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Chapter Two
FiveMonthsLater
Ezra’s head bobbed with the roll of the carriage, his thoughts and emotions a veritable storm inside him. How the blazes had he gotten himself into this mess? It had only been a letter or two.Or a dozen. Blast it all. Surely the penned word had never before caused so much trouble.
Ezra reached for the curtain and drew it back to peer through the glass window. Snow fell lightly around them. Blessedly, not enough to cause problems for his journey. It was the first thing that had gone right since a fortnight ago.
The day he had received Miss Grace Stewart’s most recent letter.
I must confess,she’d written,that I find myself quite taken with Lord Brown. Do I deceive myself in the hopes that he quite fancies me as well? He has invited me and my parents to his house for Christmas. Surely that must mean something.
Mean something it most certainly had.
It meant Ezra had, that very hour, written to Lord Brown’s mother, Lady Brown, and all but begged to be numbered among the party. It meant that Ezra had worked alongside his valet and two footmen veritably throwing his jackets and breeches into a trunk in the effort to arrive at Bridgecross Manor as soon after Grace as possible.
Just over the horizon, he caught sight of the towering home which was his destination. Ezra let the curtain drop back down again. Never had a few written words struck him so forcibly. He curled a hand into a fist, his gloved fingers pressing tightly against his palm.
Grace was taken with Lord Brown. She believed him to be taken with her.
The news was not just unpleasant; it had brought with it a sickening, staggering, stunning revelation. Indeed, it was a most unwelcome truth. A horrid realization.
The carriage rolled to a stop, Ezra rocking forward with it. There was the sound of a footman scurrying forward, the steps being lowered, the door opening. Cold winter wind blew into the carriage which had long since grown warm from all his restless shifting about. The footman bowed low, waiting for him to exit. Ezra hesitated.
His eyes moved over the stately manor. Was she here already?
He’d only once laid eyes on Grace, and to his dismay, the memory of her was vague. Of course, he’d happened to see her across the room at the operabeforehe’d first written her. If he’d known then what utter foolish events would entwine them together, he would have taken more note of her. As it was, he remembered her being petite—possibly—with dark hair—he believed—and with an easy smile—though that last part might have been his imagination because her letters were of a generally positive nature.
The footman outside still bowed. Ezra scolded himself for leaving the man waiting.
He stepped down out of the carriage and hurried up the steps before he could hesitate again. The door was opened to him at once. An elderly man dressed in the fashion of a butler bowed deeply before him, much as the footman had. Whatever else Ezra may have learned about Lord Brown, he had to admit the man knew how to impress upon his staff the importance of offering a warm welcome to guests.
“Welcome, Lord Weston,” the butler intoned. “His lordship is quite happy you have chosen to join us this holiday season.”
“Thank you,” Ezra said, his gaze traveling the full distance of the entryway. It was made up of the usual; pictures and sconces decorated the walls, and fresh flowers, no doubt from a local hothouse, adorned the tables. He didn’t even bother taking in the floor. What else could he notice except that whatwasn’tpresent was a petite woman with dark hair.
“Have most of the guests already arrived?” Ezra asked, slipping off his greatcoat.
“Yes, my lord,” the butler said, taking the coat, Ezra’s hat, and his thick winter gloves. “You are the last.”
No surprise there. His plans had been made rather last minute.
“And are they all visiting in a parlor or drawing room?”
The butler’s right eyebrow ticked up ever so briefly—the only indication he was surprised at being asked so many pointed questions. “Those that arrived today are up in their rooms resting from their travels. But a few others are in the East Drawing Room. Would you care for me to show you to your bedchamber so you might freshen up?”
“Later.” Ezra waved away the offer. “Just point me in the direction of the East Drawing Room.”
“Very good, my lord. If you would follow me.”
Ezra clasped his hands behind his back as he followed the butler up a flight of stairs and down the corridor. His fingers fidgeted as they’d been doing all day, and it grew increasingly difficult not to let loose, skip ahead of the butler, and charge into the drawing room unannounced. Ezra ground his jaw, willing his nerves to calm down. He was a grown man acting like a little boy on the first day of school holiday. This was ridiculous.
The butler opened the drawing room door and stepped inside to announce Ezra’s arrival.
Ezra moved into the room. His gaze found Miss Stewart immediately. She sat on a settee halfway across the room. Her hair was not quite so dark as he’d remembered, and since she was sitting, he couldn’t fully judge if she was shorter or taller than he’d imagined. But her smile was there, just as he’d believed it would be. She laughed lightly, the sound sending butterflies skittering about his insides and warming his entire being.
He’d never heard her voice. Not once.
He’d read her words, knew her thoughts, had learned much about her past and her hopes for the future. But he’d never once heard her voice.
