There was no child. Only the wind.
In the end, the man would go mad and be found frozen next to many others who never made it through the haunted Christmas wood.
When Pru reached the part of the story where the man ran from tree to tree searching for the child, the creak of a chair stole her attention. Lord Gladsby was leaning forward and for a moment she thought him transfixed with the story. Then the flicker of a candle illuminated the sweat clinging to his brow. His jaw was set but his eyes were unfocused.
Something was wrong.
Slowly she rose from her chair, not wishing to disturb anyone else. The pull to be near him, to make certain he was well, propelled her forward as she crept to his side. Prudence was nearing the part of the story where the man’s madness would be revealed. Grace crouched down by Lord Gladsby’s chair, hoping to relieve a bit of his distress.
The movement made him startle and one hand shot to the side of his leg as the other roughly grabbed her wrist. She let out a cry of alarm at the climax of Prudence’s story.
The others jumped in their seats.
Lord Gladsby’s eyes widened, panic filling their blue depths, and he immediately let go of her wrist. Grace shot to her feet to keep from falling over.
Everyone laughed and clapped.
“Well done, Pru,” Bradley said. “I wasn’t certain how you’d improve upon that story since you’ve told it before, but having Grace scream at the climax was masterfully done.”
Grace’s brow furrowed, but Prudence didn’t even appear confused. She just beamed at her success and gave a flourishing bow. The others clapped louder.
Still a bit shaken from her interaction with Lord Gladsby, Grace tried to leave, but her gown was caught. Glancing down,she discovered Lord Gladsby still clutching the side of his leg. Instead of his trousers, however, his hand grasped the part of her skirt that had brushed against him.
The pull on his fingers must have brought him to his senses, because he finally focused on the cream velvet and silk in his hand. His nose scrunched and his gaze followed the fabric up her body until his eyes landed on her face.
Quickly he released her, a tinge of color dusting his cheeks. “My apologies.” He blinked at her a time or two more, then shot to his feet. “Please excuse me.”
Before anyone could say another word, he left the room.
Grace stared after him, her brow furrowed. He’d never been rough before. She’d seen him jumpy often enough, but never this disconnected and disoriented. Somehow, she did not think he even knew what had transpired.
She wanted to follow him, to ask after his behavior, but that would be far too forward.
A hand settled on her sleeve, and she glanced at its owner.
Prudence’s pretty dark eyebrows lowered over her brown eyes. “Did I do something wrong?”
Grace settled her hand over her sister’s. “No. Lord Gladsby appeared ill while you were speaking. I think he has simply retired early for the evening.”
Whether it was true or not, she did not want their host’s behavior to ruin the evening for Prudence and make her think something was amiss with her performance. Thankfully, she accepted the explanation without question, but when Grace glanced around the room, the others were staring at her.
“He felt poorly,” she stammered out, uncertain if they’d heard her earlier statement.
A few nodded, but Lady Hamdon still held her gaze. What did the lady mean by such a stare?
The doors to the drawing room opened and for a moment Grace hoped Lord Gladsby had changed his mind, but a footman entered carrying steaming mugs that emitted the most wonderful citrusy aroma.
She smiled. Wassail was a favorite of hers.
Lady Hamdon took over as hostess and began dispersing the drinks. When she came to Grace, she handed her two.
Glancing down at the mugs, Grace murmured, “I do love wassail, but I think one should suffice.”
Lady Hamdon’s tiny hand settled gently on her arm as she leaned close. “Take it to the study on the second floor in the family wing. Fourth door down.”
Grace’s eyes widened, understanding her intent immediately. “But I…” she began, then stopped when the corners of Lady Hamdon’s icy blue eyes drooped, a pleading in their depths that she could not ignore. Either she was a wonderful actress and this was part of her matchmaking ploy, or she was equally worried about her brother’s odd behavior.
Grace chose to believe the latter.
