Page 10 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

Much as she regretted it, she must make Jane’s advice about providing for herself and her child of paramount importance when deciding anything to do with her future. Mr. Granger would remain at the estate and Maria could not only observe his behavior, but could engage him in conversation and discover any potential prospects he might have. She wasn’t ready to give up on the kind steward so soon. Especially not when he stirred her in a way no one had since she’d married William.

The carriage arrived back in front of Kersey Hall, and Jane and Maria preceded Mr. Granger into the entryway. As two footmen assisted them in removing their outer garments, Chambers hurried forward, a silver salver in his hands.

“My lady, my lady.” He bowed to them both. “Mr. Granger, this arrived for you about a half hour ago. I would have sent it out to the dower house, but I wasn’t sure how important it was.”

Mr. Granger frowned as he gazed at the square of foolscap, folded and sealed, though the latter lay crooked across the paper. “It is from my younger sister. She has written the direction almost illegibly, which is not her usual way.” A frown furrowed his brow as he popped the seal off, unfolded the missive and began to read. “I hope all is all right at home.”

“Thank you, Chambers.” Maria nodded to the butler. “John, Martin, that will be all.” The footmen took her and Jane’s outer wraps and left. “Please bring a pot of tea to the drawing room, Chambers.” She wanted to get the servants out of the entry hall as quickly as possible, for Mr. Granger’s face, though it had not so much as twitched as he read the letter, had grown alarmingly pale. “Mr. Granger, will you have some tea with Lady John and me?”

Jane shot her a glance and nodded.

“Mr. Granger.” Fearing the worst, Maria carefully placed her hand on his arm. Anyone deserved comfort at a time of such great distress. “Has something happened?”

He looked up at that, his lips drawn into a thin line, his entire body taut as if steeled for a blow. “I beg your pardon, my lady, but I must leave at once.”

“Leave?” Maria and Jane echoed the word at once.

“What has happened, Mr. Granger?” Maria gripped his arm, as much for his comfort as to steady herself for whatever blow must have fallen.

His countenance remained immobile, though his lips trembled slightly. “My sister writes that our elder brother with whom she resides has met with a terrible accident.” Once more the crystal-blue eyes locked onto hers. “They fear the wound is mortal and . . .” Glancing away, he straightened his shoulders, regained his composure, and stepped away from Maria. “I take my leave of you, Lady Kersey. I regret that I must leave you with the work of the estates at such a time, but I dare not delay even an hour.” He tore a slip from his sister’s letter and scribbled words upon it. “If you are in dire need, write to me here, at my family home in Lavenham, Suffolk. I will try to advise you from there.”

“Thank you, Mr. Granger.” Maria raised her chin. She would ease his burden of leaving as best she could. “Do not worry about the estate. With my cousin’s help, I can assume much of the day-to-day management. But I will write to you if the new Lord Kersey is found.” She grasped his hand again, willing her warmth into his cold flesh. “I will pray each day for your brother’s recovery.”

With a nod to her and Jane, Mr. Granger withdrew his hand, turned on his heel, and strode back through the entry hall. A moment later the front door boomed and a sudden silence descended on Kersey Hall.

Chapter Four

The distance between Kersey Hall and Hugh’s family’s home, some two miles beyond the wool town of Lavenham, was not great. Still, he feared it would be too much to allow him to arrive at The Grange in time to bid his brother goodbye. Despite the gathering shadows of the late afternoon, he urged Galahad to greater speed, the melancholy refrain of “what on earth had happened to Christopher” running through his head.

His sister had written the barest minimum of words before sending the cryptic message, the words seared into his brain.

Hugh, Come home at once. Christopher has been shot. God alone knows if he will live. The doctor has been fetched. I need you now, Brother.

Arabella

Poor Bella. To have been home completely alone, save for the servants, when this tragedy occurred must have been devastating to her. For that, if for nothing else, he blamed himself. He’d been amenable for Bella to have a companion this year, to help dispel some of her painful shyness during the few social occasions she managed to attend. But Kit had insisted that their sister’s lady’s maid was perfectly capable of seeing her through any party without the need of another mouth to feed.

His brother acted as though their coffers were bare, although that was hardly the case. Hugh had gone over the books with The Grange’s steward last quarter and it had been correct down to the last ha’penny. No money was missing and the crops had done well last year, despite the cold summer. This was cause for rejoicing, not for fighting. His first thought had been a hunting accident, which did happen out in the woods from time to time. Then the memory of Lord Kersey had sent Hugh down the pathway leading to a duel as the explanation for the injury. Still, what could have provoked a duel? Certainly not a woman, as had been his lordship’s case. Kit had written a month or more ago that he was about to become betrothed to Margaret Westgate, daughter of a prosperous gentleman farmer, much as Kit was himself, but recently come to the neighborhood. He’d been taken with Miss Westgate more than a little, for his letters to Hugh had bordered on the boring as they recounted every moment he’d been in the lady’s company. So a jealous husband couldn’t be the problem. Had Kit offended someone? That seemed very odd behavior for his mild-mannered brother, but stranger things had happened. Perhaps someone had insulted Miss Westgate and Kit had taken it upon himself to defend her honor.

Hugh shook his head as he and Galahad flashed through the village of Lavenham. Only a couple more miles and his conjectures would be at an end. He leaned forward and spoke in Galahad’s ear. “Come on, boy. Give me that last spurt of speed and you’ll have oats enough and all the hay you could want.”

The horse seemed to understand, for he miraculously picked up the pace to a gallop, leaving the half-timbered Tudor houses behind in a flurry of yellow and brown leaves. In what seemed like moments, they sailed through the stone gateposts, huge figures of wolfhounds guarding the entrance to the estate. Hugh pulled Galahad down to a canter as they neared the circular driveway, and to a trot as they turned onto the crushed gravel. Fred, the head groom, stood waiting for him.

“Praise God you’re home, Mr. Granger.” The stocky man had Galahad’s bridle in his hands before the horse had quite stopped.

“Thank you, Fred.” Hugh jumped down from the saddle, tossed the reins to the groom and took the steps two at a time. He came to a full stop at the front door, knowing he must enter, but dreading what he would find just inside. Clenching his jaw, he knocked.

The door jerked open revealing Littles, the family’s usually unflappable butler, looking harried for the first time ever and much older than Hugh remembered, with lips drawn in and shoulders stooped.

“So good to have you home, Mr. Granger. Come with me, please. Miss Granger is waiting for you in your brother’s bedchamber.” Littles moved quickly toward the stairs.

“Is my brother still alive?”

The butler stopped on the first step and turned toward Hugh. “He was when I came down to await you, sir.” He closed his eyes and winced. “I cannot say if he yet lives.”

Hugh bounded past the servant, taking the steps two at a time until he reached the landing on the first floor. He raced down the left-hand corridor to the suite of rooms at the far end where he stopped, a sudden dread settling over his heart. When he opened this door he might find his life had changed irrevocably. Grasping the door handle, the polished metal cold on his palm, Hugh sent up a prayer for his brother’s life and opened the door.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Someone had drawn the curtains but neglected to light more than one candle. The single flame sat high atop the chest-on-chest to the side of the massive four-poster bed, flickering in some unseen draft and casting lurid shadows throughout the room. In the middle of the bed lay Kit, eyes closed, a stark white bandage wound around his head and jaw.