Edward Graystone sat at his desk in the library and tried to concentrate on the mounds of paperwork before him.
Since Andrew’s illness he had definitely let things go. George Ellice had tried to keep the estate in order, but there were some things only Edward could do. Every day he had attempted to set his mind to the work at hand, but each day his brain quickly fled to the more immediate fear for his son.
His mind was wandering now, but the direction of his thoughts was somewhat different. In the four days since Jamie’s arrival, Andrew had begun to take a decided turn for the better, although the doctor was still guarded in his prognosis. But there was visibly more color in his white cheeks and the hint of a spark in his once-lively eyes. He had also begun to eat a little.
Yes, there was good reason to hope. Thus it seemed he ought to be able to focus his attentions on the work before him. But something else had gradually begun to overtake his thoughts and distract him from his work.
Andrew was recovering. Soon there would be no reason for Jamie to stay. When she had left a year ago, he had hardly realized how greatly he had missed her. Life had settled back into its previous routine, and except for a certain hollow echo about the place, he had re-accustomed himself to how it had been before. There were a few times when he would forget himself and listen for the sounds of her laughter as she played with Andrew. But the laughter did not come. When spring had arrived that year, Andrew had asked to go hunting for flowers, and together they had made their search. But something had been missing, though neither of them had voiced their thoughts.
But then suddenly when he saw her standing inside Aviemere’s front door four days ago, it was as though a light had gone on, illuminating the whole last year in all its stark emptiness!
Whatever the thing all meant he hardly dared consider. Almost to his relief, at that moment there came a knock at the door.
“Sir, you have a caller,” said Cameron. “Miss Candice Montrose.”
His relief was short-lived. Why now, he thought?
Toying with the fleeting idea of telling the butler to make some excuse for him, he looked up to see the tall, attractive figure of his caller sweep past the butler without waiting for any further word.
“Do forgive my liberty,” she said rather breathlessly. “I didn’t want to pull you away from your duties so I followed your man. I hadn’t seen you for some time, and heard only this morning about your son. I simply had to come straightaway and offer . . . well, to tell you how sorry I am. You know how fond I am of the boy.”
Edward rose from his chair. “Thank you, Candice. We appreciate your concern.” Curious, he thought, she has never taken the least notice of Andrew in the past.
“I must chide you on not informing us sooner. We are neighbors, you know, and what else are neighbors for but to share in these times of distress? I know the comings and goings between Montrose Manor and Aviemere have grown rather infrequent of late, but we mustn’t allow that to continue.”
Though Edward had shown a mild interest in Candice, she had at last taken his lukewarm demeanor to heart and had begun expanding the vistas of her search. She had reportedly gone to the Continent during the winter where an Italian viscount was said to be courting her. However, the rumors still circulated through the village and among the staff that a marriage was, if not imminent, certainly inevitable. At any rate, she was the last person he wanted to see just now and hoped she had not come planning to be entertained for the afternoon.
“Now, how is the boy? Is there anything I can do?”
“Actually, he seems to be getting better, though our prayers have by no means ceased for him. Thank you for your offer, but we have been managing very well.”
She cleared her throat daintily. “I wondered about the boy, because on my way here to the library I saw that old nurse of yours and, well, naturally I was curious, thinking what dire straits you must have been in to call upon her after being forced to let her go.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about, Candice,” he replied tersely. “I did not let anyone go, as you say. And I did not call upon Miss MacLeod; she came of her own accord.”
“I see you are in a vulnerable state just now, Edward. But you must be firm. Don’t allow her to take advantage of you. Her kind always does, you know.”
“Miss Montrose, I wonder that you feel at such liberty to meddle into the affairs of Aviemere. I do not recall having asked your counsel.”
“Please, Edward. Surely you know that I speak only out of my deep affection for you and your son. And I can assure you, a girl like that only means to bring—”
“Have a care, Candice, at how you speak of my guest and friend!” said Edward icily.
At this Candice drew herself up haughtily. “Lord Graystone,” she said, her voice matching his glare, “I have known men in your position ruined by such riffraff.”
“You may be interested to know,” he answered, “that I am not Lord Graystone. That dubious distinction belongs solely to my absentee brother. Thus I have neither estate nor position to be ruined. But had I both, I would sooner choose to take my chances with this riffraff, as you have chosen to call the best person ever to walk into this house, than with a common gossipmonger like yourself, Miss Montrose!”
Candice stood like a grim statue, looking as if the air had been struck from her by one swift blow, hardly knowing whether to humbly submit to such treatment with diffidence or to give vent to the self-righteous indignation which was already beginning to brew within her. For several moments she said not a word.
“Now, Miss Montrose,” Edward continued, “as you seemed to find your way up here so easily, I will not bother calling for the butler. You can find your own way out.”
She continued to stand and stare for another moment, then turned on her heel, not smartly but in still a rather dazed fashion, and left the room.
When the door closed behind her, Edward sank into his chair. He was shaking with anger. But more than that, he was trembling because the realization which had subtly been closing in on him had suddenly become brazenly clear—at last he knew what he must do.
———
He found Jamie walking in the garden. She did not see him approach and he paused a moment just to watch her. He recalled the times long ago when he had hidden similarly to watch her and Andrew playing on the lawns or strolling together on a warm afternoon among the roses and azaleas. A knot formed in his throat at the memory.
Now, here he was feeling quite differently than he did then. As he watched, the scales fell from his eyes and he saw clearly for the first time how lovely she was. It was the simplicity of her beauty that was so striking, how she smiled as a butterfly winged across her path. But the tilt of her nose, her delicate neck, the shimmer of her hair, the sparkle of her emerald eyes—these were but the alabaster box containing the richest, purest ointment he had ever seen.
He almost laughed aloud at his thoughts. He was ten years too old!
He had gone in search of her impulsively, but what would he say? How could he? He turned in the confusion of his thoughts and was about to leave when all at once she spied him.
“Mr. Graystone!” she called, interrupting his thoughts abruptly.
“Oh—hello, Jamie.” He tried to smile, but it was difficult to assume even the most pathetic imitation of naturalness.
“Andrew is asleep,” she said, “so I thought I’d come out and pick some flowers to surprise him with when he wakes up.”
He noticed then that she held a basket in one hand and a pair of shears in the other.
“He’ll like that,” he replied. How awkward this was!
“Are you well, Mr. Graystone? You look pale,” she asked.
“No—I’m . . . that is, Jamie—what I wanted—”
He stopped. What a fool he was! Fumbling about for words like a nervous schoolboy!
“It must be the strain of the past weeks,” he finished lamely.
“Thank God he is finally better.”
“Yes—yes, thank God! I think I would have died myself had anything happened to him.”
“God would have given you the strength to bear it,” she said. “But thanks be to God! It seems in this case we need only bear our joy!”
He smiled, but inside his heart still pounded. Couldn’t she hear it? His pulse echoed aloud in his very ears!
“Had you come looking for me?” she then asked. “Did you want me for something?”
“No!” he answered, rather too quickly. “No . . . I mean, yes—that is—nothing specific. I only wanted to thank you for all you have done.”
“I have done so little.”
“Even Miss Clark has commented on the wonderful effect you have had on Andrew. God has done the healing, Jamie, but He has used you. You came back, didn’t you?”
“Of course. But how could I not?”
“Then it’s true. We have both taken strength from your faith—” He paused, then blurted forward, “—and from you, Jamie. I—”
Suddenly he grasped her hands impulsively, but then just as suddenly, once he realized what he had done, he dropped them again. “I’m just so glad you’ve come,” he said.
“That means a great deal to me, Mr. Graystone.”
“Well,” he laughed nervously. “I best let you return to your flower gathering.”
He turned hastily, and, almost stumbling, hurried away.
It was preposterous! The whole thing was turning him into a bumbling fool. But this was the most alive he had felt in years!