Page 19 of The Bachelor Spy
Seven. Grace’s mind immediately started calculating sleeping arrangements, supplies, meals. Where could they possibly accommodate seven more men on the main floor? The billiard room? She nodded to herself.
Shemay not wish to share a room with the mounted heads of hunted animals staring down from the walls, but surely most of the soldiers wouldn’t mind such company. And it was large enough to add a few more patients, if need be.
“Very well,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “If you’ll see to preparing the billiard room, then I’ll greet our new arrivals.”
“Of course, my lady.”
The grand outdoor entryway was already filling with the familiar organized chaos of preparing for the new patients. Orderlies helping men down from the transport wagon, Nurse Wilson appearing with her usual efficient calm to assess injuries, Mrs. Powell coordinating with footmen about accommodations.
Grace moved among them, offering words of welcome, directing servants, making mental notes of who would need what level of care.
And then she saw him.
The last man climbing down from the wagon, cane in one hand. A man she’d know anywhere, though she’d never seen him in such disarray. And she had to admit, from what she knew of him, he certainly didn’t care for it.
Pale blond hair disheveled. Jaw shadowed with stubble. Clothes much less pressed than his usual immaculate standard.
A laugh of astonished delight burst from her, and she rushed forward.
“Stephen Blake?” The words erupted from her before she could think to contain them.
The man looked up as his feet met the ground, and his familiar crooked grin emerged despite his obvious discomfort. “My dear Lady Astley.”
Just the sound of his voice sent a swell of comfort through her.
“How on earth did you get yourself wounded?” She moved to his side without ceremony, taking his arm to help him up the steps.
He leaned on her, though—ever the gentleman—not as much as she thought he might. His expression dropped into a grimace despite the residual twinkle in his eyes. “I could tell you it was a daring heroic action involving explosives and German artillery, where I saved one man’s life at great cost to myself. But truthfully?” His grin became almost sheepish. “I tripped over a supply crate in the dark and tumbled down an embankment. Terribly undignified. Please don’t tell Freddie—I’ll never hear the end of it.”
Grace released another shocked laugh, though this one was softer. Oh, what a solace to have someone so dear to her darling Frederick here at Havensbrooke. However irreverent and mischievous Blake might be, he was also terribly clever at sleuthing and knew how to wield a pistol. His presence might prove incredibly helpful. Especially where mysteries were involved.
“I am so very happy to see you, though I wish it weren’t under such circumstances.”
He winced upon making the step into the house. “As I understand it, this is the place to be if one must be wounded. Book discussions, egg-and-spoon races, dramatic poetry readings …”
“How do you already know about those?” Grace demanded.
“I happened upon your dear Lord Astley two months ago, and he was expounding upon all your adventures.” His eyes—so like Frederick’s in their intelligence but far more mischievous—sparkled despite his obvious pain. “I couldn’t resist requesting assignment here. Someone needs to document your exploits for posterity.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “And I must say, your husband is exceedingly proud of you.”
A warmth rushed from Grace’s stomach straight to her eyes, bringing with it the prickle of tears. Yes, having Blake here was the closest thing to having Frederick home.
“Let’s go to the morning room to talk properly. I want to hear everything about Frederick.”
“Everything?” He chuckled. “I’m afraid I shall prove sorely disappointing on that account. Military men aren’t terribly effusive, you know.”
They moved into the entrance hall, Grace continuing to guide Blake as if he hadn’t been in Havensbrooke more times than herself, when something caught her gaze.
Standing near the servants’ entrance, where Mrs. Powell was assisting Nurse Wilson in directing orderlies, stood Miss Helen Gale.
Which wasn’t necessarily surprising in itself, but it was thelookon her face that arrested Grace’s attention.
Miss Gale stood completely still, frozen like a figure in a painting. Her face had drained of all color, lips parted slightly as if she’d forgotten to breathe.
And her attention was fixed entirely on Blake.
Grace’s gaze flew to Blake, who had also drawn to a halt. His expression was an almost exact mirror of Miss Gale’s—shock, recognition, something that looked remarkably like pain.
What on earth was happening? A year ago, Grace would have instantly called out Blake on such a response, but as an evolving sleuth (and mother-in-training), she’d learned the value of waiting and observing—even though she was fairly certain her eyes had gone quite wide.
