CHAPTER 25

March 30, 1918

Today my heart broke as I said good-bye to my husband once again. Mrs. Easton’s health recovered, which leads me to suspect she may have exaggerated the severity of her illness. But the fact that it brought Frank home, even for a few short months, is all that matters.

Mr. Easton refused to speak to Frank, even knowing he would be returning to the front. Please pray hard for the end of these terrible hostilities, Grace, for I suspect a baby may be on the way. If so, I’ll need my husband at home with me. I cannot imagine giving birth without him.

Two days later, Grace stood at the crib, her hand on Christian’s forehead as he writhed and whimpered. Just as she suspected, the heat radiating from him seared her palm. The fever, one she had attributed to teething, had worsened overnight, clearly not due to incoming molars.

A tremor of fear clutched her. Could it be the flu, like the one that had claimed his mother?

Dear God, please don’t let it be so.

“I’ll be right back, sweetheart,” she said aloud. “We need to get the doctor to see you.”

Pushing aside a wave of panic, Grace headed downstairs to the dining room where the family would be eating breakfast before heading out to church.

She dreaded having to face Andrew. Ever since their kiss and the awkward conversation in the solarium, he’d been avoiding her like the bubonic plague.

Grace sighed and continued down the stairs. No point in dwelling on that now. Andrew had made his decision, and she would have to accept it.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped into the dining room. “Good morning. Andrew, may I have word with you, please?”

All heads swiveled in her direction except for Mr. Easton, who kept his back to her. “What is it, Miss Foley?” he said. “You may speak in front of everyone.”

She swallowed. “It’s Christian, sir. He has a high fever. I think it would be prudent to have a doctor examine him.”

Andrew’s chair scraped back as he rose. “I’ll call Dr. Ballard right away.”

“Thank you. I’ll be in the nursery.”

Grace’s gaze collided with Virginia’s, hoping for some type of reassurance. The girl gave a slight shrug, then stared back at her plate.

Strange currents of unease hovered in the air. Surely Andrew hadn’t said something to Virginia that would make her rescind their friendship?

Grace turned and walked quickly to the rear staircase, half hoping, half dreading Andrew would come after her.

But he didn’t.

Forty minutes later, Andrew admitted Dr. Ballard to the nursery.

“This is Grace Foley, Christian’s nanny,” he said.

“Good day, Miss Foley.” The doctor set his bag on the floor and took out a thermometer. “How long has the child had the fever?”

“It started yesterday.”

The doctor gave her a sharp look. “And you’re only contacting me now?”

“It was mild at first. I thought it was due to teething, but this morning it became much worse.” Grace gripped her hands together and risked a glance at Andrew.

He stood, not looking at her, his jaw tight.

The doctor examined the baby, and when he straightened his face was grim. “I believe it’s the flu. What strain I can’t yet tell. For now, we will treat the fever with cool baths and compresses.”

“I’ll have a tub sent up.” Andrew disappeared into the hall.

“And I’ll get a basin of water.” Grace hesitated in the doorway, dread pooling in her chest. “It’s not the Spanish flu, is it, doctor?”

The man’s features softened. “I don’t believe so. That strain has more swift and dire consequences. He would be much sicker than this, or worse, already dead. Still we can’t rule it out completely.”

Grace pushed back the cold clutch of fear and focused on what she needed to do to help Christian.

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur. The doctor instructed her in the proper method of bathing and using cool compresses on Christian’s forehead. Most of the time she had to hold the cloth in place, as the boy thrashed and cried, dislodging the fabric from his brow.

Grace alternated bathing times with rocking the child in her arms. As far as she was concerned, nothing beat a mother, or in this case, an aunt’s loving arms. She sang to him until he dropped into an uneasy sleep and at such time, managed to catch a few winks of sleep herself in the chair.

Andrew and Virginia took turns keeping vigil with her, but despite their insistence that she get some rest in her room, Grace would not leave Christian’s side, certain if she did, he would worsen.

When the fever raged on the next day, Andrew sent for the doctor again. The physician checked the boy and pronounced him no better, but no worse.

“At this point, even that is good news,” he told them. “Continue with your treatments and I’ll come by again tomorrow.”

Grace did not think it was good news. Not at all. She sat up all night in the rocker with her Bible in hand, praying harder than ever before, refusing to close her eyes lest Christian slip away.

In the predawn hours, she got up and checked him again. Still too warm. She bathed his head and limbs with water from the basin. He squirmed and whimpered in protest, but she persisted until he at last dropped into a fitful sleep.

At that point, though her body ached all over, Grace knelt by the side of the crib, head bowed. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was responsible for this. Had she exposed Christian to some contagion on one of their outings? Had she not dressed him warmly enough in the pram?

“Please, Lord,” she said aloud. “Christian has to recover. I can’t be responsible for another life, not after Peter. I’ll do whatever you wish, just please let him get better.”

After almost forty-eight hours without sleep, exhaustion weighed her down, and the strength seemed to seep from her body. She sagged over her knees, dropped her face in her hands, and wept. Tears ran through her fingers, her hands muffling her sobs.

Through the haze of her distress, she became aware of someone entering the room. Strong arms lifted her and placed her gently in the rocking chair.

“Don’t cry, Grace. Everything’s going to be fine.”

She opened her eyes to see Andrew’s concerned face hovering over her.

“You must rest,” he said, “or you’ll become ill yourself.”

She wanted to protest, but with no strength left, she merely laid her head back. Perhaps she’d close her eyes, just for a minute.

Andrew stared down at Grace’s limp form in the rocking chair. Her spiky lashes highlighted the translucent purple smudges below her eyes. Tears stained her pale cheeks, and her hair had come loose, framing her face. Concern for her well-being tightened his muscles.

“You need a proper sleep in your bed,” he said. “You won’t do Christian any good if you take ill.”

She opened her eyes, anguish shining in their brown depths. “I can’t leave him,” she whispered. “Something bad will happen if I do.”

He fought the impulse to carry her next door himself, conscious that he didn’t need any more hints of impropriety. He’d been doing so well lately, spending most of his spare time with Celia, barely sparing a thought for Grace.

Until now.

“I’ll stay with him until you awaken. I promise.” He studied her anxious features, the lines of fatigue around her mouth. “No matter what happens, Grace, you are not responsible for Christian’s illness, do you understand?”

She shook her head. “It’s my job to keep him safe and healthy, and I failed. Now he might die. Just like Peter.”

Andrew kneeled beside the chair and took one of her hands in his. “Christian isn’t going to die,” he said firmly. “And you weren’t to blame for Peter’s death either.”

“You’re wrong. It was all my fault.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes.

He couldn’t bear the agony on her face. “How was it your fault? You were only a child.”

“I was twelve. Old enough to know better.”

“What happened?” he asked softly. Perhaps talking about it might lessen the guilt festering inside. He couldn’t do much for her, but he could maybe bring her a measure of peace.

She grasped the arm of the rocker, her knuckles whitening. “We were on holiday in Brighton. My parents warned us not to go near the cliffs. But the view was so beautiful up that high. One night, my sister and I snuck out. I dared her to walk along the edge of the cliffs with me. I was doing fine until I heard my brother shouting at us. Then I lost my balance and fell into the ocean.”

Andrew went still. “You fell off a cliff?”

“Yes. Peter knew I couldn’t swim and jumped in to save me.”

Andrew rubbed his thumb over her cold hand. His chest ached at what he knew was coming.

“He managed to drag me to the shore, but all that time in the cold water had worn him out. The next day, he took ill, and it quickly turned to pneumonia.” A sob rose in her throat. “He died three days later. He was only seventeen.”

“Oh, Grace.” He squeezed her arm. “I can’t imagine the guilt you went through, even though it wasn’t your fault.”

“If I hadn’t been so reckless, if I’d listened to my parents, Peter would still be alive.” Tears spilled down her cheeks.

“It was a horrible accident, nothing more.” He handed her his handkerchief, wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

“My father was never the same. He died two years later. And my mother . . .” She bit her lip. “She never forgave me. She blames me to this day.” Her chin trembled.

A wave of protectiveness rose in Andrew’s chest. What kind of a mother would let a child bear such a burden? He ached to hold her, to offer her the love and comfort she’d so long been denied. But he had no right to do so. “I’m sorry you’ve had such tragedy in your life. You deserve so much better than that.” From what Andrew knew, she’d lost everyone she loved, except a bitter mother who obviously didn’t treat her well.

Her shoulders slumped, as though the life had drained from her. “Perhaps I will lie down after all.” Her dark eyes stood out against the paleness of her skin. She got slowly to her feet, glancing once more at the crib.

“I’ll be right here with Christian if you need me,” he said.

He wished he could tell her nothing would ever hurt her again, but that was a promise he couldn’t keep.

Hours later, Andrew jerked in the rocking chair, awakened from a light doze. He scrubbed a hand over his beard and stretched his stiff limbs. During the entire time Grace had been sleeping, Andrew had stayed by Christian’s side, even when Ginny joined his vigil.

Muscles aching, he pushed up from the chair and checked on Christian, pleased to note that he looked to be sleeping more peacefully. Then he looked at his pocket watch. There hadn’t been a sound from Grace’s room in over twelve hours. Andrew hoped she hadn’t become ill herself.

He crossed the carpet and knocked on her door. When she didn’t answer, a thread of anxiety wound through him. He opened the door wide enough to see into the room, worry overcoming his guilt at taking such a liberty.

The room was bathed in shadows, but he was able to make out her form beneath the covers. Andrew moved closer, his eyes trained on the curve of her cheek. A tendril of hair vibrated with each shallow breath. His fingers itched to feel the silkiness of her hair, the satin of her skin. Instead, he rubbed at a persistent ache in his chest. When he looked at her, he felt the same overwhelming emotions as he did with Christian. The desire to cherish her, nurture her, protect her from all harm. This was more than a mere physical attraction, more than a forbidden summer dalliance. The truth rose up to fill every cell of his body.

“I’m in love with her,” he whispered.

From the moment he saw her sitting forlornly on the curb, nursing a sprained ankle, Grace had captured his heart. Her kindness, her ability to find beauty in the mundane and to bring joy to everyone around her, these were the qualities that continued to amaze him. In addition, she saw only the best in him. In her eyes, he was clever and capable and never lacking. Not only did she accept him for who he was, she admired him.

Was it any wonder he’d fallen in love with her?

But to what avail?

Lord, why would you bring her into my life and allow me to love her when I’m obligated to marry someone else?

He lingered a minute longer until he could no longer bear the exquisite torture. Then with a last glimpse of her lovely face, he returned to the nursery.

“There you are.” Virginia’s voice startled him.

He stopped short, heat climbing up his neck. “I was just checking on Grace. She’s still sleeping.”

Virginia gave him a knowing smile. “No need to explain. I’m worried about her too.”

Andrew had told his sister about finding Grace in such a distraught state, and she’d praised him for convincing her to get some rest.

“I think I have good news.” Virginia leaned over the crib and placed a hand on the baby. “It might be my imagination, but he feels cooler to me. What do you think?”

Andrew felt Christian’s forehead and cheeks. “You’re right. Definitely cooler.” A two-ton weight lifted from his shoulders. “Grace will be so relieved.”

“As will Mother. She’s been fretting about him, but Father won’t let her come near for fear she might contract the illness.”

A fear Andrew shared. That any one of them, Grace and his mother in particular, could fall ill.

Virginia turned to him. “I came to tell you I’m going out for a while. I have to meet Basil to discuss the engagement party his parents wish to throw for us.”

“Of course. You go on.”

“Do you want me to have one of the maids relieve you for a spell?”

“No thanks. I promised Grace I’d stay with him.” He rubbed his gritty eyes. “But you could have Mrs. Hopkins send up a sandwich and some coffee.”

“I’ll do that.” Virginia crossed to the door. “If Grace wakes up, tell her I’ll be back later.”

“I will. And Ginny?”

“Yes?”

He moved closer so he could look her in the eye. “Is everything all right?” Lately, something about his sister’s demeanor had changed. An almost defeated air surrounded her.

“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?” Her gaze fell away from his. “I have to go,” she said in an overly cheerful voice. “Mustn’t keep Basil waiting.”

Once she’d left, Andrew shook his head. Something definitely wasn’t right with Ginny, but what could he do if she wouldn’t confide in him?

After checking on Christian again, he sank into the rocker and laid his head back. How tempting it would be to give in to sleep. But nothing would make him break his promise to Grace. He straightened on the chair and bent to examine the quilt Grace was making. Her depth of devotion to the boy continued to astound him. What nanny would go to such lengths for a child not even her own?

As he fingered the colorful fabric, his gaze fell on Grace’s Bible, which had slipped down the side of the basket. She’d prayed continually through this whole ordeal. Her steadfast faith, which she relied on in every circumstance of her life, was another reason why he loved her.

Andrew lifted the book and ran his palm over the worn leather cover. Curious to know which passages she had marked as her favorites, he fanned through the pages. As he did so, a picture fell to the floor. He picked it up, and the laughing faces of two young women stared back at him. One was definitely Grace. He smiled at the unbridled joy on her face. She seemed so young and happy, so carefree.

Then he looked at the other woman and froze.

The air in the room seemed to thicken. Why would Grace have a picture taken with Frank’s wife?

He turned the photo over. A neat script flowed over the back. Rose and Grace, April 1914. Shivers of foreboding pricked his skin. He opened the cover of the Bible and found the same handwriting inside. Grace Abernathy, 24 Sheepshead Lane, Sussex, England.

His hands shook. The book fell from his fingers and landed with a thud on the floor. His lungs squeezed the last bit of air from his chest.

She’d been lying to them this entire time. She wasn’t Grace Foley at all.

She’s Rose’s sister. Christian’s aunt.

He shot up from the rocker, disbelief roaring through his system. Raking his hands through his hair, he replayed their conversations and everything that had happened since Grace had come to Fairlawn. He recalled then the first time she’d held the baby, the tears in her eyes now making sense. No wonder she loved the child so deeply.

Anger, raw and deep, settled in the pit of his stomach, the taste of betrayal bitter on his tongue. How could she deceive him like this? Worm her way into his family and make herself indispensable to Christian’s well-being? Why wouldn’t she have told him who she really was?

Andrew looked into the crib at his sleeping nephew. His thoughts swirled in a continual loop of unanswered questions. Everything he thought he knew about Grace now seemed tainted, spoiled by her lies. He’d been duped by a pretty face, a false virtue that hid her true duplicitous nature.

Thank goodness he’d never told her he loved her. How ridiculous would he feel then?

Nausea rose in his throat as he bent to snatch the Bible from the floor. Clutching it in his hands, he vowed to get to the bottom of this unholy deception.

He would let nothing—and no one—jeopardize his relationship with his nephew.