easy task with Mother.
“Ah, good news.” Greystone held up a letter. “Uncle Grenville is coming for a visit. Should arrive the first week in November.”
“What?” Mother set down her coffee cup with a clink. “How dare he invite himself—”
“Not at all.” Greystone raised a hand to stop her. “I invited him.”
“You invited him?” Mother breathed out an angry sigh. “Well, then, I suppose I have no say in the matter.”
Edmond seized a bite of bread to keep from cheering. Perhaps Greystone was at last taking his rightful place as head of the family.
Greystone did not respond, but Richard, ever the peacemaker, leaned toward Mother. “You began to tell us your plans for the day. Is there any way Mary and I may help?”
Mother answered with one of her impatient “harrumphs,” and everyone fell to eating with no further comments.
Edmond’s thoughts darted here and there with unreasoning emotion not far behind. Perhaps Uncle Grenville’s visit was an answered prayer, if one could call a man’s fervent hopes a prayer. Father’s younger brother was a London barrister, Edmond’s desired profession. He had begun his law studies at Oxford until Mother insisted upon his joining the dragoons. How little she knew about her youngest son, for he would far rather face courtroom battles than the military sort. But the prospect of gaining his uncle’s patronage sent hope bubbling up in Edmond’s chest, and he coughed to clear his throat rather than choke on a bite of sausage.
Eyebrows lifted, Miss Newfield glanced his way as if trying to discern his distress. He returned a small shrug to dismiss her concern, adding a slight grin to show his appreciation. In every way this young woman exuded kindness, and he prayed Mother would not destroy her gentle spirit.
* * *
“Newfield.” Lady Greystone’s sharp tone cut into the silence that had descended upon the breakfast table. “Your mourning attire is incomplete.”
Anna glanced down at her dull black bombazine gown, but resisted touching her hair to see if any strands had escaped their pins. “Forgive me, my lady. I will be happy to—”
“Your black bonnet will do for out of doors, but when you are indoors you must wear a black lace or crepe scarf.” Lady Greystone eyed her briefly before returning to her eggs. “I shall have Hudson find something for you.”
Anna had yet to meet Hudson, but she knew her to be Lady Greystone’s lady’s maid. “I thank you—”
“This afternoon we will make our rounds of the village. Wear your walking shoes.” Her perpetual frown deepened. “You do have walking shoes?”
“Yes, my lady.” Anna’s heart lifted. Perhaps she would find people to whom she could minister in the village, as she had in Blandon.
“Edmond, you will accompany us.” The viscountess eyed her son as if daring him to decline.
The major did not respond immediately, but at last said, “It will be my pleasure.”
Relief and concern vied to dominate Anna’s thoughts. How good it would be to have the major along, but only if he could manage the walk. A quick glance in his direction revealed a clenched jaw, thinned lips and eyes focused on his nearly empty plate. In her short acquaintance with him, she had noticed this response when a situation met his disapproval. Surely his mother would be sympathetic to his pain, should the outing prove too arduous.
“If you please, madam.” Seated across the table from Anna, Mary Grenville gave Lady Greystone a hopeful smile. “May I accompany you as well?”
Anna could see the longing in the young woman’s eyes. Was she a kindred spirit with a desire to minister to the less fortunate?
“Nonsense.” Lady Greystone spread a thin layer of strawberry preserves on a piece of bread. “Over that rocky terrain in your condition? I’ll not lose my grandson to your whimsy.”
Disappointment clouded Mary’s face. Richard reached over to squeeze his wife’s hand. “Never mind, my darling. We’ll take a turn or two around the gallery after breakfast.”
At the other end of the table Lord Greystone and Major Grenville talked in low tones. Yet without any effort, Anna heard the major say “Newfield,” “saber” and “no doubt killed.”
“What are you discussing?” Frowning, Lady Greystone eyed her sons.
The two men exchanged a look Anna could not discern. Then Lord Greystone glanced at Anna before he addressed his mother. “Edmond was just telling me about the gallant officer who saved his life and, um, was—” He cleared his throat. “Miss Newfield’s brother.”
“Hmm. Oh, yes.” Lady Greystone dabbed her lips with a napkin. “I believe you mentioned that the other evening.” She, too, glanced at Anna. “Clearly the man knew his duty.”
Tears threatened, so Anna pulled in a deep, quiet breath, even managing a nod toward the viscountess. But she studiously avoided the sympathy she’d seen emanating from Major Grenville’s handsome face, for his kindness could prove her undoing.
Chapter Six
The mid-October breeze was brisk and biting, but nothing like the North Atlantic winds that had buffeted the ship bringing Edmond home to England. With his cape drawn close around him and his hat firmly in place, he fended off the chills that had plagued him during the voyage. But he did lean heavily on his cane and Matthews’s arm while trying to avoid dips in the uneven ground, all the while endeavoring not to grunt with every painful step.
Ahead, basket in hand, Mother marched along the woodland path with Miss Newfield striding along behind her like a good soldier, another basket over her arm. The young lady possessed a carriage much like her brother’s, yet in every way feminine, an elegant posture devoid of arrogance, her chin held high, as if she was looking forward to reaching her destination. Occasionally she glanced back and smiled, although her eyes expressed her concern for Edmond.
Under her kind scrutiny, he refused to falter. Instead, by force of will, he gazed at the pale blue sky and the brilliantly hued trees showing off their autumn colors. The leafy, musty scents of the forest filled his senses, reminding him of childhood games with his brothers. Mother had never permitted her sons to fight or even wrestle, but hidden from her and their tutor among these trees, they could wrestle as much as they liked. And it was here they imagined many adventures to come. Yet how differently each of their lives had turned out.
The little village had not changed. From the farrier’s cluttered stable to the shopkeeper’s tidy window displays, not a horseshoe or bonnet seemed to have moved. Only the children appeared different. The lads who’d once chased each other about the rutted street were no doubt in school or working in the fields beside their fathers, and their youngest brothers now stirred up the lane with their dusty games. The sameness of Greystone Village, which used to bore Edmond, now awoke a longing within his heart. Despite their unremarkable lives, these country folk had a certain security which seemed to define their character. They grew up knowing where they belonged and what they would do with their lives, whereas uncertainty had plagued Edmond since he first realized he would have to find his own way in the world.
Not until he began his law studies at Oxford had he discovered his true passion. But Mother had decided law was an inferior profession for the youngest brother of a viscount. When she learned that Arthur Wellesley, an earl’s fourth son, had received his own title, political prestige and a vast fortune during his service in India, she declared that Edmond must obtain an officer’s commission in the army. She paid for it herself, less a generous gesture than simply another means of controlling one of her sons. He’d had two choices: accept her offer or become dependent upon his eldest brother’s charity.
Of course Edmond rebelled, but after a misspent Season in London for which he still felt much guilt and had many regrets, his godly middle brother had brokered a truce. A surrender, actually, for Edmond had capitulated to all of Mother’s demands. But although he had managed to pay off his gambling debts, his service in America had brought neither fortune nor prestige, only wounds that matched the scars on his soul.
“What a charming village.” Miss Newfield gazed about the scene as if surveying some grand garden. “So like Blandon in every way.”
“What?” Mother stopped her march and turned to glare at her.
Edmond caught up in time to see a slight blush touch the young lady’s cheeks. “Indeed? I suppose most English villages boast the same quaint scenery.” He hoped his cheerful tone would diminish her discomfort.
“We are not here to chitchat.” Mother resumed her march, not stopping until she reached a tiny redbrick house where smoke curled from the chimney. “Humph. A fire at midday in October? Such a waste.”
Edmond gritted his teeth. He would not be able to remain silent if she scolded the dear old pensioner who lived here, the woman who had been nurse to him and his brothers, supplying the love lacking from their only parent. While Richard had been the old woman’s favorite and no doubt the reason for his penchant for spiritual matters, Edmond and Greystone had adored her, too. If Mother refused to supply wood for her hearth, he would find a way to do it himself.
* * *
Cheered by Major Grenville’s pleasant rejoinder, Anna shrugged off her dismay over Lady Greystone’s reproach. Clearly she must not comment on anything unless asked. But, oh, how hard that would be when so many things sparked her interest, from the squirrels gathering acorns in the woods to the children playing outside the wood frame houses. Still, if she wished to be the best possible companion to the lady, performing her duties heartily as unto the Lord, then she must learn to remain silent.
Lady Greystone stopped at a singular brick house amongst the wooden ones and ordered the major to knock. Curiosity seized Anna. Who lived here, and why did they deserve such a superior, albeit small dwelling? She gave the major a questioning glance and was startled to see anger in his eyes. He looked her way and the anger disappeared, replaced by a wry grin and accompanied by a shrug.
The door was opened by an elderly, black-clad gentleman. The light in his pale blue eyes reminded Anna of Papá. In fact, his entire facade and bearing resembled a man of God.
Lady Greystone stepped back. “Mr. Partridge.” She peered beyond him into the dimly lit room. “Has Mrs. Winters—”
“No, no, madam.” The gentleman emitted a scratchy chuckle. “She is well enough for her many years.”
The major leaned toward Anna to mouth “the vicar.”
A bittersweet pang tore through her, but she forced a smile. Her intuition had been correct. But did he live here? Was this humble dwelling the vicarage? The church stood at the far end of the village, whereas her father’s church had been next door to their home. And she could not think a wealthy peer such as Lord Greystone would house his clergyman so meanly.
“Well,” Lady Greystone huffed. “Will you grant me entrance or not?”
“Of course, madam.” The vicar gave her a slight bow. The warmth in his eyes as he moved back revealed a respect uncluttered by trepidation.
The party moved into the room, except for Matthews, who waited outside.
“Now, Winters.” Lady Greystone approached a grey-haired woman hunched into an upholstered armchair. “What’s all this? Have you called the vicar for last rites?”
Anna could detect no kindness in Lady Greystone’s tone, but like the vicar, the old woman smiled without fear. Anna deposited the observation in her memory to consider later.
“No, my lady. Just holy communion. I cannot travel the distance to the church, so he brings it to me.”
Once again Anna felt a sweet pang of remembrance. Papá used to offer the same service to his elderly parishioners. Perhaps her emotions showed on her face, for Major Grenville gently squeezed her elbow as if he understood.
“Of course. Just as he should.” Lady Greystone sat in the straight-backed chair next to the old woman and set her basket on a battered side table. “Now, I have brought you some of Cook’s apple tarts, bread and lamb stew, along with a bit of tea and some cream.”
“All of that and cream, too? Oh, my lady, how grand.” Mrs. Winters’s eyes glistened. “Thank you.”
“Nonsense.” Lady Greystone clicked her tongue and her hawk-like features sharpened. “It is your due for faithful service, and my duty to provide it.”
“Yes, my lady.” Mrs. Winters adjusted her spectacles. “Is this my Edmond?” She reached out to the major. “Oh, dear boy, come close so I may see you.” Now her tears slipped down her wrinkled cheeks.
The major knelt by her chair. “Hello, my dear Winnie.” He kissed her cheek, and she patted his.
Watching the encounter, Anna’s heart performed a dozen somersaults. Not only was she touched by the major’s gentle gesture, but she also longed to know more about this old woman, more about the vicar. These were gentle souls, people to whom God had brought her that she might minister to them. Her grateful prayer was cut short when the old nurse’s gaze fell on her.
“And who is this lovely creature you have brought to me? Edmond, is this your bride?”
Laughter bubbled up inside of Anna over such a silly assumption, but the major jolted to attention, and shock covered his handsome countenance. “Why, no—”
Lady Greystone uttered a mild, unladylike epithet. “She is nothing of the sort. Nothing at all, really. My new companion, if she pleases me.”
The woman’s expression grew sober, except for her eyes, which danced merrily. “As you say, my lady.”
The major swallowed noisily next to Anna while his mother opened her basket. “As you already have an unseasonable fire burning, shall we have tea?”
“Ah.” Mrs. Winters turned her attention to that offer. “How lovely. Mr. Partridge, will you put on the kettle?”
“Nonsense.” Lady Greystone waved the vicar back to his chair. “Newfield, see to it.”
Grateful to be useful at last, Anna hurried to the small hearth where she dipped fresh water from a crock into a battered tin kettle, hung the kettle on the iron arm and swung the arm over the amber coals. A gentle stir with a poker ignited the flames, and soon steam wafted from the kettle spout. She hesitated before measuring tea leaves into the porcelain teapot. Did Lady Greystone like weak or strong tea? She glanced behind her to see the viscountess inspecting Mrs. Winters’s knitting project.
