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

  Somewhat shocked at so singular an invitation, Granville followed the portly man through his sitting room, up a flight of stairs, through the servant’s room with its small rose window ornamenting the central pediment in the roof line, then on up a tiny, winding staircase, and out a small window opening onto the roof.

  Although only blowing a light breeze in the courtyard, the wind here was strong, bringing with it sounds of the splashing fountain and light strains of organ music from the chapel. The sun was bright and clear in the blue sky. Behind them the chimney-lined roof rose steeply, and two feet in front of them the stone parapet ran along the edge of the building. Simeon opened a small hatch and pulled out two folding stools.

  “I always feel this is as close to Heaven as I shall get in this life.” Simeon gazed upward at the uncluttered expanse between them and the firmament.

  Finding the noises outside a little distracting, Granville took his reverberator from his pocket and held it to his ear. “Ah,” Simeon cried, “I am delighted to see you are using my little deaf aid. Do you find it helpful?”

  “Exceedingly.”

  “Yes, I was certain you would. Nice that you can carry it in the palm of your hand without its being seen, eh? I do enjoy my experiments. I have very nearly perfected a cure for smoking fireplaces also. Thought I had done it, but applied the process at a friend’s house the other day, and I blush to admit that the room was worse after my efforts than before.” Simeon shook his head and clucked his tongue. Then he changed the subject. “But what of your spiritual journey, my son?”

  Granville gave a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I have come to you as sanctuary from being pressed into visiting the sick and imprisoned.”

  Simeon nodded, a twinkle in his bright eyes. “Ah, yes. Noble work for those called to it, but perhaps not your calling?”

  Granville smiled his agreement.

  “Piety, you will discover, is not always accompanied by discretion, and you may be sometimes urged to things which, though desirable in themselves, are not expedient. And people may constrain you to seek your comfort in the testimony of your own conscience rather than in the approval of God.”

  “My friends assure me my soul-searching is superfluous.”

  Simeon nodded. “Indeed. You see yourself guilty of sins which preclude hope of forgiveness. Your friends have endeavored to show you that you judge yourself too harshly. Be glad they have erred, for if they had succeeded, they would have given you a peace founded on your own worthiness, a peace that would last no longer than the next temptation.”

  Granville’s penitent expression gave silent witness to the truth of the speaker’s words.

  “Since they have not succeeded, they have only confirmed you in your views. I say to you the very reverse. Your views of yourself and your own sinfulness, though they may be erroneous, are not one atom too strong. Your sinfulness far exceeds all that you have stated or have any conception of.”

  At these alarming words, Granville lowered his head into his hands.

  “Your heart is ‘deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?’” Simeon quoted in the tones of an Old Testament prophet.

  Then his face was transformed with a smile of true radiance. “But I have an effectual remedy for them all—the blood of Jesus Christ which cleanses from all sin. I grant that you are lost and utterly undone. So are all men, some for gross sins, some for impenitence, some for other faults. You are lost for the very sins you mention: hardness of heart, indifference, overindulgence.

  “Do this then. Take a book as large as any that is in the Bank of England. Put down all the sins of which either conscience or a morbid imagination can accuse you. Fear not to add to their number all that Satan himself can suggest.

  “And this I will do. I will put on the creditor side, ‘The unsearchable riches of Christ.’ I will leave you to draw the balance.”

  His head still down, his words barely audible, Granville said, “It is so beautiful, so glorious. But I am not worthy—”

  “Worthy!” Simeon struck the parapet with his open hand. “Haven’t you heard a word I’ve said? Of course, you’re not worthy! None of us is. But ‘worthy is the Lamb that was slain, and hath redeemed us to God by His blood.’” The words, spoken with vibrant faith, were accompanied by strains from the chapel organ.

  “In the light of God’s love, the concept of worthiness loses its significance—the whole idea becomes almost laughable since no one could ever by himself be worthy to be loved by such Love. Until this understanding is brought to light by divine mercy, man is imprisoned in hopelessness.

  “The root of Christian love is not the will to love, but the faith that one is loved—the faith that one is loved by God.”

  Granville raised his head. The light dawned inside him. He understood. It was wonderful. “It was there all along, wasn’t it? But I didn’t see it. My eyes were too much on my weakness and unworthiness to see His strength and sufficiency.”

  “Your error was in keeping control of your own life—in not turning it with all its problems over to God. So peace with God and a sense of self-worth evaded you. The level of the lordship of Christ in a life can be measured by the level of self-worth because it is He who gives it to us. All else is vanity.”

  “I see it now. I must have heard similar words dozens of times, certainly every time I heard you preach and from my Uncle Henry. Why, even my father—” At those words he stopped. In his mind his father was before him, exasperated at the son’s failings, stifling his new-found joy.

  Simeon nodded. “Yes, I believe I see what I suspected all along, but I hesitated to advise a son concerning a father of such distinction.”

  “Please go on, sir.”

  “Estrangement from your earthly father has kept you from accepting reconciliation with your Heavenly Father. Because you felt your father judged you harshly, you believed God also judged you harshly. Because of your lifelong need to earn esteem before the earl, you tried to earn esteem before Christ. Salvation—like your advancement in the navy and your academic degree—is conferred on you because of who your father is. In this case, however, it is the person of your Heavenly Father.”

  “Yes. I see that now.” Granville nodded slowly, then with increasing vigor.

  “Through our relationship to the Heavenly Father, our humility is assured even while our honor is established. If your worth as a person is rooted in your relationship as a son of the Almighty, then a high sense of self-worth based on the fatherhood of God gives you the deep foundation for human dignity.”

  Granville nodded as his mind kept pace with Simeon’s words. Only reconciliation with his Heavenly Father could teach him his worth—and now he was free to seek reconciliation with his earthly father.

  And he understood as Simeon explained to him, “We are not to imagine salvation is either the reward of our merits or the effect of our exertion. We do not save ourselves by our hard work or by our good deeds. Nevertheless, we have a work to do, a work of infinite importance, in the performing of which we are not mere machines but voluntary agents.”

  A slow smile lit Granville’s face. Now he was free—free of the burden of feeling rejected by his father and rejecting his father in return, free of having to measure every action by his father’s yardstick, free to set his own goals. His first task would be to bridge the gap between his father and himself.

  With a rush of excitement, Granville realized that all the energy he had formerly put into worry and guilt he could now put into creative effort to reach his goals. Not because they were expected of him or because he needed to prove something but because he truly wanted to.

  And best of all, he could love and serve God freely. Now that the barriers he had erected in the names of remorse and unworthiness had crumbled, he could be the man he had always wanted to be.

  But before Granville saw his father again, another reconciliation needed to take place. Granville considered writing to his brother, recently returned from vacat
ioning on the Continent to resume his parliamentary duties. But each attempted letter sounded either stilted or maudlin. So Granville gave up in disgust, determining to wait until he should see Sandon in person.

  That opportunity came sooner than he expected. Two days later Granville returned from a lecture to find his brother awaiting him in his rooms. “Sandon! What a surprise! I’ve been thinking of you.” He grasped the viscount’s hand warmly. “What brings you to Cambridge?” Then a look of alarm crossed his face. “Our parents—”

  “No, no. Everyone’s fine. Nothing like that. Fact is, might as well come straight to the point. I’m a bit dipped. Thought you might be able to help.”

  Granville couldn’t prevent his mouth falling open. Sandon needed help? His help? “What! You in dim territory?” He put his hand to his ear. “Or did I hear you wrong?”

  Sandon ran his fingers through hair a shade lighter than Granville’s. “No, little brother, although I could wish you had. Expenses ran higher on the Continent than I expected. Couldn’t expect Frances to go to Paris without ordering new gowns—not that she’s really extravagant—but there it is. I didn’t like to appeal to our father.”

  “No! I should think not. How much do you need? Glad to let you have what I can.” Granville was thankful he had stayed away from card tables and racetracks recently, so he was not faced with any shortages himself. He turned to his desk and wrote a draft on his bank.

  “I’m exceeding glad to see you,” Granville said when the monetary matter had been settled. “I’ve been trying to write, but some things look so dashed awkward on paper.”

  “Write to me? I should be very glad to receive a letter from you, but is something amiss?”

  “Truth is, I need to beg your pardon. I always resented you. It really won’t do. Can’t have such feelings between brothers.” It came out in jerks, but it was said.

  Now it was Sandon’s turn for his mouth to fall open in surprise. “What! You astound me! No need to beg my pardon. It’s I who should beg yours. I can’t fathom why you should have resented me, though, since the shoe was rather on the other foot.” He paused to give a forced laugh. “Afraid I couldn’t accept the fact that my little brother was quicker, better looking, and that Father preferred him.”

  Granville gasped in amazement. “What a hoax!”

  “It’s the truth. I don’t wonder that he never let you know, but it was always, ‘Granville this’ and ‘Granville that’—so proud of your accomplishments in the navy. He always said you were the best of the lot. But I will admit it did spur me to work harder.”

  Granville opened his mouth, but no words came out—only the laughter building inside him. The two brothers clasped hands, beat one another upon the back, and laughed until tears ran down their faces.

  At Granville’s order Creighton brought coffee and cold meats. After a further hour spent sharing childhood memories and plans for the future, Sandon left for London. He promised to repay the debt when they met again in London, but Granville knew that his brother could never give him anything of greater value than the lightness of heart he now felt.

  Sixteen

  Leaving Cambridge and the end of Hilary term behind him, Granville joined his family in London. His first step in reaching his new goals was to present himself in chambers at Lincoln’s Inn, an exclusive society through which he hoped to gain admission to the practice of law. Following a closed meeting by that body, his sponsor informed him that he had been elected to membership. He could now pursue his legal training along with his academic education.

  Elation at this success spurred him to attempt that hardest-of-all step—bridging the gap between himself and his father. The opportunity, however, was difficult to find.

  Granville had tried once for an interview with the earl. But as Parliament was sitting late almost every night, it was after midnight when Lord Harrowby returned, clearly exhibiting the strain of great weariness and an abominably aching head. Granville merely informed his father of his acceptance at the Inn of Court and retired.

  The next morning the inhabitants of Harrowby House in Grosvenor Square received news that the Duke of Beaufort and his family were in residence across the Square and would be attending the parliamentary debate that day.

  So it was that the first time Granville would see Georgiana since Christmas was to be in the long, stone-vaulted St. Stephen’s Chapel of Westminster Palace. As Granville made his way into one of the pillar-supported galleries added by Christopher Wren to provide additional seating, he heard a peal of familiar laughter behind him. He turned with a glad smile and offered his hand to help Georgiana climb the last of the steep stairs.

  With blonde curls peeking from under the brim of her crepe hat banded in lilac satin folds, and her slim person clad in a lilac redingote of gros de Naples trimmed with braided satin, Georgiana was a sight to turn heads. But her manner was almost demure as she withdrew her hand from Granville and passed on into the gallery, allowing him to hand Charlotte and their mother into the balcony as well. They exchanged no more than murmured greetings. He took his seat next to Charlotte, the curly ostrich feathers on her wide-brimmed yellow straw hat blocking Georgiana from his view.

  But then all attention focused on the event unfolding on the floor below. Secretary Canning rose to address the House of Commons on the substitute measure that Canning’s forces hoped would delay Wilberforce’s Amelioration Bill for bettering the condition of the slaves in the West Indies. Canning had been one of Wilberforce’s closest personal friends; but recently in the battle over the slavery question, he had turned against Wilberforce politically. It was with a great sense of personal loss that Wilberforce had remarked to Lord Harrowby only the day before that he feared George Canning was becoming more their enemy every day.

  Granville, listening intently from the gallery, shook his head as Secretary Canning argued that the colonial government—rather than Parliament—should alleviate slavery. And he winced as the secretary adjured Parliament not to let their judgment be misled by anger and fear, calculated by Mr. Wilberforce to lead them to less temperate action “through the indulgence by my right honorable friend in the brilliance of his talents and the exuberance of his fancy. I tell you, my friends, if we act precipitously on this, we may kindle a flame that is only to be quenched in blood.”

  Then it was Wilberforce’s turn to reply. Sunlight shone through the jewel tones of the arched stained-glass windows lining the room and warmed Wren’s oak paneling and green-cushioned benches. All in the room seemed to hold their breath as the little giant, who for almost twenty years had borne the title “The Arbiter of England,” stood to his feet. It was common knowledge that throughout the past winter Wilberforce had suffered severely from chest colds and that overtaxing his strength could bring on pneumonia. The House leaned forward to hear what might well be Wilberforce’s last speech.

  “Gentlemen, if I had come into this House for the first time and heard the beautiful and flowing language of my right honorable friend, Mr. Canning, I should no doubt have rejoiced. I would have rejoiced that through my right honorable friend’s plan, the blessings he outlines are about to be extended to so large a portion of the human race. But, gentlemen, I did not just come into this House for the first time, and any feelings I have to rejoice are overborne by the knowledge that the measure passed by this House in the last session has not been carried into effect. In the light of this consideration, I am determined that much stronger action is needed.”

  Even from the gallery, Granville could see the piercing blue eyes and the high wrinkled forehead of the man God had called to stand against the entrenched evils of his day. Wilberforce had so lived his conviction that true Christianity must not only save but also serve that all England now honored him.

  “After the long experience which I have had of colonial assemblies, it would be criminal on my part to deceive either myself or the House with any idle hopes that humane measures will emanate from those local bodies.

  “The q
uestion we face is of awful magnitude, for it is not the limited interest of a few individuals that we must consider. The question concerns the temporal and eternal happiness of hundreds of thousands of immortal beings like ourselves.

  “We stand now on a precipice, and if we do not take great care, we shall find that the more we pause—the less energetic we are in the pursuit of right—the greater is the danger likely to become.”

  The famous voice, undimmed by age and illness, reached every corner of the room. The walls of the chamber rang in response, “Hear, hear.” Granville cried with Wilberforce’s other supporters, stirred to pledge himself anew to such service.

  “Let the House only consider what a terrible thing it would be for men who have long lived in the state of darkness, and just when the bright beams of day begin to break in upon the gloom of their situation, to have the boon suddenly withdrawn, and to be afresh consigned to darkness, to uncertainty—nay, to absolute despair!

  “Let every man present appeal to his own feelings for the truth of the position. Does not every one of you know that an evil is much more easily borne before temporary hope has been excited in the breast of the sufferer? If an effort to alleviate the suffering proves unsuccessful, is not your anguish redoubled? Is not your misery rendered nearly insupportable? When hope has been once suffered to beam upon the heart, does it not set the whole man in a fever? And when that hope is destroyed, does not desperation result?”

  Granville noted Sandon, seated with other members on the benches below, following the speech with fixed concentration. The thought that in a few years he too might sit in that room and work with his brother exhilarated him.

  Then because he was leaning forward, he was now able to see the object of his dearest hopes, the one he wanted by his side when he undertook such service. Wilberforce’s graphic picture of ruined hopes brought forcibly to him the desperation he would feel if he failed to win Georgiana.