Page 13 of The Spinster's Resolve

T he question stunned Grace into silence. She opened her mouth, but no words came. When she finally found her voice, all she managed was a flustered, ‘Er ... how ... I mean ... what do you mean by “live with you”?’

Mr Stone chuckled with a devilish glint in his eyes. ‘Fear not, Miss Skye. I mean no disrespect. I simply noticed that you endure a long trek each day, which must be exhausting. Also, I find myself increasingly reliant on your help, and daylight is limited. Completing this task swiftly would be far easier if you and your family were to return here. Your sister could properly prepare for her come-out—she will need a dance master and the opportunity to practice her music, after all. And you would be spared the arduous journey between your cottage and the Manor. Naturally, you are welcome to bring a chaperone to ensure propriety.’

Grace’s heart tightened. For a brief, foolish moment, she had thought— No. Ridiculous.

Grace hardly knew what to say. ‘I will have to discuss this with my family.’

Her first instinct was to accept—they could finally return home—but the realisation hit her like a blow. This was not a true homecoming. They would be guests, employees at best.

The prospect of seeing Mr Stone in a more intimate setting excited her but fear quickly eclipsed that feeling. What if I grow more attached to him than I already am?

Before she left for the day, she and Mr Stone attempted to open both the cellar door and the safe, but it was impossible. They agreed they would need a locksmith.

ON THE WAY HOME, GRACE felt uneasy about how things were unfolding. Though apprehensive about moving back into the Manor, she could not deny that Mr Stone had a point—traveling back and forth each day was no easy feat. Returning to Skye Manor would allow her to work more efficiently.

That evening, she discussed the matter with Heather and Mrs Merriweather.

Mrs Merriweather discovered Grace’s growing attachment to Mr Stone and could not help but give her the ‘‘I told you so’’ lecture. Grace hung her head low and endured the speech patiently, humbled. After a half hour of this and upon noticing Grace’s low spirits, however, Mrs Merriweather relented and relaxed her stance on the matter. ‘There, there Miss Grace, I am sure you will get over it soon enough.’ She patted Grace’s hand.

‘Why does she need to get ‘over’ it, Mrs M?’ asked Heather in her usual energetic way. ‘He sounds like a catch.’

Grace expected Mrs Merriweather to scold Heather for being so forward, instead to her surprise she said, ‘I suppose, now that we know he is helping the tenants and is going out of his way to investigate the missing girls, he appears to be a decent sort of person.’

‘Exactly.’ Heather enthused. ‘We should move back home. Grace spends all day with him anyway. And as he pointed out, I do need dancing lessons.’

Mrs Merriweather paused her knitting, a slight crease in her brow formed, ‘At least this way, it will lend more propriety, and I suppose we can find out more about him.’ Grace's jaw dropped to the floor.

By the end of the evening, both Mrs Merriweather and Heather appeared keen to move in, which only deepened Grace’s guilt. It was yet another reminder of how inadequate her guidance had been—ironic, considering Mr Stone was doing a better job of helping Heather than she was. A dance master and space to practice her music were exactly what Heather needed, and their small cottage could not provide that.

Yet Grace could not shake her misgivings.

‘We cannot possibly move back to Skye Manor. Mr Stone humiliated me,’ she said, arms folded. ‘He was trying to make me cave—I am certain of it. I won’t give him the satisfaction.’

Mrs Merriweather and Heather exchanged knowing looks.

‘Oh, Gracy,’ Heather sighed.

‘You must admit,’ Mrs Merriweather added with amusement, ‘he is helping us by offering this.’

Grace scowled. ‘I do not owe him anything.’

Mrs Merriweather and Heather fell into peals of laughter when Grace recounted her melting face incident during the interviews.

At first, they suggested abandoning her disguise altogether, but they quickly realised Grace had dug in her heels. They suspected she was using it as a barrier to protect herself. Understanding her past disappointments, they refrained from pressing further.

Instead, Heather tried a different tactic. ‘Look, Gracy, I think you should stop using the cream and remove the padding. I have already spoken to Betty, and she will do this gradually. With all the shawls and loose gowns, no one will notice anyway—hopefully, he will not. At least then you will feel more comfortable and natural around him.’

Grace’s irritation flared. ‘It is all very well for Mrs M to chaperone us, but we would still be living with a man!’

Mrs Merriweather looked offended. ‘I am perfectly capable of chaperoning you both. I am no longer a paid companion—I am a relative, albeit a distant one. Besides, the property belongs to the Duke of Armitage, not Mr Stone. He is just an employee, not unlike Taylor and the others. Besides, His Grace is openly sponsoring Miss Heather, so it is only natural for her to reside on his Estate while he is away. I see no impropriety here.’

Grace was thoroughly chastised and acquiesced.

The ladies spent the remainder of the evening speculating about the three mysterious men and the enigmatic Averton as they packed, excited to return home—even if only temporarily.

THE NEXT DAY WAS A flurry of activity as the Skye sisters and Mrs Merriweather moved back into the Manor. Mr Stone graciously allowed them to return to their former bedrooms rather than the guest rooms—an act that did not go unnoticed by the ladies.

Heather and Mrs Merriweather were particularly struck by Mr Stone’s handsomeness. Each reacted differently—Mrs Merriweather giggled more often, while Heather grew uncharacteristically shy in his presence.

Grace rolled her eyes at them both. Surely, I was not so obvious in my own manner...

On the evening of the move, they all dined together and convened in the drawing room, as though they never left. Grace kept her behaviour strictly professional. Any attempt at banter from Mr Stone was swiftly quashed. She prided herself on maintaining an aloof manner, despite his persistent efforts at conversation.

Eventually, he took the hint and directed his light-hearted humour toward Heather and Mrs Merriweather instead. They, in turn, became grateful recipients, responding in kind.

Yet as hours passed, Grace began to feel... left out. She reassured herself that this was for the best. On one occasion, she studiously focused on her knitting while the lively conversation swirled around her.

‘Do you have any family, Mr Stone?’ Mrs Merriweather asked.

‘I have a brother and a sister.’

‘Where are they now?’ Heather asked.

‘In London.’

‘How did you become Lord Armitage’s man of business?’ Heather had gotten over her initial shyness and became persistent. She had made it her mission to uncover as much as possible about Mr Stone, interrogating him sporadically throughout the evening.

He remained unruffled.

‘I was asked to assist in the investigations,’ was his only reply.

Grace had wondered the same thing. Perhaps he is a Bow Street Runner...

‘Have you travelled much?’

‘To many places.’

‘Are you married?’

Mr Stone’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he met Grace’s gaze. ‘No, madam, I am not married.’

Heather beamed triumphantly.

‘Heather, stop prying. It is rude to intrude on someone’s personal affairs,’ Mrs Merriweather admonished.

Grace, however, was intrigued. A devil-may-care attitude settled upon her, and she picked up where Heather left off, though she was a little more subtle.

‘At least you can tell us about your travels, Mr Stone. Which country would you say was the most dangerous?’

‘Just like you, Miss Skye, to ask about the most dangerous place rather than the loveliest,’ he chuckled. But this time, he did not seem averse to answering. ‘I would say anywhere touched by war is always dangerous. Napoleon was not playing games in France.’

‘You were in the army...’ Grace realised his athleticism likely stemmed from a military background.

He nodded, his expression turning grim.

Heather leaned forward, enthralled. ‘Did you fight in any battles? Were you wounded? Did you—’

‘War is not a topic for young, innocent ears, Miss Heather,’ he interrupted gently. ‘It is a brutal affair, and I would not wish my memories of it on anyone.’

Then, with a smile, he smoothly changed the subject.

Grace remained thoughtful as the conversation moved on. Mr Stone’s reluctance to discuss his past intrigued her. A military background explained much about his controlled demeanour, his discipline, and his unwavering composure. But what exactly had he endured during the war?

It was clear he would not say more on the subject.

Instead, he smoothly redirected the discussion. ‘It is now time to interrogate you, Miss Heather.’

‘I am ready.’ She giggled.

‘What are your interests?’

‘I love shopping and singing, but most of all, I love teasing Grace.’ She winked at her sister.

He quirked a brow in amusement. ‘Tease the unflappable Miss Skye? And how is this accomplished?’

‘Oh, it is very easy. I spill all her secrets and embarrass her at every opportunity. I am particularly skilled at irritating her. It is most amusing to watch her reactions, I assure you.’

Mr Stone’s gaze turned to Grace, his lips twitching. ‘I should very much like to know her secrets. Pray, do tell...’

Grace launched herself at her sister, covering Heather’s mouth with her hand. ‘This irritating patch of skin beside me is talking nonsense, Mr Stone. I have no secrets, I assure you.’

Heather pried Grace’s hand away. ‘Did you know she is an excellent chess player?’

Mr Stone’s expression lit up with interest. ‘Is that so? In that case, I challenge you to a game, Miss Skye.’

The gauntlet had been thrown. There was no refusing. Grace simply had to wipe that smug smile off his ridiculously gorgeous face.

Several hours later, Mr Stone emerged victorious—but only just. Grace had given him a run for his money.

Looking around the room, they realised they were all but alone—Mrs Merriweather was gently snoring in the armchair and Heather had abandoned them. The fire had burned low, and the candles flickered in their stands.

‘Not bad, Miss Skye.’ He strode to the fireplace and stoked the flames. ‘It is not often I meet a worthy opponent. We should have a rematch—you nearly caught me with that knight move.’ Their gazes locked.

With a snort, Mrs Merriweather awoke from her slumber. The spell broke. Grace felt oddly elated as she rose from her seat. With a final nod, she skipped to her chamber, her spirits inexplicably lifted.

THE NEXT MORNING WAS spent on Estate duties, while the afternoon was dedicated to the investigation.

True to Heather’s plan, Grace— with Betty’s help —reduced the cream and padding, making her far more comfortable.

Unfortunately, this did not go unnoticed.

She often caught Mr Stone glancing at her throughout the day—sometimes with curious scrutiny, other times with undisguised amusement, and occasionally... with something else entirely.

After interviewing the fifth maid. Mr Stone turned to her and remarked, ‘Miss Skye, I must say, you seem to have made a miraculous recovery. Hardly any coughs today. And your face is positively luminous.’

She froze.

He leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head, smirking.

‘And at last, I must have perfected the temperature in this room, for you appear to require fewer shawls.’

Grace’s mouth went dry.

She forced a smile. ‘Yes, well... I suppose I have been feeling better.’

‘I am relieved to hear it.’

Grace had the distinct feeling he knew everything.

Despite her irritation, she could not help but notice how broad his chest was as he reclined, his muscles flexing beneath his coat.

She swallowed. ‘Ye-yes, thank you for your hospitality. I have been feeling much better.’ In an attempt to shift the subject, she added hastily, ‘The interviews with the maids do not seem to be revealing much beyond what we already know.’

It worked.

He sat upright, his playful expression turning serious. ‘I agree. So far, we have established that Gibbs and his three associates were increasing the rents without the Duke’s knowledge—likely to fund Gibbs’s gambling and... other habits. He lost far more than he won and took his frustrations out on the servants. The ledgers show that he was stealing from the Estate to support his expensive lifestyle. No wonder he resorted to extorting the tenants.’

Grace frowned. ‘Even so, in the last quarter of the ledgers, most tenants had stopped paying. That still doesn’t explain how Gibbs managed to keep up his payments to the Duke of Armitage.’

Mr Stone exhaled. ‘Perhaps he was forced to resort to kidnapping girls and selling them to the highest bidder. We have no direct evidence linking him to the missing girls, but we may have found a motive.’

A chill ran through Grace.

‘But what remains a mystery,’ she pressed, ‘is this Averton person. You mentioned before that you would explain once we moved here, but every time I have asked today, you deflect the question.’

Now it was his turn to squirm.

With satisfaction, she watched him struggle for an answer.

At last, he sighed, as he raked his hand through his hair. ‘I was trying to shield you from it, but I see you are adamant. Very well. But brace yourself.’

Grace waited with bated breath.

‘Averton,’ he revealed, ‘is the family name of Lord Armitage. As far as I know, four people currently bear this surname: the Duke obviously, his brother, and their two cousins.’

Grace gasped.

‘Then... does that mean one of Lord Armitage’s family members is responsible—or at the very least, aware of Gibbs’s activities?’

‘It is more likely,’ Mr Stone said grimly, ‘that an Averton was the mastermind behind this. Gibbs could not have operated alone—he had to have had help from someone within the Duke’s circle. This also explains how Barnes found out too. I cannot imagine the Duke would have been careless enough to show your letter to any staff member. Your letter to Lord Armitage was most likely discussed among family members. That means Averton himself had an opportunity to warn Gibbs, Barnes, and any other accomplices before my arrival.’

Grace shuddered. ‘This is... more serious than I ever imagined. Could there be a traitor among the Duke’s family?’

She then explained her suspicions about Charles and how he had been instrumental in hiring Gibbs.

She tried to gloss over her disastrous interview with Gibbs, but Mr Stone, ever astute, seemed more concerned with the fact that she had met Gibbs alone.

He berated her for it, much to her astonishment.

‘You are missing the point entirely, Mr Stone!’ she huffed. ‘I merely meant to inform you about Charles—he might know which Averton is responsible!’

But Mr Stone refused to relent. ‘Miss Skye, you must promise me never to put yourself at risk like that again.’

Only when she begrudgingly agreed did he relax.

‘I suppose,’ he mused, ‘we need to speak with your cousin.’

Grace cringed involuntarily.

He noted her reaction but pressed on. ‘The other question is—why did Averton send Gibbs here, and why was he so unhappy with him?’

‘Perhaps Gibbs, under the orders of this Averton, was helping to extort the tenants and becoming reckless with the gambling, drawing attention to himself too much,’ Grace speculated.

‘Possible. But what were they doing so late at night, and why would they return wet and sandy?’ He tapped his fingers against the desk. ‘I suspect smuggling. The coast is adjacent to this Estate, is it not?’

‘According to village gossip, there are coves used for smuggling purposes, and several of them run along the borders of Skye Estate.’ Grace responded, recalling that broken wine bottle she found in the cave several weeks ago. A chill slithered down her back.

Mr Stone appeared to be struggling with a thought, at long length he began, ‘I have a ...’

Grace exhaled, her heartbeat uneven.

A sudden knock at the door startled them both. Mr Stone looked displeased—his lips pressing into a thin line. He looked like he had been about to say something important. But now, they would have to wait. The locksmith had arrived.