He offered her his lopsided smile, which she adored. “Oh, you realized that, did you?”
She sighed. She was not a child any longer.
As they approached the back lawn, two of the Angsleys’ dogs came rushing across it to greet them.
“Good dogs,” Grayson said, reaching down to pat the spaniels. After a moment, the dogs scented something and tore off into the wooded area at the edge of the property.
Eleanor thought of the grouse from earlier and hoped it was far away from these hunting dogs. She knew their job was to flush out birds from the bushes and tall grass. At that moment, though, floppy and playful, with their tongues lolling out of their mouths, they didn’t seem harmful at all.
“Eleanor!” Beryl was standing on the terrace amongst potted plants and the outdoor dining furniture.
Eleanor waved to her.
“You speak with Beryl,” Grayson suggested. “I’ll go talk to Lord and Lady Angsley.”
Eleanor would have liked to make sure her hosts weren’t being pressed to allow her an extended visit, but she nodded.
He strode on ahead, gave Beryl a quick hug as he passed, for they’d grown up practically as cousins, and then disappeared through the back entrance.
“What’s going on?” Beryl asked as Eleanor gained the terrace. “Why is Gray here?”
“Maggie is sick, and I’ve been forbidden to go to Turvey until she’s well.”
Beryl exclaimed in dismay. “I’m so sorry.” She enveloped her in a hug, but they were kept slightly apart by the burgeoning baby in her stomach. “Philip and I can put off our journey home.”
Eleanor’s heart soared momentarily, then she recalled Grayson’s unkind word—selfish.
“No, that’s not necessary. You have far to go, and the longer you wait, the harder it will be on you. Besides, I have all your siblings to keep me company.”
They laughed, knowing what troublemakers the younger Angsleys could be.
“And Gray,” Beryl reminded her with a pointed look and an arched eyebrow.
When she was sixteen, Eleanor had shared her infatuation over the Turvey House estate manager, and Beryl had never forgotten.
Her cheeks warmed.
“Is he staying?” her best friend asked.
“I’m not certain,” Eleanor told her. “His mother thinks he should.”
“He should!” agreed Beryl. “You can have loads of fun. The sun will come out eventually so you can do things outdoors. And in the evenings, he’ll play cards and chess.”
“Honestly, you sound like Mrs. O’Connor. I don’t need the sun to be happy, nor a playmate to keep myself occupied.”
*
That night wasanother rainy one, keeping everyone indoors. After a brief recital of piano music by Beryl and Phoebe, the drawing room was filled with young and old, playing games. Eleanor’s mind kept drifting to Maggie, hoping her sister was already beginning to feel better. She had penned a letter to her after lunch, sending it to Turvey House via the Angsleys’ footman, as Beryl thought it best not to let Grayson leave in case he didn’t return.
When she told Eleanor that, her cheeks infused with color.
Mortifying!If Grayson wanted to leave, he should go. After all, he could stay in his own home on the Cambrey estate without threat of catching anything from Maggie.
However, that night, he showed no discontentment at being in the company of Eleanor, the Angsleys, and the Carruthers. He’d grown up not as a servant or even as a servant’s son, but simply as a companion to John Angsley, the only heir to the earldom. And these were John’s relations, uncle, aunt, and cousins, and thus, they seemed to be Grayson’s relations, too.
Oddly, no one whom Eleanor had previously asked, not Beryl, Maggie, or John, knew anything about Grayson’s father. Moreover, Maggie’s husband had said Grayson, himself, didn’t know anything more than his father had been a servant who’d died.
After growing up at Turvey House with the old earl and countess and John, Grayson then went to a local boarding school before taking over the position as estate manager. At some point, he had been given land and, thus, built a house near the river.
