"Somewhere between love and hate lies confusion, misunderstanding and desperate hope."
—Shannon L. Alder
VIII.
In the weeks that passed, the leaves began to change, and the last rays of summer began to fade away. Winter was inevitable, and there was a chill in the air already alerting every resident of Ashwood that it was coming.
With the coming cold season came confirmation that Adam's fiancée, Lady Sarah Ashley, and her mother, Lady Ashley, would be coming to stay at Ashwood House come early November.
Receiving this news after several weeks of actively avoiding a certain housemaid gave Adam purpose. He couldn't change what Grace had done, and she was certainly not going out of her way to mend any of the hurt between them, and so he needed to continue to move forward with his life.
Lady Sarah was a sweet girl, and the match pleased his parents. Anything that eased their displeasure was a good decision. It had taken Adam a long time, many, many years, in fact, to really understand his position in life. He was the heir to a vast fortune, an enormously rich estate, and a title that came with an immeasurable level of respect and honour. Not only was it his birthright, but it was his responsibility to take pride in his future. With such an inheritance came the livelihoods of every family who lived upon his land.
"Well, that is the best news I have had all week," Cecily declared over breakfast, having stolen the note from Sarah out of Adam's hands, reading over the words excitedly. "Finally," she scoffed, "some society. But then," she continued, eyeing Jack, who was sitting at the other end of the table, his nose in a book as he absently crushed the remainder of his hard-boiled eggshell with the back of his spoon. "Did not we need some good news this week?"
Adam rolled his eyes. Susanna, who was sitting beside Cecily at the dining table, peered over their mother's shoulder at the letter. Her expression was neutral, if not reserved.
"Do not be coy, Mother," murmured Jack distastefully, not looking up from his book.
Adam pursed his lips as he looked upon his troubled younger brother with concern. Their father had officially written to the bishop this week, suspending all future plans for Jack's joining the church. Of course, it was long known within their household that Jack had no intention of writing sermons for the rest of his life, but it had not been set in stone until this week.
Jack was not meant to give sermons, nor was he ready to practise a Godly existence. Despite having made this decision, Adam was not entirely sure what else Jack could do with his life. He was a twenty-three-year-old young man who had never received a kind word from his parents. He was lost, and Adam knew that no matter what he said or did, Jack always felt like he didn't belong.
Now he would certainly need a rich wife to support him. He would need a good woman, the sort of woman to help him, to give him a purpose and a place where he felt valued and needed. He hoped those women would be one and the same.
Cecily hissed under her breath. "Do not test my patience, Jack," she snapped. "Were it not for the shame of having such a son out in society embarrassing us, I would not have you under my roof."
"That's quite enough, Mother," Adam said curtly, almost wincing on Jack's behalf, but Jack had already left the table, slamming the dining room door behind him. Adam glared across the table. "Has it ever crossed your mind that perhaps he might strive to the occasion if you but praised him once?" he demanded to know.
Cecily's eyes narrowed. "Do not you start," she hissed. "It is not yet ten in the morning." She shook the letter in her hand. "It is supposed to be a good day. There is to be a wedding, and a most agreeable match. I will not have your brother spoiling it because he cannot be controlled."
Adam looked to his father for some sense, but Peregrine had all but left the table, despite being physically present. His nose was deep in the newspaper, and his face was hidden. Despite not having a loving union, Peregrine never went against his wife. It was much too tiresome on his aging constitution.
Susanna looked quite upset at the aftermath of the conversation. Adam stood up abruptly, muttering that he needed air under his breath, before leaving the dining room in search of Jack.
This house, despite having a hundred rooms, could feel suffocating sometimes, and Adam had forgotten that after so many years of being away. A sudden crash and the sound of smashed glass made Adam head toward the library. As soon as he opened the door, the smell of whiskey stung his nose.
The rosewood bureau, where their father's collection of Scottish whiskeys resided beside his reading chair, was opened, and Jack was leaning back against one of the stocked bookshelves with his eyes closed, the broken bottle at his feet. The amber liquid was soaking into the rug.
"Are you hurt?" Adam asked him. "Did you cut yourself?"
Jack opened his eyes and shook his head. "No," he replied. "I threw the damned thing. Don't worry, I've rung the bell for a maid. I wasn't planning on leaving the glass."
Adam didn't have time to dwell on the fact a maid would be coming. The chance it would be her was small. "You know Mother was out of line," he appealed to his brother. "You know what she's like."
"This place is a bloody prison," Jack cursed. "She doesn't want me here, and I don't want to be here. If I were in the city, I could at least go and get—" losing the word, he concluded with, "—lost."
"I want you here, and Susanna wants you here," Adam retorted. "I know you won't abandon her."
Jack shot Adam a glance. "I don't know what to do."
Adam knew that his brother's words had many meanings. Jack really didn't know what to do, and Adam didn't have the answers. How could he when Adam, himself, really hadn't ever made such a decision himself? Adam's life was planned for him. Who he was meant to be was written the moment he was born.
"You will always belong here, I hope you know that, Jack. I will never abandon you. When I inherit, I promise things will be different," Adam swore.
They were interrupted by a knock on the door, and two maids entered the library. The first, a redhaired housemaid that Adam did not recognise. The second, a housemaid who looked as though she would have rather been anywhere else. Her eyes were on the ground as she allowed the redhaired girl to speak for her.
"Begging your pardon, milords, but you rang?" she said respectfully, curtseying. Grace, too, curtseyed.
Adam didn't know why, but the action angered him. The very fact that she wouldn't look at him angered him, and he didn't want to feel angry when he was concentrating on his brother. She certainly didn't volunteer to come upstairs; Adam would wager the house on that fact. She had been forced to attend them.
"Yes," said Jack, "I'm sorry, but my temper got the best of me. I've made a mess of the rug." Jack stepped away from the glass, but caught some under his boot, making a painful crunching sound. "I'll tidy the glass," he uttered shamefully. "Might you get something to clean the floor?"
"Yes, of course, milord," said the first maid.
The very moment Jack knelt down to pick up the glass, his swore in the presence of the women, cutting himself. Blood began to stream down his hand as he clutched it to his chest. His face bore more than pain from a cut, and Adam felt momentarily helpless.
Grace, however, was not so. "Won't you go and some vinegar and cloth to clean the carpet?" she urged the redhead. "I will help milord." The maid nodded and left the library as Grace raced over to Jack's side, carefully kneeling where there was not glass as she produced a handkerchief from her pocket. She took Jack's hand without hesitation and placed the handkerchief on his palm, closing her hand around his into a fist. "Hold it nice and tight," she instructed. "When it stops bleeding, I will check it for glass and then stitch it should the cut be deep enough."
"Are you a nurse, miss?" asked Jack, bashfully for his clumsiness.
"No," replied Grace. "Only I have four younger siblings, all of whom have needed tending to at one point or another."
She smiled briefly, and Adam, who had been unwittingly staring as the situation unfolded, nearly choked on the breath he had inhaled. Jack looked up as Adam spluttered, before looking on the face of the maid who had helped him for the first time. Immediately, Jack stopped, peering at her as he pieced together exactly who she was.
"You ... you aren't little Grace Denham, are you?" he asked in disbelief.
Grace's cheeks reddened. "I may not have grown very much, but we are the same age, milord," she replied.
Jack looked up at Adam as he exclaimed with surprise. "Adam, did you know it was Grace?"
In the weeks that had passed, only Susanna knew of Grace's presence within the household. Adam was not even sure his parents were aware. His mother didn't concern herself with the servants. They were Mrs Hayes' responsibility.
All lightness left Grace's face after her brief interaction with Jack as the attention turned to Adam. She would not smile at Adam. She would not even look at him, not really.
When Adam didn't respond, Jack abandoned that avenue of conversation as his eyes flicked back to Grace. "What are you doing here, Grace?" he asked curiously. "Or should it be Miss Denham?" he asked suddenly, realising that indeed twelve years had passed, and they were no longer childhood friends.
"I am a housemaid," replied Grace, "so it is proper that you know me by my Christian name."
"But why are you a housemaid," pressed Jack, and Adam felt his own curiosity rise.
Adam didn't intervene, and Grace was obligated to answer the question asked of her by one of her masters. She immediately busied her hands, carefully collecting the glass from the bottle and piling it to the side.
"My ... my father died ... five years ago," she admitted quietly. "Did you hear?"
Adam knew that question was for him, and he felt guilt as he shook his head. No, he hadn't heard that Mr Denham had passed away. What would he have done had he known at the time, Adam wondered. But immediately, that explained so much. Without her father's income, it would be up to the children to earn a living in order to support their mother. Adam knew Grace had brothers, but they were, indeed, several years younger.
"I am sorry to hear that," Adam said softly, and he meant that with all sincerity. Mr Denham had been a good man, and Adam had admired him as a boy. He had always liked how Mr Denham played with his children, laughed with them, and Grace had always glad when he arrived home.
But as deeply as he sympathised, it didn't change anything. She had thrown everything away long before her father had died, and she would not atone for it now. She had not even attempted to.
"How are the rest of your family?" asked Jack.
One of her sisters was married. Kate, Adam recalled. The sister that he had mistaken for Grace weeks ago. He was still bruised from falling off of his horse.
"Well, I thank you," Grace replied. "My mother took a fall, but she is healing and in good spirits. My sister, Kate, is married to Mr Ellis, the blacksmith in the village. Claire, my youngest sister if you remember, looks after our mother. My brothers are both in good health, young and spirited." Despite her mother's injury, she spoke with a sweet fondness in her voice when she talked of her family.
Adam was thankful when the red-haired maid returned with a tray full of clothes and a bowl of water, or vinegar, from the smell of it. As she knelt down beside Grace, Grace opened Jack's hand and gently removed the handkerchief to look at the cut.
The blood had stopped, and a clean cut could be seen on the edge of his palm. Inspecting it closely, Grace decided, "It won't need stitches. It should heal quite nicely. Here." Picking up one of the cloths from the tray, she tore it in half to make a bandage. Grace then wrapped it around Jack's palm, before fixing it with a knot.
"Come along, Jack," urged Adam. "We are in the way."
Jack left the library with Adam, and despite his cut, and the events in the dining room, he seemed in remarkably better spirits.
"Did you know Grace was here?" Jack asked him once they were out in the hall.
"Yes," admitted Adam, saying nothing further.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Jack pressed. "Are you glad to see her?" His eyes suddenly widened as a thought occurred to him. "What are you going to do about Lady Sarah?"
Adam frowned. "What do you mean 'what am I going to do about Lady Sarah'?" he scoffed, conveniently avoiding Jack's first two questions.
"Well, how are you going to tell her that you already have a wife?" Jack mused. "And that she lives under your very roof."
Adam punched his brother in the shoulder, irritated that his own predicament brought Jack the amusement that he had so been lacking these last few weeks. "Don't say such things," Adam snapped. "Grace saw to it herself that our understanding was severed. The very idea is irrelevant now."