“Not a dungeon at all. It consisted of monk’s cells originally, and with the new structure over it, it became a rabbit warren of storage rooms and a marvelous place for a boy and his imagination.”
“Even better!” She listened avidly and Caine saw yearning for a real home in her faraway look. The place where she had played, laughed and loved now belonged to someone else. Perhaps one day she could think of Wildenhurst as hers.
He continued, “I think of it as home. My father managed it for the earl until his death. As I said, it’s where I first saw light of day, where I lived until I went away to school and then where I took holidays. There are the greenest of hills to ride, a river at the back, trees in abundance and wildlife to watch. Gardens with flowers of every sort you can imagine.”
“I adore flowers,” she said, clasping her hands beneath her chin. “And herbs are a must. Is there an herb garden? Say there is or I shall make one for you.”
Caine searched his memory. “I believe so. Yes, I’m sure of it.” He went on. “The house itself is rather modest, comfortable and not too elegant, but with plenty of rooms. When I retreat to a place of peace in my mind, that is where I go.”
“Oh, I know I shall love it!” she exclaimed. “Your description makes it sound heavenly. Why would anyone ever leave it to come to Town?”
He laughed, quite liking her exuberance and her optimism. Caine could use a dose of both, and hers were infectious. “Well, there is the season, of course. And meetings in the House of Lords, though I’ve yet to experience that and hope I shan’t in the near future. Uncle could not attend this year, but remains in town now to be near his physician.”
“I see. Well, I do hope you may spend some days in the country to restore your sense of peace after your time at war. It would probably do you a world of good,” she said with a succinct nod.
He thought so, too, but did not see it as possible the way things were now. However, he agreed with her anyway. “I expect it would. You know you may take complete charge there if you like. My aunt has declared she will do no more with it. I think she always felt somewhat isolated in the country. For all intents and purposes, other than formally deeding it over, my uncle has consigned the place to me.”
“On condition that you marry,” she guessed with a wry purse of lips.
Caine nodded again. “With that stipulation, yes.” He looked at her. “Grace, I sincerely hope you will be content. And I thank you for accepting my offer. This cannot be easy for you and I do appreciate that.”
She laughed, a merry sound and not at all bitter. “I did admit I welcome a challenge. Here’s proof of it. I hope you will be happy, too. There. We have set our goals—contentment and happiness, each for the other. So be it. Now, if you would excuse me, I believe I shall visit the kitchens, nick some milk and biscuits and retire. I understand tomorrow is to be a busy day.”
Caine stood when she did and reached for her hands. “Good night, Grace. Sleep well.”
“Thank you. I’m very grateful,” she said with all seriousness. “I never thought to have such good fortune again in my life.” She gave his hands a fond squeeze and let go.
Caine watched her leave, wondering how he could have dreaded her company. No one could be less intimidating than Grace. Or less mad. Wardfelton was a bounder and ought to be hanged.
Chapter Five
Mrs. Oliver had managed to find her another more appropriate gown to wear, though gray seemed to be the signature color for the help hereabouts. For a price, one of Lady Hadley’s maids had parted with her Sunday best, a plain gray broadcloth with long fitted sleeves, a simple black pelisse and a close-fitting bonnet to match.
Grace met Morleigh at the earl’s chamber door, where she had been escorted by Mrs. Oliver. He knocked gently as he spoke to Grace. “Don’t be afraid,” he said, smiling. “I think he’s too weak to bite.”
She mustered a smile of her own as he ushered her into the room. “Uncle Hadley, Aunt Hadley,” he said in a formal tone, “May I present Lady Grace Renfair, my fiancée. Grace, Lord and Lady Hadley.”
“Come closer, gel,” the earl demanded just as Grace was in the midst of a deep curtsy. He beckoned clumsily, so she approached his bedside.
His lordship was a white-haired, florid-cheeked old fellow who had trouble breathing. He had a heart problem resulting in dropsy, Grace determined from the swelling in his arms and hands. That looked different from ordinary corpulence. His condition could probably be improved by a small concoction of foxglove. She had seen a number of gents in his fix when she had assisted her father in his practice.
It would be rude to suggest a dose of anything, however, since he had a physician in attendance who would surely take offense. The physician was frowning at her from his position in the corner of the room. Perhaps he wasn’t reading her mind, but only judging her state of health at the moment.
Caine must have noticed the interaction. “Pardon me. Lady Grace, Dr. Ackers, his lordship’s physician.”
The man bowed. “My lady.”
Grace nodded. “A pleasure to meet you, sir. My father shared your profession when we lived in Norfolk.”
“Renfair? Oh, my, yes!” The man’s eyebrows rose and his face livened with recognition. “I believe I knew him. James Renfair? He studied in Edinburgh?”
“Yes, he did!” Grace said, pleased to meet someone who had known her father.
The earl noisily cleared his throat, obviously to direct her attention back to himself. Grace immediately attended to her audience with the family, smiling her apology for the interruption to his lordship.
She did, however, decide on the instant that she would correspond with Dr. Ackers with regard to his knowing her father. And perhaps when they were better acquainted, see whether he would be willing to entertain Dr. Withering of Birmingham’s research papers on treatments of the heart. Her father had found them invaluable.
Her mother had objected to Grace helping her father at first, but Grace had explained how foolish it would be to forego the opportunity to learn as much as she could about healing and tending the sick if she was to run her own household one day. She wondered if she would have the opportunity to treat anyone where she was going or if they would simply think of her as a useless lady.
“How is it you met the boy?” the earl demanded, huffing as he peered up at her from beneath hooded and wrinkled lids.
“At Lord Cavanaugh’s ball, sir. He charmed me instantly.” Grace glanced nervously at the countess, who stood on the opposite side of the earl’s bed, studying her carefully.
The countess looked pleasant enough, not much younger than her husband, at least a stone too heavy but blooming with health. Her hair and eyes were both as dark as a Spaniard’s, though her complexion was very fair. Her mouth formed a little bow faintly lined with wrinkles. She wore a flattering green silk taffeta trimmed in black that was the height of fashion. Quite a beauty in her youth, Grace imagined.
“You are Wardfelton’s child?” she asked Grace.
“His niece, ma’am, though my father held that title before he passed on.”
