Page 40 of Discovering Grace

She entered the kitchen, the sound of her footsteps on the wood floors lost amid the clanging of a pot and fussing of the cook.

One of the kitchen maids spotted Grace first and hurried over, wiping her hands on her apron. “Might I help you, miss?” Molly asked.

“I wonder if I might have a bite of toast before breakfast.” Grace offered the servant a smile and received a quick nod in return.

Grace, with no work to do, did not presume to sit at the table this time. She had no wish to be underfoot.

Garrett appeared and stopped upon seeing her. “Miss Everly. You are up early this morning, miss. May I help you?”

“I am only come to sniff out some toast. Molly is tending to me.”

He nodded and bowed, then took himself off to the shelves near the back door. He reached into a nook and drew out several folded papers. The post. Someone must have run to town for it.

“Here is your toast, miss.” Molly offered the small plate with the dry bread and a little crock of marmalade.

“Thank you.” She took the food and turned to leave, intending to take herself off to her mother’s sitting room. The familiarity of the room might do something to help her rather woebegone mood.

“Miss Everly?” Garrett said, and she turned around again. “There is a letter for you, from your sister in London.”

What little appetite the toast and marmalade had coaxed forward immediately vanished. A letter from Hope meant only one thing. She had set sail and posted the note as one of her last acts on English soil.

Grace held onto her plate with one hand and held the other out for the letter. “Thank you, Garrett. I-I am glad she wrote.” Was she? It meant things were final. It meant she must tell the truth, at last.

The butler placed the folded and sealed paper in her hand, his eyebrows drawn down. “Are you worried it is bad news, miss?”

“No.” She attempted a brighter expression, though she doubted her ability to be convincing. “I miss her, though. It will be good to have news.” She left without another word, tucking the letter into the bosom of her gown. Grasping her plate with both hands, she ran to the first room where she knew she might have privacy.

The music room was across from her father’s study, as he claimed he enjoyed hearing his children practice and play upon their instruments while he worked. That morning, all was silent when she entered. She had not practiced the pianoforte once in Hope’s absence, though she had longed to do so a time or two. Hope sang. Grace played the piano.

Grace was forever in the background while her sister performed, in music and in life. Truthfully, she preferred it that way. The picnic had been entertaining, but exhausting.

She put the plate down on a chair and went to the window, pushing the heavy curtains aside, allowing the morning sunlight to illuminate her letter.

It was as she thought. Hope’s part in the masquerade had remained undiscovered, and she had set sail the previous day after giving the letter into the care of a servant.

Hope was gone. Beyond reach of their father, beyond Grace’s help.

She lowered herself to the wide windowsill, paper in hand, and leaned back against the glass. Her plan had worked. Neither of them had been discovered, both had what they wanted. Why then, with her triumph confirmed, did she feel so lost? She dreaded telling her father. Who knew what he would say, what the punishment for her actions might be? But that was not what left her heart empty.

Her sister was gone. The sister she had never been apart from, since before their birth. They had done everything together, excepting brief separations lasting no more than the space of a day or two. All this time, pretending to be Hope had wearied her. Thinking of how her sister might act in every situation had kept Grace from truly recognizing the hole in her life with Hope away.

Grace raised her free hand to rub her eyes, trying to plan what came next. That was what she did; Hope took off on whatever wild idea came to her while Grace planned each moment of her day with care. She knew Papa ought to be told soon. It was wrong to go on lying to him any longer than necessary. Yet she hesitated.

The person she most wanted to speak with, to share her feelings, to mourn the loss of her sister for an entire year, was Jacob.

The awkward moment beneath the apple trees would have to be addressed. She must let him know she thought nothing of it, that it was forgotten. Even if that might be another lie.

With a groan, Grace put her face in her hands, heedless of pressing Hope’s letter into her cheek. What a mess. Though she had won the ability to stay at home, remaining near those she loved, everyone she cared for would have reason to be cross with her once the whole truth came out.

She had to think carefully about how to reveal the truth. It certainly needn’t be done right away.

Tucking the letter back into her bodice, she found her plate. The toast, though cold, would be all right with the marmalade. Forcing down a few bites, Grace’s mind kept busy, examining each of her options.

The day passed, and she through it, as silently as it began. Grace ate breakfast with Papa and then retired to sew. Hope sewed sometimes, after all. Then she strolled through her mother’s garden, inspecting the plants carefully. She took tea in to her father when she thought he might be peckish but had little in the way of conversation with him.

All the while, as she went through her normal daily tasks, she tried to put together the right words to tell her father what she had done. To tell Jacob it had been her idea, not Hope’s.

Every time she thought of Jacob, however, her memories took hold. How many times in the past year had she caught him admiring Hope? How often had she wished he would turn and look her direction instead? Everyone thought Hope to be exciting and clever, given all the interesting things she might do or say at a given moment. Some thought her brash. All would agree that she was a bold, bright creature.