Her mother looked at her through her lashes, reminding her of her former schoolteacher. ‘Yes you have.’
Grace pressed her lips together and returned her attention to the accounts. She would not speak of Mr Talek Danning ever again. She noticed her mother’s attention was back on her sewing and was thankful the conversation had come to an end. Or at least she thought it had.
‘Why was he carrying his sister?’
A vivid memory of him carrying Amelia came to her mind. She had blurted out the very same question at the time. Silence had hung in the air before the arrogant man had replied. Even now, sitting alone with her mother, she still experienced the same flush of heat she had felt when his eyes had dropped to the sodden hem of her dress, lingered there and finally replied.
Grace sniffed noisily. ‘He said he was protecting the hem of his sister’s dress.’
‘That was very gentlemanly of him.’
Grace snorted. Her mother looked up in surprise.
‘Do you have a cold?’
Grace shook her head.
‘Ahh . . . You don’t believe him. Strange. Your father quite liked him.’
Grace shut the book noisily and leaned back in the chair. Her back felt stiff and she had a sudden need of fresh air. ‘I’ll finish this tomorrow, when I sort out the wages.’
Her mother frowned. ‘You look out of sorts, Grace. What is the matter?’
In truth, Grace didn’t know. She felt restless and dissatisfied with her lot, and although she often felt the former, she had never felt the latter before. All she could muster in reply was a childish shrug, which was not like her at all.
‘I know what it is,’ replied her mother, selecting a reel of thread and withdrawing a length. ‘You want to set up a home of your own. It is only natural. I was married and had you by the time I was twenty-five.’
Grace was horrified. ‘I don’t want to get married. Besides, there is no one around here that interests me and you need me.’
‘Of course you want to get married. Everyone wants to get married. It’s the natural way of things.’ Her mother lined up the needle and thread, and with one well timed movement, she threaded it with ease. ‘I know it is not easy for you. As the daughter of the owner of Kellow Dairy it is difficult to find a suitable husband in these parts. Too rich and they look down on us, too poor and a man feels you are above his station. I worry you may have missed your chance of marriage.’
‘It is I who have not found a man I wish to marry. I have had offers.’
‘Of marriage?’
‘No. I didn’t mean that. I mean men expressing an interest in me . . .’ Grace sighed ‘. . . but they don’t interest me. I want a marriage like yours, not one to simply make do and mend. I don’t want to end up like the old couple in the village who can barely look at each other.’
Her mother watched the long thread trailing from her needle as she pulled it taut. ‘Every marriage is different, Grace. They start differently and they end differently. I did not love your father at first sight.’
‘But it did not take you long.’
‘It took me a while.’ Her mother noticed her puzzled expression. ‘Your father had a reputation. People were scared of him.’
‘But it wasn’t true though, was it?’
‘Well, let’s just say he had been in a fight or two at school and mud sticks.’
‘Father? Fighting?’ Grace found that hard to believe. ‘He is always so calm and measured.’
Her mother nodded. ‘He is now. Let’s just say that it took me a while to trust him.’
‘And then you did and you married him. And then I came along.’
Her mother smiled. ‘And then you came along,’ she repeated indulgently.
‘I walked out with Alfred a few times last year.’
‘Alfred? The blacksmith who moved back here? I didn’t know.’
Her mother didn’t seem too pleased to hear it.
‘Nothing came of it. It was only a few times.’
Her mother made a face. ‘He isn’t good enough for you. I want you to be married, but not to just anyone.’
‘I have no plans to rush into marriage. You both need me here. Who would do the accounts?’
Her mother rested her sewing on her lap. ‘We love you, Grace. We want you here and you’re a great help, but we managed before you came of age and we’ll manage when you decide to leave us.’ Her mother smiled to soften the words. ‘Don’t grimace so. I am just saying if there is a new man you wish to court, don’t let us hold you back. You’re growing more unsettled and less reliable by the day. You spend hours wandering the moors and goodness knows where else.’ A thought struck her. ‘Are you seeing someone?’
‘No!’ She thought of Alfred again. Alfred had not taken the end of their relationship well and had pestered her for months to walk out with him again. She had hidden his pestering from her parents as she knew they would have had words with him. The experience of their break up was enough to put Grace off courting for good. The feeling of dissatisfaction rose up inside her and brought her to her feet. Her mother looked up in surprise when she heard her chair scrape back.
‘I think I’ll go for a walk,’ said Grace. ‘Do you mind if I leave the rest of the accounts for another day?’ Her mother slowly shook her head, her eyes narrowing in concern. Grace offered a shaky, reassuring smile, before quickly striding from the room. It was some time later, when her thoughts finally began to clear of the arrogant Mr Danning, that Grace realised that she had left her mother with a table full of scattered paperwork to file and an account book to complete. It was so unlike her. Normally, she was fastidious in her bookkeeping habits. Talek Danning had a lot to answer for.
* * *
Grace looked about her. She had set out with no destination in mind, but now she was at a crossroads and the familiar urge to follow a particular route was calling to her . . . as it had done so many times before. It felt stronger today, as if the destination at the end of the road was pulling her by an invisible thread. It was a place that fed her curiosity, yet strangely always left her hungry for more. Today she needed such a diversion and as she took the road leading to the building in the distance, her footsteps grew faster and more determined with each stride.
Bosvenna Manor, her mother’s former home, silently greeted Grace’s arrival. To her eyes, it appeared forlorn and in waiting, desperate for someone to love it again and illuminate its windows with warm yellow light. The surrounding land had long since been sold, while its abandoned parkland and gardens had been left to Mother Nature’s demanding clutches. Only the building itself retained its historic identity, dominance and the aura of romantic mystery that had drawn Grace to it, time and time again, as she was growing up.
