a long time,” Grace said, watching the woman’s face for any sign of revulsion.
“Oh, aye. He’s only a wee bit younger than I am. He was a lovely lad. Always had a kind word for the servants.”
Grace thought she must mean Amherst and said, “I was referring to Lord Merryton.”
Hattie looked up, surprised. “Aye, Lord Merryton.”
Grace blanched—Merryton, kind? There was suddenly so much she wanted to know, to arm herself against the devil. “It’s a beautiful house,” she said, avoiding Hattie’s steady gaze. “Quite far from town, however. I suppose his lordship is often away?”
“No, mu’um. Lord Amherst is rarely about, but Merryton, he remains here most of the year. Except when he travels to Bath. The family takes the waters there.”
Just as she’d feared, she’d be stuck in this wilderness, away from her mother and sisters, with perhaps an occasional trip to Bath. Grace pushed away from the door frame and walked to a window. She tried to see out, but the night was an inky black. “There must be quite a number of tenants,” she said with a sigh of tedium.
“I suppose, mu’um. The church pews are filled on Sunday, that’s all I know.”
In the mirror’s reflection, Grace could see Hattie holding up her black gown and eyeing it as if she were confused by it. Grace thought perhaps she might acquaint herself with this woman before she explained she’d married while in mourning. Put her best foot forward first, as it were. “Is there a village nearby?” she asked.
“Aye, Ashton Down. It’s a two-mile walk through the woods.”
Grace couldn’t imagine taking as much as a step into these dark woods. “Perhaps I shall walk there on the morrow,” she said, surprising herself. Apparently, she could imagine it if it meant escaping this bleak house and its bleaker master.
Hattie finished putting the clothing away, closed the doors of the armoire and turned around. “Mrs. Garland says to inquire if you will need me in the morning, mu’um,” she said.
“No, thank you. I shall be quite all right on my own.” Grace smiled.
“Very well. Mr. Cox, he’s to bring you a lady’s maid. His lordship said you must have one.”
“Why can’t it be you?” she asked Hattie.
The poor woman looked so shocked that Grace almost laughed. “Me!” Hattie said, glancing around the room. “I’m no lady’s maid, mu’um. I do the cleaning.”
“It’s not a science, Hattie. It’s really quite simple. Help button me up and pin up my hair. That sort of thing.”
“I...I don’t know, mu’um,” Hattie said. Her neck was turning red with her fluster.
“I shall speak to Mr. Cox,” Grace said confidently. She would not allow Hattie’s fluster to dissuade her. She liked the small woman. And she certainly didn’t want a girl from the village who would be as fearful of Blackwood Hall as Grace. She needed someone who understood this house and its master.
Grace put her arm around the woman’s bony shoulders and squeezed. “It will be quite all right, you’ll see. I’m very good at persuading gentlemen to my viewpoint.” She smiled, and thought the better of pointing out that the predicament in which she found herself just now was all the result of having persuaded a gentleman to meet her in the dark.
When Hattie had gone, Grace locked the door again, changed into her nightclothes, and when she’d finished her toilette, she climbed into the four-poster bed. But she couldn’t sleep; every creak, every moan, was Merryton coming to claim his conjugal rights. She closed her eyes, tried not to imagine him looming over her, his expression cold, his eyes shuttered. She tried not to imagine the number of lonely days and nights stretching before her in this house, with no society, no one to talk to, no one to advise her.
What a shambles you’ve made, Grace Elizabeth.
Thank you, but I am acutely aware, she silently responded to herself.
* * *
SHE AWOKE THE next morning feeling as if she hadn’t slept at all. She relinquished the last bit of pretense at mourning garb—it seemed ridiculous, given all that had happened. And it wasn’t as if anyone in society would see her here. There were far better things to gossip about now, weren’t there?
She dressed in a brown gown with a high neck and long sleeves, a somber color for her somber mood. She looked at the clock—it seemed that her eye found it every quarter hour. It was too early for breakfast, too early to walk. Grace decided to use the time to write Honor. She went into the sitting room that adjoined her bedroom and looked around. There was a pair of chairs before the hearth, the seats covered in the same chintz as the settee. Up against one long window was the writing desk Grace had seen yesterday. She opened the drawers, found vellum and ink and sat down.
My dearest Mrs. Easton, I assume this letter finds you well enough. You have succeeded in shocking me, as I am certain I have shocked you. I should like to think you’ve found your happiness in your foolishness, for I have found nothing but misery in mine. His lordship is aloof and somber, and he does not enjoy the slightest bit of conversation.
I have arrived at Blackwood Hall, and find it quite grim. There is no society, no one whom I may take in my confidence. The maid tells me the earl rarely leaves this place and I fear I shall never look upon the faces of my mother or my sisters again. I have never felt quite so alone or so foolish. You must advise me, Honor. Tell me how to bear it.
Before she knew it, Grace had filled two pages, front and back. She folded them together, sealed and addressed them and put it in her pocket to give to Mr. Cox. She glanced at the clock, saw that it was time for breakfast and, with trepidation, began her way downstairs.
Cox was in the corridor of the main floor and bowed when he saw her. “Shall I direct you to the breakfast room?”
“If you would,” Grace said. She followed him in a new direction, past more blank walls, more empty consoles. He opened the door of a room, and stepped aside to allow her entrance.
The room was small, the drapes pulled back to reveal a bright day. At a small round table in the center of the room, she saw one place setting, a vase with a pair of roses and a pot of tea. There was no evidence of Merryton, no evidence that anyone else would be dining here, save her.
She looked at Mr. Cox. “Where is his lordship?”
“He did not take breakfast this morning. Tea?”
“I will pour it, thank you,” Grace said, mildly annoyed that Merryton didn’t at least bother to greet her.
“The bellpull is just here,” Cox said, gesturing to the pull beside the door. He went out.
Grace looked at the sideboard, laden with enough food to feed four people, much less one. She walked to the window and looked out. The breakfast room overlooked a vast garden. The hedges had been planted into four series of scrolls, and at the center of each were rosebushes in full bloom. At the center of the garden was a large fountain. Beyond the garden, she could see a small lake, the path to it mowed and lined with more roses.
She helped herself to some toast and a spoonful of eggs,
