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~Cornwall coast, Georgian era
A half hour later, Grayson snatched a slice of dried apple from the bowl of water where it had been soaking and popped it into his mouth.
Almost before he had a chance to chew, a hand slapped his arm. “Don’t you be—” The young woman beside him gasped, then tried to brush the flour from his sleeve. “I’m so sorry, m’lord. I forgot myself.”
“Forgot what?”
“That you’re a...And I’m a...” She sputtered to a stop then took a deep breath. “I don’t know of any nobility who would be caught getting their hands dirty in the kitchens.”
“True.” A smile curved his lips. “It seems I’ve forgotten myself for a bit too.” And that was a good thing to remember he could still be his own man despite the new title and weight of responsibilities. “This has been exactly the distraction I’ve needed. But I’m here to see this task through, so since I’m done mashing the berries and mixing in the honey, what’s next?”
She dropped a ball of dough onto the table and picked up a rolling pin. “We’ll leave the apples alone to soak awhile longer and start assembling the other pastries first.”
“If you insist.” He moved the apples out of the way and watched as she rolled the dough out flat, then reached for a knife to quickly slice it into wide rows.
“Now you can spoon the berries into the center of each square.” Another swipe of the knife and the promised squares began to emerge.
“How much for each?” Grayson nestled the bowl in the crook of his arm and scooped a large dollop onto the closest spot. “Like that?”
“Maybe just a bit less so we have room to seal the dough around the filling.” She paused her cutting to fold the first square in half diagonally, creating a triangular pocket. “I sometimes use a little water on my fingertip to moisten the seam, but then we’ll use a fork to score the final edges.”
Just like the ones Mrs. Richards used to make when he was a boy. Back when he used to sneak into the kitchen for her warm mothering touch. Too bad it seemed his favorite treat was a common recipe after all.
He continued to spoon out the filling while the pretty baker finished her slicing, then moved to his other side to start folding the dough.
If only he knew her name.
Because despite the simple green gown beneath her apron and her chestnut-colored hair pulled back into a tidy bun at the nape of her neck, her friendly smile and competence in the kitchen tugged even more of his happy childhood memories to the surface.
After dividing the last of the berries onto the dough, he set the empty bowl aside and attempted to fold his first pocket. Except it wouldn’t stick together. Right. A dab of water stolen from the bowl of apples.
Followed by a snicker beside him.
He grinned in response. He hadn’t had this much fun in years.
As he worked his way down the row toward her, he caught her sideways glance at him. As if she tried to figure him out but not in a bad way. Almost as if she respected him more for his willingness to get his hands dirty. And maybe even his kind treatment of the staff.
Including the friendly cook who seemed to have disappeared along with the other kitchen help.
“Emma? Where are you?” A strident voice echoed down the hall from the direction of the dining room and the main entry.
Beside him, the baker stiffened but continued her work, beginning to transfer the assembled pastries from the table to a thin metal sheet.
“Aha. There you are.” A young woman appeared in the doorway, the large hooped skirt of her pink gown swaying at her sudden stop.
Grayson realized several things at once.
First, the lovely baker’s name was Emma. And second, he’d seen the newcomer earlier along the river with her beau. He sneaked another glance at the rosy-cheeked beauty—likely one of the baron’s daughters—taking in the elaborately curled hair gathered at the top of her head, her blue eyes, and the fact she was younger than he’d originally thought.
An instant later, her nose wrinkled and she sniffed in disgust at the sight of them with sticky dough on their fingers and shifted her gaze above their heads. “Papa already said you’re to help me with whatever I need, so I don’t know why I need to track you down every time after I go out.”
Hmm. So the kitchen helper was actually a ladies maid? Were they short on funds for adequate help? Or merely shorthanded like...Emma...had said earlier?
“My apologies, Phoebe, but I did not know when you might return. And in the meantime, I was also needed to help here. What can I do for you?” Emma’s words were respectfully appropriate, but held an undertone of strained patience as if this was a familiar exchange.
“I need a bath and tea brought up to my room so I can get ready for tonight.” The young Miss Clarke propped her hands on her hips. “And did you find any thread to match? Because my gown still needs mending, then pressing. Molly’s incompetent and the last time she left a crease along the hem.”
The hem? As if anyone would notice.
Grayson pressed down hard on the seam of yet another fruit-filled pocket remembering a certain folded paper in his satchel. Hopefully the other daughters in the household weren’t as spoiled.
Then again, he was grateful for the glimpse into the truth of the girl’s attitude without the proper societal facade he would likely see at dinner.
Emma murmured something about Molly not being around to touch the dress, then began to mix ingredients for another batch of dough as she had promised.
But Miss Phoebe wasn’t done.
“I can’t believe Papa added that stuffy old baron to the guest list for dinner.”
Grayson swallowed his laughter at the description that might have fit his father, but certainly didn’t fit him. Unless there was yet another baron arriving soon.
Suddenly he wished he hadn’t followed his lonely heart back to the kitchens. At least not without properly introducing himself first. Then again, there was only one way to remedy the situation now.
He straightened. “About that—”
The beauty cut him off with a frown and a pointed glance at his dirty hands. “I invited Francis, Mr. Smythe, as my dinner partner and I have to look my best. He has asked me to marry him and I have agreed, so now all I have to do is convince Papa to accept his suit.” The young lady of the house twirled a curl around one finger of her lily-white hand.
A hand that had never done a hard day’s work. Hands like his mother’s. Unlike the strong hands of the woman who had comforted him as a child.
Or those of the young baker kneading another batch of dough beside him as he folded the last few pastries and transferred them to the baking sheet.
“Of course, Emma, you’ll have to join us to keep the numbers even. And keep Papa distracted.”
Why would a servant be invited to join a formal party? This was certainly an unusual household and his foray into the kitchens had become quite eye-opening. The longer he stayed quiet, the more he learned.
Beside him, Emma shook her head. “Nay. I cannot—”
“Yes. You can. You’ve done it before, so no arguments. And I’d like that bath delivered within a quarter hour.”
As if hot water appeared by some magic fairy.
Emma patted the ball of dough now resting in the wooden bowl and turned her attention to the soaking apple slices. “I won’t be doing any of your fetching this afternoon. There’s a meal to prepare, and it’s your own fault your ladies maid was let go this morn. You can ask one of the other maids or if you’re in a hurry, you could take a pitcher of water and a simple tray with you now.”
Miss Phoebe sputtered and shook her head. “I can’t be seen carrying my own pitcher.”
“You could always use the servant’s stairs.” Emma pointed toward a door he hadn’t noticed before.
“Never.” Miss Phoebe spun on her heel and left the way she came without either bath water or food.
###
THE SERVANT STAIRS were one of Grace’s favorite parts of the tour as she gave guests a glimpse of the less elaborate side of life in a castle. The narrow and steep passageway servants had to travel carrying loads of laundry and serving trays was a far cry from the wide, carpeted showcase with the intricately carved railings leading from the main floor up through to the bedrooms.
But unlike the spoiled Phoebe in the new story she’d started reading, her own pseudo-cousin Cherry would willingly use the servant stairs if it saved her time and effort.
Grace smirked. She’d have to test that theory later when giving the girl a private tour after their tea. She’d swapped duties with another volunteer in order to entertain her guest and they’d been planning today’s outing for weeks as a way to kick off the senior’s Spring Break in style.
Speaking of which, where was that girl?
She glanced around the inside of the Carriage House bookstore where they were supposed to meet. Too excited to see the girl’s reaction to the castle, her interest in reading faded and she closed the app before slipping her phone into the pocket of her skirt then smoothing the waistband where her high-collared white blouse was tucked in.
Once she donned the elaborate feathered hat waiting on the nearby table, her costume for today’s plans would be complete. And Cherry would get to select her own variation of head-wear outside the music room later.
Carrying her hat, Grace bypassed a few chattering women on their way to the office to check-in, then proceeded to wait just inside the closest door. While watching out the window, she fingered the cameo brooch at her neck. The profile of the unknown woman on her thrift store find fueled her imagination. Who was she? Where had she lived? Was the piece a gift from a mother to her daughter?
Stepping aside to let a new arrival pass, she spotted a new flyer on the bookstore’s bulletin board announcing a local Christian writer’s group having a one-day conference at the castle in a few weeks’ time. Oh, how she longed to ask how they came up with their story ideas. And to think, they would get to spend the entire day learning how to bring characters to life.
If only she could have the same opportunity to live surrounded by books.
“Is this what all the tour guides are wearing now?” A deep voice at her elbow had her turning to find a casually-dressed Drew eying her costume with a raised eyebrow...and appreciative gaze.
“I thought I’d try it for today.” Her lips twitched even as she tried to hold a serious face.
He studied her updo hairstyle, eyes barely skimming over her exposed neck. Heat rose in her skin and she lifted the hat to distract him. “But I’m wondering if the hat is a bit much?”
Now it was his turn to smirk. “You look like I’d expect British royalty to look on their way to...” He affected a snooty accent. “...high tea.”
Laughter escaped her lips. “Good. Except for the royalty part.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“I am having tea in a castle, so...”
He chuckled. “Sounds like another thing my mom would love to do. But—” He held up his hands to stop her response. “I did the tour yesterday for her sake, but I draw the line at fancy hats and microscopic sandwiches served on delicate china.”
An impish side of her personality emerged and she acted on the temptation by lifting her hat toward his head. “That’s a shame because I think this color suits you.”
He ducked out of reach and they both laughed.
It felt good to tease him. Almost like the couple in the story she’d been reading.
Casual, relaxed, honest.
Fun.
“What’s so funny?”
Grace turned to see Cherry approaching in a lavender off-the-shoulder dress with a short hemline. With her careful makeup and curled hair, the girl looked absolutely beautiful.
And she’d missed seeing her every day.
Grace pulled her into a quick hug, then stepped back to make the introductions. “This is Drew Miller, one of the guests here that I met yesterday. And Drew, this is Charity Howard—”
“Call me Cherry.” The girl giggled, then linked arms with Grace. “Spring Break couldn’t come soon enough. I am so ready to graduate in a few months.”
Grace squeezed her arm. “I remember the feeling.” It wasn’t that long ago, and yet Cherry had even more years of schooling ahead of her. Unless she was trying to sound older for Drew’s benefit?
“Are you joining us for tea?” Cherry eyed Drew up and down.
He crossed his arms over her chest. “No. I’m actually here for some coffee and a snack as an afternoon pick-me-up.”
“Too bad.” Cherry’s glossed lips rolled into a pretty pout. “I’d have loved to hear more about the logo on your shirt. Are you in the military?”
A smile curved his lips. “You could say that. Eight years in the Air Force. And I’m currently assigned to teach survival skills at the Academy.”
Grace couldn’t help being impressed at his career.
And how easily Cherry got the man to open up.
She’d been the third—or fifth—wheel often enough in school, but the feelings of jealousy and possessiveness still caught her off guard. Because she’d never competed with Cherry for a guy’s attention before.
Then again, Drew probably didn’t realize the girl was in high school.
Catching a glimpse at the clock on the wall, Grace tugged her arm free and interrupted Cherry’s gushing admiration. “We need to get up to the castle soon. And I can’t wait to hear how your prom plans are coming.”
Catty, yes. But it did the trick.
Cherry shrugged as if realizing her temporary deception was over.
Meanwhile Drew’s eyes widened a bit before he stepped back. “It was nice to meet you Cherry.” He glanced her direction. “I’ll see you around, Grace.” With a quick nod, he turned and walked away.
Did that mean he might be interested in her? Or was he merely being polite?
She brushed aside the uncertainty and herded Cherry outside toward her car. “I can’t wait for you to see the castle.” Once buckled in, Grace directed Cherry to turn left out of the small parking lot at the Carriage House and to drive slowly. “Do you see it yet?”
A short distance later, Cherry gasped, then braked in the middle of the road as she leaned forward to better see out the windshield. “Whoa! You actually get to live here?”
Grace laughed. “Not actually live here since I’m staying in an RV elsewhere on the property, but I give tours and spend time here when I can.”
“I’m so jealous!”
Cherry had never been jealous of her before and it felt nice.
And equally uncomfortable.
So Grace did what she always did and deflected, as she urged her to finish the drive to the upper lot. “Are you ready to make our grand entrance?”
“Absolutely.” And yet as they exited the car, Cherry paused to snap several pictures of the Big Horn sheep perched on the craggy cliffs. “My friends will never believe this!”
Several more photo opportunities halted their progress as they approached the large arched doors and encountered the suit of armor beside the entry’s fireplace. Grace had to tug Cherry away from the carved staircase she’d known the girl would love. “I promise to show you the rest later.”
Once greeted by the hostess, seated at a small elaborately-set table in the cheerful music room, and their preference in tea variety sent to the kitchen, Grace settled in to enjoy their girl-time. Even knowing how busy Cherry was with her schoolwork and activities, she had still felt guilty leaving the girl behind when making her escape from Uncle John’s household. Escaping the implied obligations mixed with the burden of assuaging the man’s guilt.
Grace shook out her napkin and draped it across her lap. “Tell me about Prom.”
Cherry started to prattle on about their selected theme of the Gilded Age, then stopped herself. “Before I forget to ask, Daddy met someone with a connection down here and wants to know if you’ve applied in the Colorado Springs or Manitou Springs school districts or not.”
She clenched a fist in her lap as pressure descended on shoulders. “I have.”
“Good. Now the fun stuff...”
Cherry continued to share trivial details about prom decorations and dresses, but Grace’s mind drifted.
Her time at Glen Eyrie had been a true breath of fresh air that she’d attributed to the presence of God, but now...? She hadn’t realized how much Uncle John’s expectations weighed until she’d gained the distance.
And now she could only savor the remaining weeks of freedom before she had to return to Castle Rock.
Grace pulled her attention back to the younger girl in time to realize the topic had shifted from a dance to her college plans.
“Daddy says I can have a private room in the dorms, but only if I promise to...”
A private room like Grace had begged for as a refuge from the invasive curiosity of her peers. A room she’d been denied until she had a way to pay for it on her own. That cafeteria dishwasher job had been a godsend.
Over their menu of soup and salad, sandwiches and tiny pastries, Cherry’s chatter continued with an interspersed Daddy this and Daddy that.
Grace tried not to be jealous or judge, but there was no doubt the sweet girl was the apple of her daddy’s eye. Uncle John would face serious withdrawals when his daughter moved out.
Unfortunately, his attention would then be focused even more on Grace.
She had to find a job or other escape before the day-to-day interactions strained their relationship further.
With tea behind them, Grace took Cherry on a private tour of the castle areas...but toned down the history lesson to a focus on the building of a dream home for his bride. Exactly what the starry-eyed teen enjoyed.
It had been a pleasant Saturday afternoon, but she was looking forward to getting off her feet. Especially since she’d been up super early to help in the kitchens before breakfast in exchange for getting the afternoon tours off so they could do tea in style.
Grace stifled a yawn as she walked Cherry to her car. “Can you give me a ride down to the Carriage House?”
“Isn’t that where that cute guy was? Are you hoping to run into him again?”
She blushed. “Actually, I hadn’t thought of him until you mentioned it. I was just hoping for some caffeine.”
“And...?” Cherry smirked. “Do I need to tell Daddy that you’ve got a boyfriend?”
“No! He’s just a guest I met yesterday on one of my tours. He’ll be gone in a few days.”
“But not far, right? Didn’t he say he teaches at the Academy with all those hunky cadets?”
She snorted a laugh recalling her initial impressions of the man himself. “Don’t recall him saying anything about hunky cadets.”
Her deflection earned her a slap on her arm. It was only after Cherry had backed out and they were on their way, before she picked up the conversational thread again. “What I meant is that he doesn’t live far from here in case you wanted to date.”
The flash of hope caught Grace by surprise, then faded. “But I’m only here for a few more weeks, then heading back to Castle Rock. And who knows where I’ll land a job for the fall. It would never work.”
Even if she wished she might get to know him better and explore the possibilities.
“Oh, well. Although I’m glad you’ll be coming back home soon.” Cherry stopped outside the stuccoed walls surrounding the Carriage House. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you, too.” Grace stretched across the center console to deliver a quick hug. “Now, drive safe and let me know you’ve made it back home.”
“Yes, Mom.” Cherry gave an exaggerated eye roll.
She escaped the blindsiding reminder they were both motherless by exiting the car, shutting the door, and waving as Cherry drove away.
Through the rest of the day, Grace couldn’t shake a vague sense of unease. Of being off balance.
Was it the unresolved encounter earlier with Drew who’d possibly seemed interested in her before Cherry’s arrival? The weight of Uncle John’s expectations and the implication he’d pull strings to get her a job? The contrast of her current life compared to that of the innocent child who’d also survived the fire?
Or was it simply a sense that her life was changing and she was sailing into uncharted waters?
She shook off the nagging questions as she settled into bed that night and picked up the story she’d started earlier. Might as well enjoy a vicarious romance because despite Cherry’s teasing about a boyfriend... after the fire, Grace never had another relationship.
After all, why would anyone pick her over all the prettier alternatives?
###
MOISTURE WELLED IN Emma’s eyes as if she could imagine the funeral scene. “You have to be true to yourself and your heart. There’s no shame in loving well.” She stretched across the small table and rested a hand on his forearm. “Oh, Wentworth. There’s no doubt you loved your mother and she loved you.”
Her softly-spoken words filled the gaping void that had grown during his years at Cambridge. For the first time since saying goodbye to the castle cook on the morning of his departure, his heart found comfort.
Emma’s tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks. Tears spent on his behalf from a heart already well acquainted with grief.
He twisted to face her, then gently wiped away the droplets. No doubt this woman was a treasure. “Thank you for understanding when others didn’t.” It was the least he could do to acknowledge her support.
But at the silky smoothness under his fingertips and the sea-foam shimmer in her eyes, he found himself wanting to give her so much more.
“Please, call me Grayson.” In a motion that felt as natural as breathing, he leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her lips.
She drew in a quick breath, but did not pull away despite the questions in her eyes.
One kiss was not enough to express the depth of emotion building in his chest. But before he could lower his head for another taste, a murmur of voices filtered in through the drawing room door.
Voices that reminded him he was a mere visitor at Bainbridge Manor. The cold dash of reality had him shifting back into his chair and picking up his now-cold tea.
Personal feelings aside, he was supposed to be courting Emma’s cousin.