Page 11 of The Spinster's Resolve

T he next day, Grace arrived at the Manor half an hour earlier than usual, determined to inspect that damned drawer. She berated herself for being such a half-wit—letting him distract her with frippery compliments. Once Taylor let her in, she hurried into the study, relieved to find it empty.

With trembling hands, she tried the drawer, but it was locked. She yanked at it again, yet the sturdy lock refused to budge. If only she knew how to pick locks! Alas, that skill was beyond her; perhaps Jimmy could pry it open with his tools. She turned to go just as Mr Stone entered, nearly colliding with her. She found herself uncomfortably close to his powerfully built chest, wrapped in a well-fitted riding jacket. She stepped back, blinking and quite possibly gawping.

Mr Stone’s gaze flicked towards the door. ‘Shall we go, Miss Skye?’ he murmured, stepping aside with a poised confidence that made Grace’s pulse flutter.

They set off from the stables with Jimmy trailing behind for propriety—and to glower at the tenants if they dared express surprise at Grace’s altered figure.

Their first stop was the Marsh family. Mrs Marsh’s eyes widened when she saw Grace, but she schooled her features quickly and smoothed her apron. Forcing a polite smile, she opened the door wider. ‘Please, come in.’

A laugh bubbled in Grace’s throat, and she had to press her lips together to keep it from escaping. The sheer absurdity of the moment was almost too much to contain, but she settled for a broad smile, mindful of Mr Stone close behind. The scene turned even more comical when Mrs Marsh gaped at Mr Stone’s entrance. Undoubtedly, she was awestruck by his masculine beauty, and Grace had to stifle a giggle.

As they entered the cottage, Grace’s gaze drifted over the bare shelves, once lined with simple but cherished knick-knacks. Now, only faint dust outlines hinted at where the ornaments had stood. She noted the empty space on the table, where a polished tea set should have been. A wave of sympathy welled within her, the stark absence of familiar comforts speaking louder than words.

Mrs Marsh, a kindly woman, had always appeared weary—understandable given how many children she had raised over the years. Some of the younger ones now scampered round the kitchen table as they all sat for tea. Joseph, a particularly precocious boy, recognised Grace beneath her disguise and blurted, ‘Miss Skye, you look funny.’

Luckily, Mrs Marsh whisked him away to the back garden before anyone could respond. Unfortunately, Mr Stone heard the remark and raised an eyebrow, though he was too much of a gentleman to comment further.

Looking anxious, Mrs Marsh sat down and asked why they had come, likely fearing the rent might be raised again.

Mr Stone quickly put her at ease, using his town charm to coax a giggle from her—an exchange that rankled Grace, though she could not say why. When he informed Mrs Marsh that the rent would revert to its previous amount, she appeared incredulous.

‘What do you want in return?’ she asked, mystifying both Grace and Mr Stone.

Grace recalled the lewd proposition Gibbs had once made to Melissa. She caught a flicker of anxiety in Mrs Marsh’s eyes. ‘We’re merely trying to right the wrongs left by Mr Gibbs,’ she said softly, hoping Mrs Marsh would relax. Yet the woman’s fingers continued twisting in her apron, as though holding back some unspoken fear.

Despite Grace’s explanation, Mrs Marsh’s stiff posture and suspicion persisted until she elaborated further. At last, Mrs Marsh relaxed.

‘Oh, I am ever so relieved!’ she cried. ‘I’m glad you’re back, Miss Skye. Things have been dreadful since you left—Mr Gibbs and his cronies have been harassing us something awful. I can’t wait to tell Michael and the boys when they return from the fields.’

‘I am sorry for the trouble you have endured.’ Mr Stone paused, a note of genuine regret colouring his voice. ‘If there is one thing I cannot stand, it is seeing honest people cheated. I would like to reimburse you for the extra rent Mr Gibbs took—and ensure you are never treated that way again.’

If Mrs Marsh had been impressed by Mr Stone’s appearance before, she was now utterly smitten, tears of joy streaming down her face. By the end of their visit, she waved him off as though sending a war hero into battle. She even raced ahead to untie his horse and lead it to the mounting step herself.

Grace, by contrast, felt suddenly invisible. Left to manage her own horse, she glanced around for Jimmy but found no sign of him. She searched for a mounting block and finally settled on a fallen tree trunk. As she guided her horse towards it, a strong pair of hands seized her waist.

A flurry of butterflies erupted in her stomach. Before she could react, she was hoisted into the saddle, a startled and thoroughly unladylike yelp escaping her lips.

She whipped round to find Mr Stone’s puzzled face level with her knee.

Never in her life had she been handled so boldly. She ought to have been outraged, but privately admitted it was oddly thrilling.

Preoccupied by her thoughts, she did not notice until much later that Mr Stone had dropped behind rather than riding beside her. Realisation dawned with mortification—he had lifted her by the padding of her disguise and probably believed her heavier than she truly was.

Turning to glance at him, she found him eyeing her bodice.

Heat rushed to Grace’s cheeks, and she clenched the reins until her knuckles whitened. She faced forward, forcing herself to concentrate on riding.

She had to keep her distance.

He was smirking. The odious man! Grace fumed, praying he would dismiss the incident and refrain from teasing her. By the time they reached the next farm, he was his usual self again. She stole occasional glances at him during the journey, relieved to find he no longer watched her except out of courtesy.

Jimmy trailed behind at a lazy pace, whistling a tune under his breath. Now and then, he would stray to pluck a wildflower or peer into a hedgerow, as though on a leisurely holiday. By the time he ambled over to Grace, she hissed, ‘Jimmy! Stop wandering off!’ Her cheeks flamed at the memory of Mr Stone’s ‘assistance’ and her own mortification.

Their next visit was to the Joneses. Convincing them proved harder, especially since their daughter, Leah, was among the missing girls. Mr Jones, in particular, took one look at Mr Stone and bristled with hostility. Grace found herself intervening more than once.

‘I don’t mince words, Miss Skye, you know that. And I don’t trust toffs from the city.’ With a sneer at Mr Stone, he added, ‘You don’t own me. If there’s any dodgy business, we’ll leave—to hell with your farm and cottage.’

Tension thickened the air. Mr Jones grew increasingly agitated, and Grace’s efforts to calm him seemed futile. She noticed Mr Stone’s jaw clenching; a sure sign he was battling his temper. She braced for an outburst, but he replied evenly, ‘As you wish, Mr Jones. If you are not satisfied here, by all means leave. But remember—I am not Mr Gibbs. I would appreciate it if you did not insult me when my only intention is to help.’

Mr Jones looked briefly ashamed. After some hesitation, he listened to the proposal and ultimately accepted the assistance.

As they departed, Grace was grateful to find Jimmy more attentive. She mounted her horse quickly—before Mr Stone had any opportunity to ‘help’ her again.

Still, she could not resist a backward glance. She regretted it at once.

He was grinning.

Trying to steady her thoughts, Grace glanced over her shoulder, speaking quietly. ‘Mr Jones may be harsh, but he has a kind heart. Please don’t take offence at his words.’

Mr Stone nodded. ‘What I find puzzling is why Mrs Marsh and the Joneses seemed so frightened and distrustful. There must be more going on than Mr Gibbs simply raising the rent. I intend to find out what has truly been happening.’

He sounded genuinely concerned for the tenants; surely no one could feign such sincerity.

He had shown Grace enough integrity to deserve an honest reply. She took a breath. ‘Erm... I may be able to enlighten you.’

He arched an eyebrow, a slow smile curving his lip, sending another flutter through her. ‘It seems you have been hiding things from me in more ways than one, Miss Skye. Pray, enlighten me.’

She cringed at the double meaning—he definitely knew about her padding. Clearing her throat, she continued, ‘Mr Jones’s daughter, Leah, is missing.’

His eyes widened. ‘Tell me everything.’ His voice carried a quiet urgency that brooked no refusal.

He seemed intent on learning the truth, so Grace described each girl who had vanished. A shadow crossed Mr Stone’s features as she detailed Leah’s and Millie’s disappearance and the families’ fruitless pleas for help. His expression grew darker with every name. When she finished mentioning how Melissa disappeared on the same day Gibbs vanished, he asked, ‘Has anyone taken serious measures to find them?’ Something dangerous flickered in his eyes, as if an old memory haunted him.

‘Beyond the families’ own searches, no. The constable and magistrate treated all the girls as runaways. As for Mr Gibbs, the constable did organise a search party, but it was far from thorough. The families are convinced Mr Gibbs abducted these girls, but I am not entirely certain he is directly involved. Nevertheless, people around here tend to blame strangers for everything. Still, I’ve known these families for years, and nothing like this happened before Gibbs arrived. It is suspicious, is it not?’

‘Indeed. What do you think we should do, Miss Skye?’ He questioned.

Surprised that he wanted her opinion, she paused. ‘You need to question the Manor staff and speak with the tenants. However, they will only trust you if you keep your promises. Returning the rent overpayments and starting repairs would be a sensible first step. Additionally, several young maids left their positions due to harassment. They should be reinstated to their roles.’

He nodded, then rode on, lost in thought. The sky had darkened, and a stiff breeze whipped Grace’s cloak about her ankles as she and Mr Stone continued in tense silence towards the Manor. Each bump in the dirt track jarred her thoughts, reminding her of all she still did not understand about Mr Stone—or about Gibbs’s connection to these vanishings. Eventually, he said with quiet determination, ‘We must find these girls, and we need to locate Gibbs and his men for questioning.’

He pulled back on the reins of his horse, forcing both of them to halt. Turning his mount to face her, he asked, ‘Miss Skye, will you help me interview the staff?’

GRACE TRAVELLED BACK to her cottage by carriage. Her heart leaped as she recalled every stolen glance at Mr Stone, every smile he aimed her way. She was troubled by how drawn she felt to him. She could no longer deny it. The more she learnt of his character, the harder it became to fault him. He was polite, genuinely concerned about the missing girls, and clearly not in league with Gibbs. She had hoped he might be guilty, so she could keep her heart safe, but that possibility had vanished.

This was a disaster. The very disguise she had crafted to keep him at bay now trapped her in her own deception. It was maddening. Heat rose to her cheeks as she recalled the gentle pressure of his hands at her waist, and the memory of his quiet confidence lingered long after they parted. She clenched her fists, trying to banish the foolish flutter in her stomach. She had no business feeling this way—especially not with the tenants’ fate and the missing girls weighing so heavily on her conscience. By the time she reached her doorstep, her thoughts were in a tangled mess. She pressed a hand to her forehead, wondering if she would ever find a clear path through this turmoil.

Exhausted, she removed her spectacles—which pinched her nose—and rubbed her face, a habitual gesture. She regretted it instantly as the cream smeared across her hands. To her dismay, Heather appeared in the doorway and, seeing Grace’s blotchy face, burst into fits of laughter.

‘Gracy... oh, Gracy...’ she cried between giggles. ‘What happened today?’

Grace glowered at her, not in the mood for teasing. Heather sobered at once and asked again, ‘Seriously, what happened?’

Grace recounted the day’s events, and both Heather and Mrs Merriweather brightened.

‘This is marvellous news, is it not?’ Heather exclaimed. ‘It means Mr Stone probably isn’t working with Gibbs or Barnes. Why else would he investigate and try to find the girls if he were guilty?’

Mrs Merriweather, though hesitant, nodded in agreement.

‘Yes, it is good news,’ Grace admitted, feeling strangely miserable.

‘Then why do you look so wretched?’ Heather asked.

‘It’s nothing,’ Grace muttered, fleeing to her room.

Heather, undeterred, followed. She tilted her head, concern evident in her eyes. ‘Then why do you look so miserable?’

Grace turned away, avoiding her sister’s gaze and fiddling with a button on her sleeve.

‘Are you sure?’ Heather persisted, laying a gentle hand on Grace’s arm.

Unable to contain her emotions any longer, Grace snapped, ‘I think I’m falling in love with Mr Stone!’