Page 28 of The Widow’s Christmas Surprise

“Good morning, Mr. Granger.” The exquisite creature smiled at him, taking Hugh’s breath away.

“Good morning, Lady Kersey,” he managed at last. He must not stare at the lady, but it was so hard not to when all he wanted to do was gaze his fill. “How may I help you?”

Lady Kersey smiled, a quirking up of her pink lips that incited a riot in Hugh’s nether regions. “I had realized this morning that with my removal to Francis House and then the flurry of the return, I had not had a chance to ask you about the Tates.”

“Ah, yes.” Hopes dashed that her visit pertained to something more personal, Hugh nevertheless returned her smile and motioned to the nearby sofa. “Won’t you have a seat, my lady?” As she complied he closed the door all but a crack and sat on a leather-backed chair opposite her. “I do have something to report on that front.”

“Oh, good.” She smoothed out her gown and raised her face to his. “How is Mrs. Tate faring? It has been some weeks since I had any news of her.”

“I believe her first grief at her husband’s loss has passed. Her children seem to be a great comfort to her.” He lowered his voice, mindful of the cracked door. “The family is still on the tenant farm. No one has applied to take it over so far, as expected.”

“That is excellent, Mr. Granger.” Her tones were hushed as well. “It was so good of you to come up with this scheme to help them.”

“Unfortunately, it will not work forever. We know that if Lord Kersey finds out there will be the devil to pay.”

“He will evict them out of hand, you mean?” Her brows knit over her petite nose in a most charming way.

“That would be the logical assumption.” He didn’t want to mention that he would also quite likely be sacked for insubordination. “And even if he doesn’t discover our little subterfuge, word does get around the counties, about tenants’ deaths, you know. Any day, a worker could show up and ask if the tenancy has been filled.”

“What can we do to help them if the worst comes to pass?” The lady stared earnestly into his face, her absolute faith in his ability to solve the problem evident in her eyes.

“I . . . haven’t quite been able to work that out yet. If the son were older there would be an argument that he could take over for his father. If a prospective tenant happens to apply, I can express to his lordship once more that Mrs. Tate is willing and able to take it over, but I doubt he will be any more amenable about that than he was before.”

Lady Kersey sighed. “I am sorry I am not able to provide another solution to their situation either. If only little Jane had been a son, this would not be a problem at all.” Her eyes widened, making them an even more startling blue. “Do not think I mean I don’t love my daughter, Mr. Granger. I do, most fiercely. It’s only that now I have no control over a decision that otherwise would have been mine to make.”

“Of course, my lady. I would never think such a thing.” One of his most precious memories of her was the afternoon he came upon her playing with her daughter at Francis House. Her love for her child had shone with absolute clarity. “How is Lady Jane?”

“She is well, thank you. Still growing at an incredible rate.” Lady Kersey relaxed and smiled. “Every time I see her she seems to have grown an inch.” Her smile became tinged with sadness. “But I fear I will not be able to see her every day as I have been used to doing. Since I am returned to Kersey Hall, I expect I shall have to conform to the more traditional ideas about child-rearing and see her only occasionally. My cousin had stressed this to me after the baby was born, but I would not listen. She was all I had, and I wanted to be with her . . .” The lady trailed off, then brushed at her eyes with the back of her hand. “Forgive me, Mr. Granger, if I have become too personal in my conversation.”

“Not at all, my lady.” He fumbled for his handkerchief and finally presented it to her. “You have not had an easy year yourself, though some might not see it that way. Perhaps you can rebel a little, when no one is noticing, and find your way to the nursery more frequently than others might do.”

She wiped her eyes, then clutched the square of linen, kneading it between her fingers. “I have never thought myself a rebel, but perhaps you are right.” She smiled up at him, her gaze warm. “For Jane I may well have to become one.”

“I think you may not find it difficult at all, when your reason for rebelling is someone dear to your heart.” He meant the words to be encouraging, but they had a rather startling effect.

Her luscious lips thinned into a straight line and she sat straighter on the sofa before leaning over to place her small hand on his. “Please tell me how your brother is doing, Mr. Granger. I do not know the particulars about his injury, but I wondered if the circumstances had changed in any way.”

At her touch, Hugh became so distracted he could scarcely comprehend what she was saying. All he wished to think about was the warmth that seeped into him from that one spot, as though nothing else had ever brought him this much joy. After a stunned moment, he managed to steady himself enough to compose an answer. “Thank you for your interest, my lady. I am sorry to say that my brother’s condition has not changed since the . . . accident. He lies in bed, unable to do more than breathe and take a little nourishment the servants feed him.”

“I am so very sorry to hear that. I know this has been an especially distressing time for you and your sister.” She squeezed his fingers, but did not remove her hand. “Can the doctors do nothing else for him? He has clung so tenaciously to life, I would think they would be encouraged that he might yet recover.”

“Sadly, no, my lady.” Hugh sat back in his chair and she did as well, breaking their tenuous contact. “They are, in fact, greatly puzzled that he lives still. According to the surgeon who has attended him from the first, he should have died of his wound shortly after he . . .” God, but he hated to confess Kit’s transgression to this woman. But if he wished to pursue any sort of courtship with her at some point in the future, he must trust that his honesty would stand him in good stead with her.

“What did he do, Mr. Granger?” The soft question seemed to echo in the still room.

“He shot himself, my lady. In the head, after the woman he had hoped to make his wife refused his proposal.”

“Dear God.” Her face paled and her hand flew up to her mouth, as if to take back his words instead of hers. “I am so terribly sorry, Mr. Granger. I had no idea.”

“We have not put it about generally, save that he was wounded by a pistol in the hopes people will think it was an accidental shooting. Mr. Lambert, the surgeon, has been discreet, but if Kit does indeed die, Mr. Lambert will be called to testify about the nature of the wound.”

“What do you mean?”

“Suicide is a crime, Lady Kersey. If his death is ruled as such, our family will lose everything—land, personal property, money—to the Crown.” He’d thought about the inevitability so much he now stated it matter-of-factly. “There is also the dreadful shame that my brother’s body will not be allowed to be buried in consecrated ground.”

The lady stared at him, her mouth working, though no words came out.

Perhaps honesty had not been the best option. Still, he would rather have the situation laid out for her. It would be her choice how to respond now. “I know this is quite a shock, but I wanted you to know, my lady. You have been so kindly interested in Kit’s—that is to say my brother Christopher Granger’s—health, I felt I should now tell you the particulars, despite their unsavory nature.”