Not by Sight (20 page)

Sir Marcus cast a glance in the same direction, but it was a moment before he turned and narrowed his eyes at her. “What do you think it is, Miss Mabry?”

Grace felt Jack tense beside her. “Some sort of training, perhaps?” she said. “But I see trucks, so maybe they’re building something?”

“You could be correct,” Sir Marcus said.

She frowned. “Well, if they are doing construction of any kind, I hope they do not tamper with these lovely ruins. I would hate to see history destroyed.”

“Would you?”

She blinked at him. “What do you mean . . . ?”

“Shall we go back?” Jack gave her arm a gentle squeeze. Once they returned to the car, he commandeered his usual place in front, with Sir Marcus slipping into the back.

“I thought we were to take turns riding in front,” Sir Marcus said, and gave Grace a wink.

“You thought wrong,” Jack said. “And unless you care to visit a few more old places, I wish to return to the house.”

“I’ve seen enough,” Sir Marcus said.

“Very well. Miss Mabry, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“On our way.” Grace again detected tension between the two men as she quickly restarted the car. Once they returned to the manor, Sir Marcus exited first. “It’s been a delight, Miss Mabry.” He offered a slight bow. “Thank you for showing me the sights of Kent.”

“You’re most welcome, Sir Marcus.” Grace came around to open Jack’s door. “Shall I come around for you tomorrow, Lord Roxwood?” she asked, hoping he would say yes.

“I think not.”

She tried not to feel disheartened. Jack must entertain Miss Arnold and Sir Marcus, while she should help her friends in the fields.

“I’ll call for you in a few days,” he said in a low voice.

She felt a burst of pleasure at his words, looking forward to their next adventure. “Shall I take you as far as Scotland? We will have so many miles to make up for, after all.”

“Only if you promise to avoid the potholes.” At his smile, Grace’s heart melted. She would take him back to Eden and, being his eyes, paint the scene with such words that he might once again relive its beauty.

“You purposely baited her.” Jack seethed with fury a half hour later as he and Marcus stood behind the closed doors of his study. “You’re telling me the Roman ruins are the site of a secret underground Q port the Admiralty is building, and you took Grace there to . . . what? See if she’d confess to being a spy?”

“Easy, Jack,” Marcus said. “I admit, Miss Mabry appears to be all you told me, naïve but refreshingly candid. And I don’t detect any evasiveness about her. The bit about her patriotism seems real enough, with her own brother fighting at the Front.
But the Admiralty cannot take risks, despite your feelings or my own. And while she may be pleasing to the eye and quite likable, we must know beyond a doubt her purpose here. I find it hard to believe Patrick Mabry would bribe a clerk merely because he worries about his daughter’s welfare, not when construction of a new secret military port is fully under way. It would be a prize for the Germans if they knew about it.”

“How pleasing is she, Marcus?” Jack felt somewhat exposed by the question, yet his desire to know more about Grace overrode his pride.

“She is lovely, Jack,” Marcus said. “With hair a burnished shade of auburn and the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“The color of ivy?” He recalled Grace’s description.

“More like emeralds, I think.”

Jack’s heart thrummed in his chest.
Emeralds.
His mind flashed to the other image he kept tucked away, his goddess in green, her luminous eyes lit with passion as she’d slipped him a single white feather. A lifetime ago.

“Is Miss Mabry attracted to you?” he asked his friend.

“I noticed she looks at you a lot.”

Jack scoffed. “Haven’t you heard, Marcus? In the village I’m known as the Tin Man. They cannot help but gawk at me.”

“She wasn’t gawking,” Marcus said. “Look, even if she had been attracted to me, I much prefer gray eyes to green. And ebony locks to all that fire.” He chuckled. “Though Miss Clare Danner does seem to have some of that herself. I’m afraid she wasn’t too keen on my attentions. She practically ran from me when I introduced myself.”

Jack’s tension fled. So Marcus had set his sights on another woman—not Grace. “The famous Weatherford charm not working?” he said, amused.

“She only makes me more determined, not less, old boy,” Marcus said. “I shall win her over.”

“There’s to be a dance in the village tomorrow night for the local boys home on leave,” Jack said. “I’ve been told the ladies of the WFC will attend.”

“All of them? Good thing I planned to stay the weekend. I need a day or two just to recover from Paris.”

“You haven’t told me yet. How did the trial go?”

“Short,” Marcus said. “Only two days and they still didn’t come up with any concrete evidence. It was shoddily handled, but the jury convicted her as a spy nonetheless. Mata Hari will face the firing squad.”

The news left Jack cold. While he was prepared to go to any length to find new proof against Patrick Mabry and bring him to justice, the spy mania spreading across Europe disturbed him. When convictions were handed out because of fear or prejudice instead of proof, that meant no one was safe. “Remind me never to go back to France,” he said, half joking.

“Speaking of which, I need to make several calls to London. If you don’t mind, I’ll use your study,” Marcus said. “Meanwhile, you might deal with Violet. She’s champing at the bit to speak with you. Can’t put her off forever, you know. Care to tell me what it’s about?”

“She wants me to break off our engagement,” Jack said. “You recall her father shelled out quite a sum to my family before she and Hugh were to marry.” He sighed. “If I had inherited a windfall from a distant relation, I could have settled the debt and we wouldn’t be in this fix. Stonebrooke would remain solvent and Miss Arnold could have been saved from a ‘fate worse than death.’”

“She wants out, does she?” Marcus growled. “Violet Arnold doesn’t deserve you.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, Marcus. But can you blame her? What woman wants to spend her wedding night with a husband
déguisé
?” He pointed to the mask. “Or worse, without it?”

“I wish I knew what to say.”

“Nothing to say,” Jack said, keeping his tone light. “Though I do wish . . .”

“I know. But things have a way of working out. It may sound trite, Jack, but have faith. The truth always wins out.”

Jack felt the weight of his friend’s hand on his shoulder. “That goes for Miss Mabry, as well,” Marcus said. “If she’s innocent, then nothing will come of today’s events at Richborough. If, however, she’s guilty . . . she’ll bear the full brunt of the law. You understand that?”

Jack pulled away from him. “I lost my sight, Marcus, not my ability to think.” Yet as he spoke, uncertainty gnawed at him. Had he lost his edge? Was she a spy, whom he’d allowed to beguile him in his isolation? He didn’t want to believe it. “You’re only doing your job, Marcus, but I know you are wrong about her.”

“Let us hope so, my friend,” Marcus said. “For your sake and hers.”

“Your butler said you wish to speak with me. It’s about time.”

Violet Arnold’s voice sounded from the drawing room doors. Jack heard her enter the room and settle into the chaise longue directly to his right.

“Tea?” Without waiting for her reply, he rose from the divan and went to the sideboard, where Knowles had placed a tea service and poured a cup before he left.

“You’ve kept me waiting two days, Benningham. Have you been scheming with Marcus to keep me from my purpose?”

“I apologize for the delay, Violet.” He took the cup to her. “And no, I haven’t discussed you with Marcus at all. He’s working in my study at the moment, so we have the privacy you wished for to ‘resolve our issues.’”

She took the cup and saucer from his grasp, and he heard the ensuing rattle as she set them on a table beside her. Jack caught a whiff of lilacs when she rose to stand before him.

“Well?” she said.

“I am here and ready to listen. What do you wish to talk about?”

“Jack, must you be so dull-witted?” He felt her brush past him. The rustle of cloth revealed her pacing the room. “I want you to end this charade of an engagement,” she said.

“You haven’t told me why.” He returned to his seat on the divan.

“We’ve gone over it countless times. I don’t love you. We were ill-suited from the start.” Her voice grew nearer as she approached. “I hardly need tell you I’d rather be in London right now, but your obstinacy has forced me here to this rustic . . . hall to speak with you face-to-face.”

“Face-to-face, then?” Jack reached behind his head as if to loosen his mask.

“Stop!”

Again he heard her swift retreat. Was she bolting for the door? Maybe she planned to scream or faint into a heap once more, Jack thought bitterly. He lowered his hands. “You say you don’t love me and that we’re ill-suited.” He forced the last, “But many arranged marriages have ended up being quite happy.”

“I loathe the idea of marrying you, Jack.” Her tone took on a desperate edge. “I could never love you, don’t you understand?”

“I know a woman’s heart turns fickle once the groom begins to resemble a circus freak.” Jack launched up from the divan. “The truth, Violet,” he said. “No more games. Your reason for ending this is because you can’t stomach the sight of me.”

“No,” she said. “It’s because . . . I’ve met someone.”

He paused, hearing her uncertainty. “Do tell,” he said, arms crossed. “Another titled heir? No doubt with a face that doesn’t terrify the masses.”

“He’s the Honorable Arthur Baines of Glennoch.” The rattle of a teacup followed the soft creak of the chaise as she resumed her seat. “We met in Edinburgh months ago, when my father and I attended the royal visit.”

“I’m being tossed over for the second son of a viscount?” Jack knew of whom she spoke. He’d seen the father, Viscount Moray, in the House of Lords on several occasions. “Then why don’t you cry off, Violet . . . or are you afraid your father won’t approve of you settling without a crown?”

“Oh, yes,
my father
,” she said, and he heard the bitterness in her tone. “Always a man of action and ambition, reaching for the next prize. He started out as a rice farmer in Texas, did you know? Then within two decades he managed to make a fortune in oil. He’s traveled the world, been on safari, once he even climbed the Wetterhorn in Switzerland.”

He heard the rattle of her cup as she again set it down. “And from the day we first stepped off the ship at Liverpool, he’s had his sights set on a royal heir to add to his accomplishments. I was to be his broodmare.” He heard her whispered resentment, before she took a deep breath and said, “When I met Hugh, I thought everything would be all right. I cared for your brother, Jack. But now he’s gone, and you’re . . .”

“Frankenstein?” Jack supplied.

“I didn’t say that.”

“And you’re not thinking it?”

“I know you’ve never held affection for me, Benningham. What about the redhead in your dining room the night I arrived, your hay-baling chauffeur? You seem to like her well enough.”

“Leave Miss Mabry out of this.”

“I only meant you must know how I feel. Why not break off our engagement? Everyone would understand
your
reasons.”

“Ah, yes, poor Jack Benningham, sacrificing all to spare his betrothed from having to look at his grisly countenance
for the rest of her life. And shall I remain hidden away here like Hugo’s Quasimodo, so the world can remain a beautiful place?

“Believe me, Violet, I would love nothing better.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “But there’s the matter of the money, isn’t there? We both seem to understand your father’s lack of empathy to the situation.” He walked to the hearth. “I recall there was a time when you were eager to continue your pursuit as the future Countess of Stonebrooke, so I did my duty and stepped up to take Hugh’s place. I will admit after I’d gotten used to the idea of being married, I began to put my trust in you for a relatively happy union.”

“But that was before Arthur,” she objected. He heard her rise from the chaise behind him.