Jimmy, a fourteen-year-old orphan she had taken in a year ago as a stable boy, took her horse with a cheerful smile. Grace returned the gesture before strolling through the stables and luxurious pleasure gardens, making her way to the stately study adorned with rich mahogany furnishings.
Settling at her desk, she set to work, completing paperwork, but anxiety gnawed at her thoughts.
No one knew yet that she had another plan—one she would execute if today’s meeting did not go well.
A sharp knock on the door snapped Grace from her contemplation.
Melissa, Farmer Trent’s daughter, stood shyly in the doorway. It was not uncommon for tenants to visit with small gifts or requests, and Grace always welcomed them.
‘How lovely to see you again, Melissa,’ Grace greeted warmly, ushering her inside and offering her a biscuit.
The young girl hesitated before stepping forward.
‘Ma sent these raspberry jam preserves for the Manor, Miss Skye, as a thank you for sorting out the broken fence. The sheep aren’t escaping anymore,’ she explained, nibbling at the biscuit.
‘Oh, and Pa said to thank you for arranging the sales at the market. He made a tidy profit.’
‘That was no trouble at all.’ Grace took the jars. ‘You must thank your Ma for her famous preserves, though. We do love them.’
Melissa’s gaze drifted to the bookshelf, her fingers twitching with anticipation. Grace knew exactly what she wanted.
‘How did you find First Impressions?’
Melissa’s shyness vanished in an instant. ‘We loved it! I read it twice,’ she said rapturously, retrieving the book from her reticule.
‘I am glad you did. Heather and I have read it out loud thrice now.’
Grace smiled. ‘You are welcome to borrow another.’ She could not have said anything better. Melissa beamed, jumping eagerly to the shelf.
After Melissa left, Grace sought out her sister and Mrs Merriweather for a late luncheon. Leaving the masculine study, she entered a contrasting feminine space—the morning room.
Sunlight streamed into the airy room, illuminating vibrant cushions with intricate Indian patterns and a cosy fire crackling in the hearth.
A well-laden luncheon table awaited, and her stomach grumbled in response.
As she reached for a bread roll, Heather intercepted her.
‘Gracy, Johnson said the new litter of kittens are old enough to leave their Mama. I have chosen the ginger one for the house,’ she announced in a rush.
Grace sighed as she sidestepped her sister. ‘We already have five cats roaming around the Manor! Do we really need a sixth?’
‘Yes, well—Ginger climbed up my skirts today and settled himself on my shoulder. So, you see, he chose us,’ Heather declared triumphantly, plopping into the seat beside her.
Her enthusiasm was as infectious as ever.
Heather’s easy manners could brighten even the dreariest day, though at times, Grace craved a little distance from her younger sister’s boundless energy—for the sake of her own sanity.
However, Grace did not mind her sister’s nature on most days and usually handled it with a mixture of light scolding, bantering, or teasing.
Today, she chose the latter tactic, continuing to feign indignation. ‘What am I going to do with you?’ she asked, shaking her head in mock reprimand.
Heather flashed a mischievous smile, clearly goading her.
‘What is that smile supposed to mean, if I may ask?’ Grace responded, keeping her tone calm.
Heather, clearly aiming to irritate her sister further, replied archly, ‘I am smiling because I am your little sister, and there is nothing you can do about it.’
She punctuated her words with a maniacal laugh.
