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

  Just then the musicians struck up a merry tune. A bonfire had been set in the paddock to provide light for the country dancers. They whirled and clapped in its golden light to the simple melodies provided by two fiddles and a mouth harp.

  “Sir, I refuse to stand upon points and allow you to snub me at yet another dance,” Georgiana accosted her cousin.

  “Did I do that?”

  “You most assuredly did. I’ll admit to having been quite outshone by my sister, but you should have taken pity on a wallflower and done the polite at any rate.”

  “You a wallflower?” Granville grinned and held out his hand. He led Georgie into the set, spun her around, then bowed to the lady behind him, and danced around the circle before the steps brought him back to Georgiana. “What a bubble! I couldn’t get close to you for your admirers. And you were far too occupied with your beaux to notice what I did.”

  “I noticed enough to know that you danced with Charlotte twice.”

  “So I did.” He grinned at her with a twinkle in his eye. “And a very graceful lady she is too.”

  Just then the music came to an end, giving Georgiana an opportunity to stamp mischievously on Granville’s toe before she gave her hand to Meredyth Somerville for the next set.

  The pleasure of her minor triumph was destroyed, however, as Georgiana saw the hurt look on her cousin’s face, the same look she had seen earlier when Merry Somerville had kissed her hand, spurring Gran to invite Charlotte on a stroll. And then her conscience stung her even further when she saw that Granville had not turned to Charlotte this time, but chose instead to bow over the hand of an awkward country lass thus far left out of the festivities. The maid blushed with pleasure at his attention, and her plain face broke into a smile that made it almost pretty.

  Georgiana became so engrossed in watching the small scene on the sidelines that she missed a step and had to apologize to her partner. But then her thoughts returned to earlier times. That was so like Gran. He would always do or say something to make another person feel good—no matter how much he might be hurting himself. She recalled childhood scenes when he had received such severe set-downs from his father or rebuffs from his older brother that it brought tears to her eyes. But seeing her hurt, Granville’s concern would be all for her. “Pray don’t let it distress you, Georgie. I shan’t make such a muddle of things next time, and it will all come quite right.”

  And no matter how many times such occasions were repeated, he never lashed back, but kept trying to please.

  A short time later, with her softened feelings glowing in her eyes, Georgiana saw to it that she was in a position to be handed into her cousin’s carriage. And when Freddie, taken by the charms of one of the country girls, elected to remain behind, Georgiana smiled with pleasure at this opportunity to be alone with Granville. Perhaps at last they could have the serious talk she had desired for months. She was tired of the cousinly banter they always seemed to fall into as a carryover from earlier days.

  The carriage moved quietly down a country lane flooded with silver light from the harvest moon. After a few moments of casual chatter about the day’s activities, she came to the point. “Granville, you must forgive my directness, but you know I’ve never had any patience with roundaboutation. I told you earlier I believed something to be amiss with you. I am determined to know what it is.”

  “Why do you say that?” he hedged.

  “Gran, don’t tease me. I told you I have no patience for it. I’ve been in your company very little since you returned, but even on those few occasions, I can see that you are unhappy.”

  He made no reply to that, but she needed none. The look in his eyes spoke clearly.

  “Gran…” It was hard to put her feelings into words, and she was afraid of seeming prying or pushy.

  He turned to her. That simple movement gave her courage. She took a deep breath and plunged. “Gran, do you have faith?”

  He turned away, and Georgiana held her breath, fearful of having shut the door that had just opened between them. Then he spoke, and she saw that he had turned away to concentrate on her question, not to dismiss her.

  “Faith? You mean, do I believe in God? As certainly as I believe in life.”

  Relief flooded over her. “Oh, Gran, that’s wonderful! I was so afraid… But if that’s firm, nothing can be really hopeless.”

  But his next words shattered her joy. “It’s me I don’t believe in. How can I ever be good enough? What is enough? Must I live forever on the brink, looking to Heaven but never able to reach it?”

  “Oh, Gran…” The pain and hollow desperation in his voice choked her. She longed to have answers for him, but none came.

  “Georgie, I’m sorry.” He squeezed her hand briefly. “Don’t let it distress you, please.”

  She managed a smile, but couldn’t get any words past the lump in her throat. All she could do was place her hand in his and pray that the specters be kept at bay.

  When they arrived back at The Rose, it wasn’t a specter that came between them, but the thoroughly solid pair of hostlers leading away a shiny black carriage with a familiar pair of matched grays.

  “Groom!” Georgiana called out. “Is that Mr. Agar-Ellis’s carriage?”

  “Yes, ma’am. ’E arrived ’ere not more’n ’alf an hour ago. Must of cantered ’alf the way from London. ’Is ’orses are in a fearful lather.”

  “Well, see that you cool them properly then.” Georgiana dismissed the stable hand and turned to Granville. “Isn’t that famous! I haven’t seen George for donkey’s years.”

  Georgiana more sensed Granville’s frown than saw it. “Don’t be silly. George is just an old friend.”

  At first she was hurt by Granville’s failure to reply to her soft words, but later in her room she realized he hadn’t heard them.

  Nine

  As determinedly as if he had heard that the captain of his ship were considering replacing Lt. Ryder’s command with an upstart, Granville strode into the vestibule of Holy Trinity Church the next morning at the hour appointed to meet the duke’s party. It was his full intention to wrest Georgiana from the clutches of that mushroom Agar-Ellis if it meant breaking his arm.

  Fortunately for the sake of propriety in the house of God, Granville was outflanked by the duke himself, who was listening intently to George report the latest word from London that Wilberforce was toying with the idea of Britain buying the slaves’ freedom by a treasury grant. And Georgiana, her hand resting on her father’s arm, was hardly in a position to be forcibly removed.

  At the opening strains of organ music, Granville bowed stiffly to Charlotte and escorted her to the second of the two front pews reserved for the Beaufort family. They sat right behind Georgiana who was between her father and Mr. Agar-Ellis. Of course, it could as easily have been said that Georgiana was sitting with her father as with Agar-Ellis, but Granville did not see it that way.

  The elegance of the white sanctuary with its rows of pillars rising to sharply apexed arches and its Gothic stained-glass windows looking like bejeweled hands pointed in prayer was entirely lost on Granville. His strong jaw line was set even more rigidly than usual, and his eyes were like steel.

  Even the animated preaching of Charles Simeon from the high pulpit, the full sleeves of his robe flowing majestically as his gestures gave emphasis to his words, made little impression on Granville.

  “‘While ye were yet without strength, in due time Christ died for the ungodly.’”

  At the last word Granville’s cold stare and wrathful thoughts focused on the carefully pomaded head of the young man in front of him.

  “Are we in a state of guilt? God has provided a substitute and a surety for us in the person of His dear Son. Are we in a state of weakness? God has provided all needful strength for us in the operations of His Holy Spirit.

  “If ever we have access to God, it must be through Christ and by the Spirit. It is for this end that the Spirit is given, and this end He will accomplish in a
ll who implore His aid.”

  The preacher, fully into the power of his message, removed his pince-nez and leaned forward over his tasseled pulpit cushion. He made a sweeping gesture that arrested even Granville’s wandering attention.

  “The first thought that occurs to men is that they must do something to merit and to earn salvation.” At that moment Georgiana turned her head slightly to look at George, and Granville failed to hear the rest of the speaker’s words.

  “But if we consider the condition of our first parents after the Fall, we shall see how vain must be such a conceit, how fallacious such a hope. What could Adam and Eve do to recommend themselves to their offended God?”

  Simeon paused, the absence of sound again focusing Granville’s mind on the speaker. Then Simeon gestured with a long, thin finger that seemed pointed straight at Granville. “What could you do to merit the gift of God’s only dear Son and the influences of the Holy Spirit?”

  The question was enough for Granville. The anger he had directed at George Agar-Ellis he now turned on himself. Indeed, he knew himself to be in a state of weakness and guilt, just as the preacher had said. And he recalled those phrases that his distracted attention had caught: Men… must do something to merit and to earn salvation. What could you do to merit the gift of God’s only dear Son…? Caught up in repeating to himself the few phrases that had penetrated his consciousness, Granville failed to hear the concluding answers.

  “God of His own mercy and grace has given us a Savior, and without Him we can do nothing acceptable to God. We must be indebted altogether to the sovereign grace of God which first gives us to will and then to do of His good pleasure. Just as the gift of a Savior sprang altogether from the sovereign grace of God, so must salvation in all its parts.”

  The duke and his party had been invited by Christopher Wordsworth, Master of Trinity and brother of the poet, to dine at the Master’s table before leaving Cambridge. But the classical proportions of the richly paneled room and the gleaming elegance of crystal, china, and silver on the long polished table made no impression on Granville. Mr. Agar-Ellis held forth on the scholarly work he intended to accomplish at Cambridge, researching the years Horace Walpole spent there “holding fellowship with her venerable books,” as the poet said.

  Granville, however, was certain that what had brought George to Cambridge in such a lather was not the venerable books read by Mr. Walpole, but the presence of Georgiana Somerset. And he would have been willing to wager a pony that George would not remain long once she had departed.

  Easily stirred by his topic, George continued, “It is remarkable how nothing that transpired in the great world escaped Walpole’s knowledge or the trenchant sallies of his wit, rendered the more cutting by his unrivaled talent as a raconteur.

  “Oh, how piquant are his disclosures! How much of actual truth do they contain! How perfectly his anecdotes trace the hidden and often trivial sources of some of the most important public events!” In an excess of emotion, the speaker waved his napkin, narrowly missing a long-stemmed wine goblet.

  “Indeed. To be sure,” the duke replied calmly, and then turned to their host. “And what of the progress on your new court?”

  Since becoming Master, Wordsworth had fervently campaigned for more accommodations for students, thereby reducing the number of students living in lodgings in town free from college discipline. “Ah, you mean King’s Court, as it is to be called, for His Majesty has generously contributed one thousand pounds to its building. I wish Your Grace could have been with us last month when the cornerstone was laid on the king’s birthday.”

  The duke raised his glass to the Master. “A most happy occasion, I am certain.”

  But George, not to be long deterred from his topic, turned to Georgiana and Charlotte. “As great beauties yourselves, you ladies will assuredly agree that if the irresistible court beauties of the first three Georges have been compelled to yield to the ungallant liberties of time and to the rude destruction of death, it is a delight to us to know that their charms are destined to bloom forever in the sparkling graces of the patrician letter-writer.”

  He turned from one lady to the other to collect their smiles. “In Walpole’s epistles are to be seen, in even more vivid tints than those of Watteau, those splendid creatures in all the pride of their beauty, pluming themselves as if they could never grow old—”

  At the far side of the table, Granville was having a quiet conversation with the duchess. “And what is the news of your family, Aunt Charlotte?”

  “The news most likely to make you stare comes from your cousin Worcester. He has informed us of his intention of offering for Lady Jane Paget.”

  Granville was puzzled at the tone in which the duchess gave this information. “Am I to understand that you wish them joy?”

  “Assuredly, I do, most heartily. We all do. Worcester’s happiness is among my fondest wishes and deepest concerns.”

  “Then why do you speak with such a lack of enthusiasm?”

  “Precisely because my son seems to lack enthusiasm.” She sighed. “I had thought he was developing a tendre for another. Ah, well…” Her voice trailed off.

  “But what of you, Granville? We have had no opportunity to talk, and I had so hoped for a quiet coze. I shall, of course, report to your dear mama and papa in my next letter. They will be delighted to hear that you are looking so well. In fine fettle, I suppose you young people would say, although in my day we would have blushed to use so vulgar a phrase. But enough of that. Have you found what you came to Cambridge for?”

  Granville met his aunt’s searching gaze levelly. It would be useless to try to cut a wheedle with her; he could feel her penetrating blue eyes reading his mind. “I have not. But I am determined yet to do so.”

  “Indeed, I am assured you shall.” The duchess gave him an encouraging smile. “When an officer of His Majesty’s Navy has set his course, he is not easily deterred.”

  Monday morning Granville stood waving as the Beaufort coach rumbled out of the cobblestone courtyard of The Rose. “Don’t forget—you promised to come to us at Christmas,” Georgiana called out the window just before one of the liveried outriders cut her off from Granville’s view.

  He had two months before the Christmas hols, and he was determined that not a moment would be wasted. Any attempts he had made at gradual reformation had failed; nothing less than a revolution was required. Already a plan was forming in his mind. He would put himself into the hands of his tutor for reading. He would attend chapel every day. He would give one hour to Bible study before breakfast and another after Combi—or should he refrain from attending the easy joviality of the combination room? And prayer—how much time should be given to that? How much time could be after one had read the daily allotment from the prayer book? Mr. Simeon’s conversation parties and services at Holy Trinity—of course, he would attend. Compassionate work—well, after its hotly contested beginnings, there was an auxiliary branch of The British and Foreign Bible Society at Cambridge…

  He walked slowly back to Trinity through its Great Gate, along Great Court with its clock tower on the right by the chapel and the Nevile Tower and statue of Queen Elizabeth on the left, and through the arch to Nevile’s Court with its loggia running around three sides. It reminded him of the long, columned walkways in the cloistered monasteries he had visited in Italy. For a moment he imagined himself walking there in sandaled feet, his hands clasped devoutly, his head bowed in prayer.

  With a thoroughly unmonastic stride, he crossed the court and bounded up the stairs of the Wren Library. In all his months at Trinity, he was still something of a stranger to the long narrow room with its tall windows and pale wood pendants of Grinling Gibbons carvings ornamenting the dark paneling of the room. But now he was determined to develop more scholarly habits. He browsed for some time in the stacks running along both sides of the room until a small volume bound in gold leather took his eye. He drew it out and held it in his hand—Acquaintance with God. Wher
e had he heard of that? Perhaps his father had a copy? He started to replace it on the shelf, then remembered. Georgiana had mentioned this in one of her letters. She said she was reading it with great enjoyment. He took the book to a small table in a private alcove.

  As he scanned the chapter headings, the title “Impediments to Heavenly Mindconcepts” caught his attention. If there was anything he needed, it was a heavenly mind, so he might as well be forewarned of the impediments. He began reading.

  God says, “Hear today”; we harden our hearts and say, “Tomorrow.” Neither Time nor Grace are in our Power, yet we often act as if we could command both. This is our way, our Sin and our Folly.

  Granville sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. Well, he was done with saying tomorrow. He was determined to face the problem today. His features set, he read on:

  Worldly-mindedness is another great enemy to acquaintance with God. The world is God’s grand rival for our Hearts, therefore the Love of it is called Enmity to Him. If then we would cultivate friendship with God, we must not hug His Enemy in our bosoms.

  The faces of Granville’s friends rose before him; the tall, lanky Merry Somerville with his easy smile and gregarious manner, who seemed villainous only when he competed for Georgiana’s favors; Frank Molyneaux and William Hervey, their red and black heads close together as they sang slightly off-key in Combi; the sometimes caper-witted Freddie Perkins who was his closest companion. Certainly, his friends lived carelessly, but it was difficult to cast them in the role of God’s enemies. Well, they should have to be made to understand. Somehow they must understand the fault was his, not theirs. He wouldn’t have them hurt by his reformation.

  Carefully avoiding contact with anyone who might be passing through the courts, Granville made his way back to his rooms. Relieved to find them empty, he flung himself on his bed. The gloom that his new resolution had held at bay now overtook him. He had always failed before. He would fail again. So why try?