Page 21 of Discovering Grace

“Very good, miss. Will the usual do?” Cook asked, her black eyebrows raised high.

Grace nearly said yes before realizing Hope likely had no idea what treats were typically prepared. “What is it you usually prepare?”

For a moment, Cook’s lips twitched but she turned her attention to organizing vegetables upon the table. “Oh, some combination of his favorite things. Mr. Everly enjoys ham, I know him to be partial to carrot soup, and at times, likes nothing better than my buttered rolls.” She glanced at Grace from the side of her eye. “And you, miss, might choose the dessert.”

Something about Cook’s manner suggested suspicion. But how would Cook have guessed who Grace was if her own father had not noticed the switch? Perhaps Susan had shared something. If the servants had guessed her identity, why had they not said anything?

“I would enjoy your apple spice cake immensely.” That was a dessert for which she knew Hope had a special fondness. “Papa also suggested I make myself useful by putting together a charity basket or two.” There. Had she sounded reluctant enough?

Cook left the vegetables to retrieve baskets hanging near the pantry. “That’s an easy enough task. Who will they go to?”

Drat. Hope would have no idea.

“I thought I might visit the vicarage this afternoon and see if Mr. Spratt could point me in the right direction.”

With her back turned, Cook chuckled. “Sounds like a fine idea, miss.”

Grace raised her head higher and squared her shoulders. “What sort of things usually go in the baskets?”

“Oh, day old bread. Preserves and jams that ought to be eaten or put out, or any extra things we might have. Sweets for the children. Nothing too extravagant.” Cook placed the baskets on the empty end of her table. Her kitchen maid came inside, holding a basket full of herbs from the kitchen garden. Cook’s attention turned to the young woman.

With some hesitancy, Grace approached the baskets. She knew exactly how to fill them best, but Cook’s strange manner meant she must be especially on her guard. She picked up a basket and went to the pantry, biting her bottom lip and examining every jar and dried onion with perplexity.

She started putting things inside the basket, making certain fully half of her selections were not the normal choices. She even added eggs into the basket, wincing as she did.

She took the basket back to the table. “Is this right, Cook?”

Cook came back to the table and reached for her carrots, then stopped and stared at the basket. “Miss Everly.” Shaking her head, she removed the eggs first, then the small crock of butter, and several dried onions. “Sweet child.” She said the term of endearment the way one might lament a scraped elbow. Then she darted Grace a confused look before taking the basket up in her hands. “Let me show you.”

Pleased she had erased the knowing smile from the servant’s face, Grace had to bite her tongue and remind herself to frown as she accepted the woman’s help. Whatever it was Cook had believed, Grace had thrown her off the scent.

Though Grace ought to feel guilty, as she had felt many times in the deception thus far, instead she gained confidence. The heady sensation did not dissipate quickly.

After blundering about the kitchen in search of a few things Cook asked her to gather, the baskets were finally prepared and covered. They would be put in the dogcart, which was the only vehicle Hope was permitted to drive. The little phaeton, with its broken axle and wheel, had been declared off limits to her for as long as she lived. Grace did not mind avoiding that equipage in the least.

She took herself to Hope’s room to dress for her ride with Jacob, putting on her sister’s deep purple riding habit with Susan’s help.

Hope’s penchant for bold colors irritated her anew. Not only did the deep plum of the dress stand out against nature, but Hope had added to the ensemble by requesting military epaulets and buttons upon the coat. Grace thought longingly of the forest green riding gown in her closet, with a more simple and sensible design, but kept a pleasant expression upon her face when Susan affixed the matching hat to her head.

“Pretty as a picture, miss.” Susan offered her usual compliment brightly. “What shall I lay out for you upon your return?”

“Whatever you think best.” The words slipped from Grace without her permission, or her clear thought. Hope always had an opinion on what to wear.

“Yes, miss.” Susan did not even bat an eyelash, turning to begin tidying up the room.

Grace hesitated. Ought she to fix the blunder or not draw attention to it? Pride goeth before a fall, certainly, and her earlier happiness over confusing the cook melted into anxiety once more.

She left the room without another word, silently berating herself. At least she did not have to pretend with Jacob. As much as his early discovery had distressed her, his knowledge offered her relief.

A groom ought to have been saddled and prepared to accompany them on their ride, but the Everly sisters had always been together, chaperoning each other, when they went out with Jacob, or Isaac and Silas. Her parents never deemed a servant necessary. Though Grace recognized the oversight at once, she said nothing. After mounting her sister’s chestnut mare, she guided the horse to the gate at the road.

Jacob, mounted on the tall hunter he favored, waited for her. The moment she caught sight of his form, waiting patiently at the end of the lane, her heart surged out of its normal rhythm into a gait far more appropriate for a running horse.

Grace had never been alone with Jacob, away from the house where anyone might watch them walk through gardens together. Hope had always been present. Or they were in a room or garden filled with people. Today, she had him to herself.

Her whole spirit lightened, she leaned forward and urged the little mare to move faster. She could not waste a moment of this time in his company. It might be the only hour she ever spent with him in such a way.

Except, as she drew closer, she saw Jacob’s deep frown and rigid posture.