She searched Lady Hamdon’s face. What sort of faith did the woman have in her to think she could make it better?
Her kiss with Lord Gladsbyhadbegun this discord. Maybe if she apologized, let him know she understood its insignificance, perhaps he would not closet himself away from everyone.
Slowly, she dipped her chin in acceptance and moved to the door. A footman opened it and she made her way up the stairs, careful not to spill the warm, spicy mixture. As she reached the open corridor on the east side of the house, her heart pounded in her chest.
Would he think it impertinent of her to intrude on his solitude? What if he refused to speak with her? Why had he appeared so far away while listening to Pru’s story?
The last question rolled around in her mind, her curiosity propelling her forward. She counted each door as she passed. At the fourth one, she stopped and glanced down at the two silver handled mugs. She couldn’t knock and there was no footman to open the door for her. If she used her elbow, it would likely slosh the liquid all over her hands and stain the beautiful sage and coral carpet beneath her feet.
Her lips twisted to the side. There was only one thing for it. Using her slipper-covered foot, she tapped the bottom of the dark wood door.
“Come in,” a firm voice commanded.
She stared at the door. Now what? She could not open the door herself, so she tapped again.
“I said enter,” Lord Gladsby snapped from the other side of the door.
Maybe this had been a bad idea. It was inappropriate, at the very least. She nibbled on the inside of her lower lip, hesitating between darting down the hall to the closer servants’ staircase and returning the way she’d come.
Before she could decide, however, the door swung open. Lord Gladsby glowered. He opened his mouth no doubt ready to scold her but stopped.
“Grace.”
Her name came out as a whisper, but it trailed over her skin like a warm breeze heating her far more than the sun and bringing color to her cheeks. It was the second time he’d forgone formality. What did such lapses mean?
He cleared his throat. “Excuse me, Miss Lenning.” His gaze dropped to the mugs in her hands. “Has my sister lowered you to that of a maid now? Not the way to treat a guest of Engalworth, is it?”
She smiled and extended a mug, which he took. “I don’t mind. I’m used to attending to others’ needs.”
The mug stopped halfway to his lips, and he frowned. “I am not an invalid who needs tending to.”
The warmth of the quiet moment fled with his returned displeasure. She’d not meant to make it sound like he was incapable, only that she often anticipated others’ needs before they voiced them. Mama’s need for someone to complain to, Pru’s need for a companion, Diana’s need for a shoulder to cry on, even Bradley’s need for someone to laugh with.
“I only wanted to help,” she said softly, her chin tucked so she could not see his narrowed eyes. “If you’d rather I go, I understand.”
She stepped back, prepared to leave, but his hand shot out, stopping short of touching her. “No, please stay.”
Chapter 13
Alan curled his fingers and pulled his hand back to his side. Why had he asked her to stay? He’d successfully avoided her all day, and now he was sabotaging his own efforts.
Grace’s warm brown gaze rose but did not meet his. “Alright.”
She looked past him into the study, glancing from one end of the room to the other. He wasn’t sure how much she could see with only the glow of the fire and the candelabra on his desk, but she appeared intently interested in the room’s contents.
She shifted from one foot to the other, wrapping her unencumbered arm about her waist. He realized his rudeness. Normal gentlemen would step aside and invite their guests to sit with them while they sipped their drinks. Instead, he was standing like a dolt in the open door.
He moved out of her way and gestured to the room. “Would you like to sit with me by the fire? It is much warmer than the drafty court.”
She wrapped both hands around her mug and stepped in. With her head down, the glow of the candles lit up her burnishedtresses and caused them to shimmer in the dim room. The urge to touch a copper curl itched at his fingers. He imagined they’d be soft and probably smell of vanilla, much like Grace herself did.
She hesitated before the two velvet covered wingback chairs, obviously waiting to see which one he chose. Leaving the door slightly ajar, he gestured to the one farther from his position, knowing it was the warmer option.
Gingerly she sat, her focus remaining on the large mug. “You have quite the collection of books.”
“Those are my father’s doing. He loved to read and passed on that love to his children. Unfortunately, I do not go out as much as he did, so I do not often acquire as many new titles.”
She nodded and took a sip of her drink. Her eyes briefly closed when she swallowed, and he smiled. Mrs. Gibbonsdidmake a fine wassail. He took a swallow of his own and relished the mix of fruit and spices.
