My Notorious Gentleman (8 page)

Grace flinched as if she had been struck, then looked away; she pursed her lips to stop herself from responding in a manner that neither Papa nor his Employer would condone.

It was then, scanning the countryside while avoiding Callie’s glance, that Grace spotted Bitsy’s twin brothers near the tree line of a meadow belonging to the Grange.

Two little heads were peeking over a thick fallen log.

What are they doing?
It seemed the twins’ adventure of the day was spying on the spy.

Grace rolled her eyes and all but despaired.
He’s going to hate it here even if he does take the place.

In a village of less than five hundred souls, everyone knew everything about everyone else, or found out eventually. The ex-spy was completely unprepared for the loss of anonymity he was about to experience.

“I don’t see why you’re making such a fuss over my going to meet him. I was only trying to be friendly.”

“You and every other woman on the earth,” Grace muttered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Callie, when I saw him in London, the man was under siege from a dozen ladies all making cow eyes at him, much like you were doing today—”

“Was not!”

“And he hated it. When we talked privately, he made fun of them to me. He called them carnivores. Is that how you want him to see you, too?”

“Carnivores?” she exclaimed, but finally a glimmer of understanding about her overreach seemed to dawn on her, and she began to panic. “But I wasn’t throwing myself at him!” she cried.

“That’s certainly what it looked like,” Grace said evenly.

“You’re just jealous because he was paying more attention to me than he was to you!”

Grace glanced at her in surprise. “Couldn’t you see you were annoying him?”

“Well, I never!” Callie said with a gasp. “How could you say such a thing to me? For your information, sorry to say, he told me he didn’t even remember meeting you!”

Grace paused in shock. “He said that?”

The hurt was swift and terrible—but she looked away, rather stunned, then told herself it was of no consequence.

She had no daft romantic imaginings for herself about Lord Trevor. None that she’d admit to, anyway.

She’d be a fool to expect anything more than the sort of warm, cheerful friendship that she had with George.

Of course, George had never kissed her passionately in a darkened room . . .

Callie cast her a nervous, sideways glance, a trace of guilt in her eyes after her spiteful comments.

Bitsy looked from one lady to the other in concern, then took hold of Grace’s hand.

After a moment, Grace found her voice again. “I don’t think you understand the situation, Calpurnia. As I’m sure you’ve noticed from going on the charity calls with me, many of the peasant men around here are out of work. If Lord Trevor takes the Grange and gets the farm operational again, he’ll need all sorts of laborers and servants. The poorer families in our village will be able to make a living again. You see? It will be best for all of us.

“That’s why I didn’t want you scaring him away by acting too forward. We must show more decorum.” Grace hesitated but decided to share her heart. “Frankly, Callie, you’re our best hope of a man like that settling down in Thistleton. You’re the most beautiful girl in the village. If anyone could give him a reason to move here, it would be you. But he’s not going to want you if he thinks you’re just a cake-head. He’s been everywhere, done everything; he’s seen it all. He can’t be bothered with immaturity. Do you understand?”

With a rare, troubled look, Callie slowed the carriage, drawing her pony to a halt when they reached the bottom of the shady drive up the parsonage. “I never thought of it like that. That I might have . . . a responsibility.”

“I know.”

“Do you really think I’ve ruined it for the whole village already?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

“But I didn’t mean any harm!”

“Of course you didn’t. Darling, it’s lovely to be friendly, but all I’m saying is that we must not be intrusive. The man’s been through a
war.
If he moves into the village, we’ll need to respect his privacy, not crowd him. Let him come to us, if and when he’s ready. We’re going to have to be patient.”

Callie winced. They both knew this was not her strong suit. “I
am
sorry; I didn’t mean to bother him.” She lowered her head with a chastened pout but finally seemed to get the point. “You really think I made a fool of myself?”

Grace said nothing for a moment, letting her draw her own conclusions. Then she shrugged. “Maybe a match is possible between you; maybe it’s not. Only time will tell.”

The young belle seemed bewildered. “Gentlemen don’t usually find me annoying! I’m sure that one little visit from me would not have chased him off, surely.”

“I suppose we’ll soon find out. What’s done is done. Until then, we won’t know his decision about the farm until he makes it.” Hoping that this small taste of rejection would not simply spur Callie to chase him harder in the future, Grace glanced toward the drive up to the parsonage. “I’ll walk from here. Can you take Bitsy home on your way? Her mother will be wondering where she is.”

Callie nodded absently, still pondering the error of her ways with a look of distraction.

Grace said good-bye to Bitsy with a gentle half hug around her shoulders. “You go with Miss Callie, little duck. See you tomorrow?”

Bitsy nodded, still twirling the daisy that Lord Trevor had given her.

“Don’t drive too fast,” Grace instructed as she got down from the gig. “One good bump, and this little one could go flying.”

“I
know.
” Calpurnia turned to make sure Bitsy was safe in the back, then hesitated, eyeing Grace reluctantly. “I didn’t really mean it when I called you an old maid. You know that, right?”

Grace forced herself to nod as she cupped her hand over her brow to visor her eyes from the sun. “Of course.”

A pastor’s daughter had no choice but to forgive.

“Good.” Callie nodded back, avoiding her gaze, then clucked to her horse. “Well, good-bye, then.”

Grace remained standing for a moment in the intersection of the country road and the drive up to the parsonage. She watched them go jaunting away, and after a moment, glanced back at the Grange.

Did he really forget even meeting me?

Every shy, plain, too-tall bone in her body tended to believe it, but her heart argued that such a claim was impossible.
Don’t forget, we are dealing with a spy,
she reminded herself.
What he says is not necessarily what he thinks or what he means.

Which was troubling in itself for a woman who valued honesty. On the other hand, he had been rather forthright with her ever since she had jabbed him with her hairpin.

She smiled at the memory.

Finally starting to recover from the verbal punch in the gut Callie had given her, she certainly didn’t think he had acted like a man who had forgotten her.

Indeed, she dared to think he had seemed as happy to see her again as she was him. But maybe that was just vanity on her part, wishful thinking . . .

Grace heaved a sigh, then she turned and started walking up the drive, wondering if he was really about to become her next-door neighbor.

It was going to be agony waiting to hear his decision, but she vowed that whatever happened, she’d wear the mask of her usual decorum, never mind the fact that inwardly, she felt as giddy over his arrival as Callie had outwardly behaved.

Chapter 6

D
inner was pushed back as late as possible at the parsonage, and still Lord Trevor did not come.

Grace nearly jumped out of her slippers every time she thought she heard him at the door, but it was only the night breeze. She could not seem to settle down. She tried to quiet her mind by sewing, but nerves made her all thumbs, until she finally cast her needlework aside.

Lud, she hated waiting for a man. It was a lowly, vulnerable feeling. First, she had waited a week and a half for him to appear, and now here she was once more, sitting around wasting time and hoping he’d show up soon.

No wonder his gorgeous ex-fiancée had grown tired of it, Grace mused.
She
had waited years for him, poor woman.

Then Grace wondered uneasily if Lady Laura was still in love with him. Surely a woman that beautiful would only have to snap her fingers to get him back.

Maybe she’d jilt her new fiancé to honor her original betrothal. Maybe they’d reunite.

The thought depressed Grace though she knew it shouldn’t. It was really none of her business.

At length, the sky began to darken to a deep rich blue; the chill of evening crept into the air; and the night birds warbled. It was eight in the evening when the two hungry Kenwoods finally gave up on their guest and sat down to dinner.

Mrs. Flynn, their cook and housekeeper, served a fine country meal of roasted chicken with buttered red potatoes and turnips, along with a side helping of string beans sprinkled with delicious-smelling bacon.

Grace masked her disappointment, keeping a smile on her face by dint of will as her father led a quick prayer before the meal.

“Amen.”

“Perhaps he feared he’d inconvenience us by coming late,” Papa spoke up, “and decided to eat at the Gaggle Goose. I would expect that he’s staying the night there.”

Grace stopped, startled by this possibility. It promptly wound her stomach in a knot.

Dear God, she thought.
Marianne.

If his encounter with the bubbly, golden Callie had not been hard enough to watch, Grace did not even want to contemplate him meeting the sultry Marianne, who worked in the tavern at the coaching inn.

The ex–soiled dove had talents, Grace surmised, that no decent woman could compete with. Indeed, she had been the cause of Callie’s fight with George.

Grace took a sip of her wine to calm her fleeting, panicked reaction to the likelihood that Marianne was probably waiting on Lord Trevor even at this moment—in whatever capacity.

“Yes,” she forced out at last with admirable calm. “You’re probably right.”

After that, it was easy to becalm herself by simply giving up on him. He wasn’t coming, and that was that.

He was probably rolling around in bed with Marianne already.

For her part, it was time to stop acting like another cake-head, Grace thought sternly. Bad enough that a belle of eighteen like Callie should make such a henwit of herself over a handsome neighbor who might or might not be moving in. In her own, older, wiser self, such flutterings were disgraceful.

Inexcusable, really. Yes, he was handsome, worldly, kind to children, but so what?

And yet, she had to admit, it did seem quite his
style
to leave like a rudesby without even saying good-bye, especially after he had smiled at her so fondly. Of course, he
had
told Callie that he barely remembered meeting her . . .

Grace did not know what to think, but she hated that it mattered so much to her.

Thankfully, her father’s soothing presence and ordinary conversation about simple things restored a sense of normality to her overwrought day. After a while, she became herself again in the sheer routine of the evening.

Silly, girlish suspense had nearly robbed her of her appetite, but once she had concluded that the worldly ex-spy had forgotten about two such inconsequential folk as a country pastor and his too-tall daughter, then she made a decision to forget about him, too. Finally, she was able to eat. No man was worth such giddiness when there was such tender, juicy chicken on one’s table. He could go hang.

She felt let down, of course, and foolishly neglected, but disappointment was better than nerve-racking obsession over a man she barely knew. His decision about the Grange was his own affair.

Where the wandering ex–Order agent chose to put down roots at last—if he ever did—had nothing to do with her. If he moved in, she would be a good neighbor, but this sort of reaction to him was idiotic on her part and must stop.

Back to her calm, grounded self, she made a point of enjoying the meal she had ordered especially for their absent guest. The food was delicious, and too bad for him that he was missing out. Still, it amazed her that a duke’s son should have such shockingly bad manners.

At last, she and Papa finished their meal and repaired to the terrace to enjoy the evening air. They sat in their usual, outdoor, wooden chairs, chatting idly and watching the moths throng the lantern hung nearby on a shepherd’s hook.

“I wonder if George is behaving himself after your last lecture,” she remarked, and it was at that moment, just when she finally managed to distract herself altogether from the topic of Lord Trevor Montgomery, that, naturally, he arrived.

Grace went rigid and felt her heart give a kick like a mule in her chest at the distant sound of a polite knock on the front door. She gripped the chair arms to stop herself from leaping to her feet and rushing to answer it personally. That would not do. Heart pounding, she reminded herself sternly of her decision to keep her head about her; she also recalled his aversion to overly forward women. Indeed, a decorous cordiality was a more fitting reception for a national hero come to call.

Mrs. Flynn went to answer the door and a moment later, showed their visitor out onto the terrace.

Papa rose to greet him. “Aha, Montgomery! There you are at last! We’ve been expecting you. Good to see you again, m’boy.”

“I’m so sorry to call on you so late, Reverend. I don’t wish to disturb you and Miss Kenwood at this hour, but I at least wanted to stop by—”

“Nonsense,” Papa cut him off. “No apologies needed. We are happy you could join us. Have you eaten?”

“Actually, no,” he admitted ruefully, “I haven’t had a chance—”

“Ah, lured in from the darkness by the smell of a good meal,” Grace teased with an arch of her brow. “Mrs. Flynn, would you bring our guest his plate?”

“Honestly, I don’t wish to be a bother—”

“No trouble at all, sir,” the sturdy old woman told him. “Miss Kenwood had me put a plate of food together for you, just in case.”

He paused, as though startled to be treated more like family than a guest. “You’re too kind,” he said to them all with a tentative smile.

“Sit, please.” Her father gestured toward the chairs.

Grace had remained seated and inclined her head when Trevor bowed to her. “Miss Kenwood.”

“My lord,” she answered, fighting for all she was worth against the instant return of her wild overreaction to this man. “Would you like to dine al fresco or shall we return to the dining room?” she asked.

“This is perfect,” he replied. “Beautiful night.”

“Indeed. Do bring his plate out here, Mrs. Flynn, would you?”

“Aye, Miss.” The cook nodded, beaming at their handsome visitor, then she went to get his waiting, covered plate back out of the cold cellar.

Papa returned to his seat again, and Lord Trevor took the chair opposite Grace.

She was grateful that the moonlight hid her usual blush, a pattern that was getting rather tedious by now, yet she was acutely aware of him, his magnetic presence, the broad-shouldered size of him, the warmth that emanated from his big, muscled body. His scent, too. He smelled of sunshine and hard, dusty masculinity.

“Well, young man? Don’t keep us in suspense. What is your verdict on the Grange? I fear my daughter will burst if you don’t tell us.”

“Papa!”

Trevor leaned back in his chair, obscuring his wry smile with his hand for a moment as he held her gaze in amusement. “Will she, indeed?”

“No! I’m sure it’s of no consequence to me,” Grace averred, but she saw that
he
saw the sparkle in her eyes.

He just looked at her as if he had all the time in the world.

“Oh, come!” she ordered at length.

He grinned. “My friends, you are looking at the new owner of the Grange.”

Grace let out a wild gasp, lifted her fingers to her lips, and stared at him in amazement.

“Excellent! Well done, sir!” As Papa rose from his chair to shake his hand and officially welcome him to Thistleton, she felt the very earth tilt on its axis.

It was really happening. She couldn’t believe it.

After ten days of waiting and wondering if she would ever see him again, not to mention the past couple of hours of agonizing anticipation, she could hardly believe that Lord Trevor Montgomery was about to become her next-door neighbor.

To be sure, life in Thistleton would never be the same.

When he turned to her, his brow furrowed in curiosity at her silence, she abruptly found her tongue.

“Congratulations,” she forced out calmly.

“Why, thank you, Miss Kenwood.” Then he turned to her father. “A few of the old documents we needed were missing. That’s what took so long. But I think we’ve got it all sorted now.”

“Old as that property is, I’m not surprised,” Papa said. “The Grange needed someone like you, Montgomery. With the energy of youth, adequate resources, and the time for such a project.”

“Thanks. The house needs a lot of work, of course, but I’m really looking forward to the challenge. You’ve got a lovely little village here.”

“It is very dear, isn’t it?” her father fondly agreed, the lines in his smiling face illumined by the lantern. “Of all the parishes where I’ve ministered, this one has truly become home to us more than the rest did. Isn’t that right, Grace?”

“Yes, Papa,” she said faintly, nodding. But she still could not escape her disbelief. Was this a dream? It felt unreal.

“Now, you know, of course, that anything you need, we’re glad to help. We’re just across the road. Come over anytime.”

“And you, as well, Reverend, and your daughter. In fact, that’s part of why I’m here. I’ll be heading back to Town to make the arrangements for my move. I wondered if either of you might need anything from London.”

“Why, that is terribly thoughtful of you, but I think we are all right. Grace?” her father prompted.

His considerate and highly practical offer snapped her out of her daze. “Er, no. Thank you.”

“Well, if anything occurs to you after I leave, you’re welcome to write to me. Here is my address in Town.”

As he handed her father a small slip of paper from his breast pocket, Grace caught her new neighbor’s glance—and held it a little too long.

“Well!” said the reverend. “This calls for a celebration. You both will join me in a glass of wine, won’t you?”

“Gladly,” Trevor assented.

Grace nodded, and Papa left them alone to fetch the wine.

Trevor turned and smiled at her when they were alone. Naturally, Grace blushed. It was all she ever seemed to do anymore, at least where he was concerned.

“Your father seems the best of men,” he informed her.

Grace smiled warmly. “He is.”

He sat back in his chair. “I don’t usually like most people right away.”

“Really?” she countered in amusement. “Well, he loves everyone. Even you.”

He gave a small half shrug, lowering his gaze. “I’m not sure he would if he knew what I did on my last mission.”

She met his probing glance with a questioning look.

“You do know what I am by now, don’t you, Miss Kenwood? You’ve probably heard. I mean, what I was.”

She managed an awkward nod. “George—Lord Brentford—told me.”

“Yes.” He let out a sigh, staring at his boots with his long legs outstretched before him. “The whole world seems to know the story of my life now, much to my dismay.”

Grace chose her words with care. “You must be very brave—”

“Oh God, don’t—please.”

The fleeting hint of desperation in his glance made her pause. “Pardon?”

“I was only doing my duty. And it usually wasn’t pretty, to say the least. Don’t give me praise I don’t deserve.”

She studied him, unsure what to make of the man. “Were you really recruited as a boy, like they say?”

“Yes.”

It was difficult to imagine. He was staring at her guardedly, his elbow resting on the chair arm, his chin propped on his thumb while his long, manly fingers obscured his lips.

“George said you know nine different ways to kill someone with your bare hands.”

He scoffed quietly and looked away.

“Is it true?” she persisted in a low tone.

“I never actually counted,” he said dryly.

She furrowed her brow, studying him. “You didn’t like working for the Order?”

“Sometimes it was fun.” His vigilant gaze scanned the tree line, as if out of habit.

“I see.” He was quite fascinating, she had to admit. “So, what did you do on your last mission that would make my father disapprove, dare I ask?”

“Accidentally blew up a church,” he replied. “But it was Catholic, if that matters.”

Grace looked at him in wry amusement. “At least it was an accident.”

“True.” He gave her a smile with a flash of relief in his eyes. “Usually, I enjoy the chance to blow things up, but that was most regrettable.”

Grace gazed at him in a mix of intrigue and humor. She had never expected to make a friend who enjoyed setting off explosives or had even
one
method of killing a foe with his bare hands.

“What?” he murmured, casting her an intimate smile.

Grace shook her head. “After the sort of adventures that you’re used to, I fear you are going to find our quiet country life extremely dull.”

He laughed softly, rested his head back against the chair, and gazed at the dark sky. “Miss Kenwood,” he replied, “at this point in my life, I’d welcome ‘dull’ with all my heart.”

Before she could work her nerve up to ask him what he had thought of Calpurnia, Papa returned with the wine, passed around their glasses, and offered up a toast. “To the new owner of the Grange!”