Where Love Restores (Where There is Love Book 4) Read online

  Yes, Granville thought, that is what I have been doing—doubting God’s willingness or ability to perform His good pleasure. I don’t trust in myself or my friends or God. Did Simeon have an answer? But then Granville’s shoulders slumped. If the answer was that he must work harder, he was beaten already. It was impossible. He could toe the line no closer than he had in the past weeks.

  As if the speaker had read his mind, Simeon continued: “There is no condition that can justify a despondent inactivity. The Word of God is full of exceeding great and precious promises, which shall all be fulfilled in their season to those who rely upon God. These we should contemplate; we should treasure them up in our minds; we should plead them before God in prayer; we should expect abundantly the fulfillment of them. However long or dark our night may be, we should look with confidence for the returning light of day. We should know that the goings-forth of Jehovah for the salvation of His people are prepared as the morning and that He will appear at the appointed hour.”

  Granville listened solemnly, neither rejecting the words nor accepting them without thought, but taking them to heart for consideration.

  “However frequently vanquished by our spiritual foes, we should return to the charge, ‘Strong in the Lord and in the power of His might.’ We should never for a moment suffer the thought of our weakness to discourage us. We should rather make it a reason for exertion in the full confidence that, ‘When I am weak then am I strong,’ and that God will perfect His strength in our weakness. ‘It is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure.’

  “We should expect everything from God as if there were no need of personal exertion and then go forth to do His will in His strength.” Simeon reached out to his listeners and then folded his hands as for prayer, a characteristic gesture of his.

  His mind on the speaker’s words, Granville was leaving the chapel when Simeon approached him. “I have received a letter from your father and my friend, the Earl of Harrowby. He is much concerned for you.”

  “A letter from my father, sir?” Granville was astounded. With all the activities of a newly convened Parliament and the pressures of his office as Lord President of the Council, Lord Harrowby had taken time to write to Charles Simeon concerning his younger son?

  “Yes. Arrived not above five days ago. I have been hoping to see you. Please call on me in my rooms at any time if I may be of service.”

  The men bowed to each other, and Granville returned to his rooms determined to struggle on in his resolve. Now he had a new impetus. As he looked at the small hearing aid on the table beside his books, Granville smiled. Two times in as many months his father had shown thought and care for him. Was it possible that he could have misunderstood his father’s feelings in the past?

  Putting the question aside for more pressing concerns, Granville called to Creighton to bring coffee and another log for the fire. Then he settled down to read.

  But the Latin ode fled from his mind when the coffee Creighton brought was accompanied by the post—a letter franked by the Duke of Beaufort but unmistakably written in his daughter’s hand.

  January

  My dear cousin:

  This is only the second time that I have taken up my pen, and I am assured I cannot make a better use of it than in thanking you for your many kind inquiries about me and in assuring you I have now no remains of pain or illness left. I am eating and exercising at such a rate that I astonish our little family circle.

  The hard frost we have had lately has delighted my papa as it enabled him to have his ice house filled. I was allowed a little airing in the carriage and went to the bottom of the park to see the ice house filling and thought it very curious. It contains fifteen feet deep of ice and requires some time and trouble to beat all that quantity into small pieces. The ice house called to mind our riding around it when first you returned from the sea. May I flatter myself that you remember it as well?

  Our Worcester has refused to return to London and is sunk in the mopes because he is certain that Mr. Culling-Smith is trying to keep Emily away from him. There is great concern over the question of whether an attachment between them would be within the prescribed degree of affinity. Poor Henry, I am persuaded that he is quite in love with the lady and am certain they should suit. If only it can be brought about. Henry has applied to his friend Lord Lauderdale for advice. This must be a very trying time for Emily too. My Aunt Harriet saw her in London and said her appearance was most touching. She looked careworn and her eyes sad.

  But enough of my tittle-tattle. My mama desires my pen to send you a few lines herself, so I shall yield.

  Adieu, dear Gran. I could willingly chatter a few pages more with you, but my foolish head will not let me.

  I am yrs. ever,

  G. S.

  Granville sat perfectly still and read the missive through again. His impassive face gave no clue to the tumult the words stirred inside him. The relief he felt at Georgiana’s own account of her recovery fought for supremacy over his joy at the tenderness hinted in her closing. It gave him hope. He could ask for nothing more.

  After his second reading he turned the letter sideways and read the brief note penned by the duchess.

  Dear Granville:

  After the very deep concern you expressed for our dear Georgiana’s health, I think myself indebted to scribble a few lines to tell you that nothing can equal my joy at seeing her look so well. Really, miracles are growing common again.

  C. S. S.

  The duchess’s light words brought Granville bolt upright. If there had been any question of his going back on his resolve, now there could be none. He had offered God his service in return for Georgiana’s recovery. He now had a debt of honor to fulfill. He regretted more than ever his lapse of the night before, but it would not happen again.

  And it did not. No one could have been happier with the Honorable G. Ryder’s academic performance than Mr. Peacock. He suddenly found himself that most fortunate of crammies—tutor to a nobleman who chose to study.

  Sharing that joy were Granville’s spiritual supporters and fellow stairmates, Andrew Anderson and John Henry Rennard. They smiled and never failed to give thanks each time they saw Granville sitting stiffly upright in chapel that their prayers had been answered.

  If his reformed lifestyle brought joy to his associates, however, it brought none to Granville. He thought frequently of his greatest treasure, Georgiana’s Christmas prayer for him. Often he would unfold and reread it, not because he didn’t remember the words, but because seeing them in her handwriting so vividly brought back the moment she gave it to him.

  A Christmas prayer I wish for you,

  Of peace and joy the whole year through;

  Of laughter, love, and much content,

  That all may be from Heaven sent.

  The memory of Georgiana warmed him, but the words mocked him. Peace, joy, laughter, love, contentment—all were conspicuously missing in the cold, dark barrenness of his rigid days.

  And counterbalancing, sometimes even blotting out the endearing image of his beloved was the vision of his scowling father, impatient over his lack of progress. The vision bore even more weight now that the earl had written to Charles Simeon. As Lord Harrowby loomed before him in memory, Granville recalled the words of the clergyman inviting him to visit. Yes, perhaps he would do that—someday. But for now he must read until time for Hall.

  The daily grind continued. The snow melted from the quad, to be replaced by sleeting rain driven by a merciless wind. If Granville had not felt that his obligation to God was one no gentleman could turn his back on, he would have abandoned it many times over. After all, one had as well be miserable from an excess of revelry as from an excess of piety.

  On the last Friday of February, Anderson was awaiting Granville’s exit from Hall to inquire if he planned to attend the conversation party that night. Granville started to decline, but then was struck with a desire to see the kindly counselor who exuded such joy
with his religion. “Crammie’s coming over tonight, but tell Mr. Simeon I shall accept his invitation to call on him. Tomorrow afternoon if that is convenient for him.”

  Simeon sent a reply with Andy, saying that he would be delighted to receive Mr. Ryder the following afternoon any time between two and three o’clock.

  At 2:15 the next day, Granville donned his fur-lined Polish coat, wrapped a muffler around his neck up to his nose, and made his way down King’s Parade to the Gibbs Building. He climbed the four flights of stairs to the door on the right and rapped lightly.

  “Ah, my young friend, how I have longed for a visit with you. Come, come. Sit by the fire,” Simeon greeted him.

  The servant poured tea from Simeon’s much-used black Wedgwood teapot and then departed. A few moments later Granville was telling his story to his venerable host, who seemed to become increasingly disturbed. “A bargain with God! Earn grace? Sir, that is an oxymoron, a contradiction of terms, a thing impossible.… A debt of honor, you say? Consider it paid! Eighteen hundred years ago by Christ upon the cross—paid in full. Yours is but to be grateful and say, ‘Thank You, Lord. I accept.’”

  Granville, who had expected a strict lecture on the things he must do and refrain from doing if he hoped to reach his goal, sat speechless.

  “I see that my words confound you. But only consider how great a sinner each of us is, how bent to worldliness and selfishness. Is it conceivable that any of us should make ourselves righteous? No, no. See here, let me show you the words of another.” He turned to a low bookshelf and drew out a small leather volume that Granville recognized instantly as Acquaintance with God, a twin of the one he had read in the library last fall. But this one he saw was inscribed and underlined in Simeon’s own hand. Opening it to a page past the middle, Simeon said, “Ah, here is the part I find so heartwarming. Allow me to read it out to you.”

  If we grow acquainted with God, we make sure of a constant, loving Friend, as able as willing to direct and succor us in every difficulty of life.

  He admits, nay, invites the worst of men to His fellowship, even publicans and sinners of the greatest size. This is a vast encouragement to all, to any, even to the vilest, seek after Him. However miserable they have made themselves in this world, or unworthy of a better, yet He calls and encourages them, though they so long despised and provoked Him.

  Marvelous Condescension! Boundless Love and Compassion!

  Press on into His presence.

  Simeon punched the air with his fist to emphasize each of the final words. Then he closed the volume and wiped his brow, which was shining from the fervor with which he had read the final passage.

  “If you have not found joy in your heavenly friendship, you have not found your heavenly Friend, my son. If you, like Bunyan’s Mr. Fearing, are always afraid you shall come short of where you desire to go, if you carry a slough of despond in your mind, you need to hear the words of the Master, ‘Come in, for thou art blessed.’

  Simeon regarded his guest’s thunderstruck countenance. “You feel you are not good enough to approach a holy God? You are a sinner. ‘How can you approach a holy God who hates sin and punishes sinners?’ you ask.

  “By coming before Him as a sinner—coming to Jesus Christ who is intent on loving sinners, who offers you a love that asks no questions about worthiness.

  “Your answer was to become a perfect person by your own will. God’s answer is Jesus Christ who is perfect and shares His robe of righteousness with us—to drape our shoulders with His garment of grace so that we can walk into the presence of God. We are then treated like a perfect person even though we aren’t, for the righteousness of Christ is credited to us. We are accepted as members of God’s family.

  “Our hope is not perfection but reconciliation.”

  Granville’s mind was so taken with these revolutionary statements that he had no reply.

  The preacher was on his feet. “But come back, come back any time. I flatter myself to be counted among your earthly friends. Do not stay away long.”

  Granville left the Gibbs Building, whipped by the wind blowing damp and chill from the river. But in a protected, sunny corner, he saw a bright yellow crocus blooming.

  At Badminton Georgiana sat at her writing desk looking out the window toward the park with its masses of yellow and purple crocuses. She held her pen above the inkwell, daydreaming of riding in the park with Gran. Then her thoughts moved on to their riding together at the hunt and to her own foolishness that had led to her accident and illness.

  She smiled as she recalled his careful concern for her. Even if accompanied by curt words to compel her to obey, his actions had been all gentleness as he helped her with her waterlogged clothing and wrapped her in his own coat. Such kindness was born of qualities one could build a lifetime together on—no matter what the years would hold. She smiled and amended her thought—that is, two could build a lifetime together on. She wanted nothing more than to go through life the recipient of Granville’s courtesy and love.

  With another smile, she dipped her pen.

  By the following week when Georgiana’s letter arrived, the Backs were also carpeted with early yellow and lavender crocus. But Granville, cloistered in his room inside Great Court, had not seen them yet. Indeed, if Creighton had not taken it upon himself to draw back the dark red moreen curtains when he brought in the post, Granville would have read his cousin’s letter by candle light rather than in the soft spring sunlight touching the windowsill.

  February

  Dear Coz:

  My mama wants me to begin by making her apology for not writing to you. She had promised herself to write to you today to give you a long account of all our transactions. I assured her, however, that I would be happy to do that for her. Although I know you will be downcast to find that you must read a missive from my pen rather than hers, I beg you to bear it in the best of heart.

  First let me inform you that I have had the happiness of riding twice in the past week and have felt not the least bit the worse for it. Further, I have aired in the carriage several times on purpose to accustom myself to the motion, as a kind of preparation for our great removal to London, although I do not know when we shall set out. I should like to inquire if we shall have the pleasure of seeing you there when we arrive; but as I am unsure of the date of our arrival, the question would not signify. But your father assures Papa that Mr. Wilberforce will present a measure in Parliament in March, and Papa is determined to be there for the occasion before we journey to Wales for Easter. Such rackety gadabouts you must think us!

  What charming, delightful weather we have had for these few days past, such bright sunshine with a pleasant bracing air. We have all enjoyed it to the utmost degree. I have basked on the south side of the house as if I were a newborn butterfly laid on the sweetest flowers, but the extent of my excursions has been four times back and forth along the length of the house. Although I am persuaded I am capable of doing far more, Aggie will cosset me.

  Then yesterday the rains returned to dash all our spirits. The infants were so moped at being required to stay indoors after their days of sunnier frolics that I joined them in the Entrance Hall to watch them play shuttlecocks and battledores. We increased the skill required for the game by stringing a rope across from the fireplace to the door for the shuttlecocks to fly over. Our games-mad friend John Baldwin was visiting us from Oxford, and he wrote down all our rules and even directed the servants to measure the hall for what he called “the precise size of the court.” We were all so delighted with our sport that we have decided to name it Badminton.

  I long to see you again. Do not think me a sad baggage for saying so.

  Yr. ever affectionate cousin, Georgiana Somerset

  The teasing tone of his cousin’s letter delighted and stung Granville at the same time. His feelings for her were deep and confused. They shared so many childhood memories, so many family experiences—but the memories he wanted to make with her, the experiences he now wanted
to share, were of an entirely different variety.

  An insistent knocking at the oak door prevented Granville from rereading the letter, but he was not displeased to see Freddie. “Windmills in your head, must have. Only a gudgeon would stay indoors on a day like this.”

  Granville smiled. “Just give me time to pull on my boots, Perkins. What do you say to a walk to the three-mile stone? I have heard it is much in want of care.”

  “You foxed? Ain’t seen you smile this term. Tell you what, Granny, you worry too much. Ain’t healthy. Make an old woman of you. Becoming prim and prosey, that’s what.”

  “No. You slander me.” Granville led the way out the door. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, that’s all. And no, I’m not foxed; I haven’t had anything stronger than coffee.”

  But that night in spite of the salubrious effect the walk and Freddie’s company wielded on his spirits, Granville found himself out of sorts after a session of Bible reading in Rennard’s rooms. “You need to apply yourself more rigorously, Ryder,” the elder man said. “Have you undertaken a schedule of visiting the gaol or the sick yet?”

  Granville blanched, but remained quiet.

  “I myself am going to the Spinning House and to Addenbrooke’s Hospital tomorrow morning. Shall you accompany me?”

  “I’ll let you know.” Granville took his leave quickly.

  Was Simeon right? Or was Rennard right? Their approach to “true religion” seemed miles apart. Things had improved somewhat since Granville’s visit to Simeon. If he hadn’t exactly found peace and joy, there had been pleasure—pleasure in Georgiana’s letter and in Freddie’s company. But the promised joy and pleasure in heavenly conversation still eluded him.

  He shivered at the thought of undertaking a round of visits with Rennard. He would far rather trust Simeon’s counsel.

  Granville hesitated to knock on the preacher’s door at such an early hour, yet he had been awake since before dawn. He felt he could wait no longer. Simeon opened the door himself, and Granville sighed in relief to see that his host was dressed and not averse to receiving an early morning caller. “Come in, come in. You have arrived at precisely the appointed hour—in the fullness of time, eh? It is my custom to spend some time in meditation each morning upon the roof. You must accompany me.”