Lord Gladsby clasped his hands behind his back and raised his chin in challenge. It was obvious he did not believe his sister.
“You need to rest, Emma.”
Grace’s already skipping heart tripped over itself as butterflies filled her chest. His obvious concern over his sister’s health and that of her unborn child was clear. Could this man be any more attractive?
Lady Hamdon playfully hung her head, then turned to the housekeeper. “It seems I am being banished to my bedchambers again, Mrs. Gibbons. You will make certain these baskets get delivered today, won’t you?”
Mrs. Gibbons eyed Lord Gladsby. “I will. In fact, I believe His Lordship just offered to deliver the Pickerings’ basket himself, with the help of the Misses Lenning, of course.”
Lord Gladsby spluttered. Lady Hamdon, head held high in triumph, grinned and sauntered to the door. “That was very kind of him. Take your time, brother. I shall be resting.”
The snow had almost completely melted, leaving a muddy mess on the road that led to the Pickerings. Thankfully, Lord Gladsby had hitched the bay mare to his curricle for delivering the baskets. It was a tight fit with the three of them on a seat that was only meant for two, but Grace didn’t mind it, especially since she was the one sitting shoulder to shoulder with Lord Gladsby.
“Look at that,” Pru exclaimed as she pointed to a pair of robins flitting about on the bare tree branches.
“Oh, they are lovely.” Grace shifted to get a better look and her thigh brushed against Lord Gladsby’s. A rush of warmth that had nothing to do with her thick redingote filled her body.
He cleared his throat. “It seems the Christmas spirit is still alive and well.”
Prudence leaned forward to look past Grace. “Which tale do you believe in more? That the robin got its red feathers by pulling a bloody thorn from Christ’s crown or that its breast was scorched while fanning a fire for the Christ child?”
The birds trilled in the trees, adding to the clop of the horse’s hooves. Lord Gladsby remained silent for a moment.
“Neither,” he finally said. “Perhaps I am a bit of a heretic, but I do not ascribe to such fanciful notions. As a student of my uncle, I tend to agree with his theology.”
“And what is that?” Grace turned in order to see his profile.
His eyes stayed firmly fixed on the road ahead. “That folklore was created to provide comfort for people who wanted answers when there were none to be had.”
His lips compressed as if he feared he’d said too much, but it intrigued Grace.
“So why is the robin’s breast red?”
“Because that is how it is supposed to be. We need no other stories to explain it.”
Grace blinked at him, then the words tumbled out of her mouth. “Much like the rest of life. We need not wonder why things happen the way they did. They just did. Anything else would be questioning the will of God.”
Lord Gladsby’s hands tightened around the reins, and every part of him that touched her stiffened. Immediately she knew she’d offended him.
“We must also give credence to accountability.”
“I agree, but no more than is necessary in any given situation. No one should hold themselves at fault for my actions along with their own. It is not a fair accounting and so would not be just.”
Silence met her pronouncement, and her chest constricted. Had she pushed too far?
The little cottage came into view, the sounds of children drifting on the breeze. Prudence squirmed in her seat, the conversation likely growing too serious for her nature. Or was it the details they had obviously danced around in order to not speak of the subject directly?
When the curricle came to a stop, Prudence scrambled down in a rather unladylike fashion, not even bothering to wait for Lord Gladsby’s help. Several children spilled out of the front door, hopping from one foot to the other as Prudence lifted out the basket.
Lord Gladsby stiffly secured the reins. “Perhaps we should go before your sister is mobbed by a herd of little Pickerings.”
The unease in her heart lightened. Maybe he was not upset with her.
“I’m not certain she would mind.” Grace adjusted enough to give him room to climb down. “She loves children. If she could, I believe she’d surround herself with them every day. It has beena great trial having our nieces and nephews at such a distance to us.”
He reached back to help her down, his eyes directed toward the spectacle Prudence and the children were making. Grace slipped her gloved hand into his and gave it a squeeze. He glanced back.
“I’m sorry if my observation caused you pain,” she said.
