recognized me and that you work for the Women’s Forage Corps, yet you haven’t told me who you are. Clearly not some farm girl.” His grip intensified. “Too much good breeding in that speech, Miss . . . ?”
He leaned close, the horrid mask inches from her face. Grace thought her heart might stop. She considered lying to him, but to do so would make her as much a coward as he’d been. She wasn’t sorry for handing him a white feather at the ball, for unlike Jack Benningham, she was a true patriot of her country. Straightening her spine, she said, “My name is Grace Mabry.”
He reared back as if she’d struck him. Releasing her wrist, his breath came rapidly behind the mesh. As Grace watched the agitated rise and fall of his chest, real fear began to take hold. Did he mean to do her harm?
Then just as quickly he recomposed himself. He leaned forward again, menace coloring his tone. “Well, Miss Mabry ”—he spat her name as though ejecting day-old tea—“I think you’ve inflicted more than enough damage for one day. Now, get out!”
Grace choked on a cry as she whirled from him and ran all the way back to the gatehouse. Perhaps she’d been wrong and he did have sharp teeth and howl at the moon.
In her distress she didn’t register right away that the cart was gone and the pigs vanished. She was too thankful having escaped the man in the abominable mask. She had expected hisannoyance, even his anger as he must certainly remember their encounter from the night of the ball. But his loathing, the rage she’d heard in his voice, jarred her.
Shaken, she went inside to change her uniform and wash her face. Afterward she grabbed a bicycle and rode to the barn.
The cart stood out front, the cage empty. Clare must be having a good laugh at her expense, Grace thought bitterly, pulling the daisy pendant she’d found from her uniform pocket. Well, the joke would be on her once Grace offered up proof the woman was responsible.
The barn doors opened and Mrs. Vance stepped outside, hands on hips. Before Grace could utter a word, her supervisor snapped, “Inside.”
Grace’s heart beat faster. Would she even get a fair hearing?
Inside the building’s cool interior, Mr. Tillman stood with the others in a half circle as though waiting for her. The farmer wore a fierce expression and tossed away his crutch as he limped toward her. “You’ve done it now,” he ground out. “The others rounded up the pigs and returned them to the pen, but you . . . you destroyed his lordship’s grounds!” He waved his hands to illustrate the chaos she’d wrought.
“Mabry, Lord Roxwood is furious,” Mrs. Vance said. “He’s already sent word through his steward demanding your immediate removal.” The older woman paused, then added, “It pains me to tell you this, but you’re dismissed from the WFC, as well.”
“The last straw,” growled Mr. Tillman. His suffused features loomed over her. “Exactly why women don’t belong working on a farm. How could you lose an entire truckload of pigs?”
Grace trembled with anger. Lord Roxwood wanted her gone? Fine, but she wasn’t going alone. She glanced at Clare Danner. The woman stood with arms crossed, wearing a smug look. Obviously she had no idea she’d left the pendant behind.
Grace dropped the necklace to dangle by its chain at her side, making sure her nemesis saw it. “It wasn’t me . . .”
She fully intended to exonerate herself and name the true culprit. After all, if Danner hadn’t been so mean-spirited in the first place, none of this would have happened. No runaway pigs, no encountering Jack Benningham, no getting sacked.
But then she saw Clare’s tight-lipped smirk fade, the mocking gray eyes widen, before her features settled into a look of abject terror.
Grace blinked, certain she’d misread the woman’s reaction. Then Clare moistened her lips and clasped her hands together tightly as though in prayer, and Grace marveled at the
He leaned close, the horrid mask inches from her face. Grace thought her heart might stop. She considered lying to him, but to do so would make her as much a coward as he’d been. She wasn’t sorry for handing him a white feather at the ball, for unlike Jack Benningham, she was a true patriot of her country. Straightening her spine, she said, “My name is Grace Mabry.”
He reared back as if she’d struck him. Releasing her wrist, his breath came rapidly behind the mesh. As Grace watched the agitated rise and fall of his chest, real fear began to take hold. Did he mean to do her harm?
Then just as quickly he recomposed himself. He leaned forward again, menace coloring his tone. “Well, Miss Mabry ”—he spat her name as though ejecting day-old tea—“I think you’ve inflicted more than enough damage for one day. Now, get out!”
Grace choked on a cry as she whirled from him and ran all the way back to the gatehouse. Perhaps she’d been wrong and he did have sharp teeth and howl at the moon.
In her distress she didn’t register right away that the cart was gone and the pigs vanished. She was too thankful having escaped the man in the abominable mask. She had expected hisannoyance, even his anger as he must certainly remember their encounter from the night of the ball. But his loathing, the rage she’d heard in his voice, jarred her.
Shaken, she went inside to change her uniform and wash her face. Afterward she grabbed a bicycle and rode to the barn.
The cart stood out front, the cage empty. Clare must be having a good laugh at her expense, Grace thought bitterly, pulling the daisy pendant she’d found from her uniform pocket. Well, the joke would be on her once Grace offered up proof the woman was responsible.
The barn doors opened and Mrs. Vance stepped outside, hands on hips. Before Grace could utter a word, her supervisor snapped, “Inside.”
Grace’s heart beat faster. Would she even get a fair hearing?
Inside the building’s cool interior, Mr. Tillman stood with the others in a half circle as though waiting for her. The farmer wore a fierce expression and tossed away his crutch as he limped toward her. “You’ve done it now,” he ground out. “The others rounded up the pigs and returned them to the pen, but you . . . you destroyed his lordship’s grounds!” He waved his hands to illustrate the chaos she’d wrought.
“Mabry, Lord Roxwood is furious,” Mrs. Vance said. “He’s already sent word through his steward demanding your immediate removal.” The older woman paused, then added, “It pains me to tell you this, but you’re dismissed from the WFC, as well.”
“The last straw,” growled Mr. Tillman. His suffused features loomed over her. “Exactly why women don’t belong working on a farm. How could you lose an entire truckload of pigs?”
Grace trembled with anger. Lord Roxwood wanted her gone? Fine, but she wasn’t going alone. She glanced at Clare Danner. The woman stood with arms crossed, wearing a smug look. Obviously she had no idea she’d left the pendant behind.
Grace dropped the necklace to dangle by its chain at her side, making sure her nemesis saw it. “It wasn’t me . . .”
She fully intended to exonerate herself and name the true culprit. After all, if Danner hadn’t been so mean-spirited in the first place, none of this would have happened. No runaway pigs, no encountering Jack Benningham, no getting sacked.
But then she saw Clare’s tight-lipped smirk fade, the mocking gray eyes widen, before her features settled into a look of abject terror.
Grace blinked, certain she’d misread the woman’s reaction. Then Clare moistened her lips and clasped her hands together tightly as though in prayer, and Grace marveled at the
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