Not by Sight by Kate Breslin

pendant necklace returned atop her pillow. Well, perhaps she would think twice before picking on any more recruits.
    “I’ll remember what you told me, Grace.” Lucy reached to offer her a hug. “One day I can d-do anything.”
    Grace smiled, despite the heat against her cheeks. Her own ineptness made a mockery of the words. Even so, she offered, “That’s right, Lucy. Never forget it.”
    “Neither should you, Grace.” Lucy shot her a knowing smile. “You just needed a little more t-time, that’s all.”
    Grace nodded. She would miss her new friend. Waving a last farewell, she followed Agnes and Mrs. Vance outside to the cart that would take them to Margate’s station.
    She gazed at Roxwood Manor for what would be her last time. Jack Benningham’s image rose in her mind, and she bit her lip, recalling his hatred. She refused to regret her actionstoward him in London, and his behavior yesterday had been reprehensible. Still . . .
    Despite what he once was—a playboy, a gambler, and a reckless ne’er-do-well—the scars had undoubtedly penetrated his heart. He was a man no longer himself, but the brunt of local gossip, the wildly concocted Tin Man. Hiding away in his self-imposed prison, shunning the world and all it had to offer.
    Even without her good Christian upbringing, Grace might pity him. She sighed. So much for her story about the mysterious “milord.” The only one she’d be writing now was about a ninny of a young woman who thought she could work on a farm—
    “Mrs. Vance! Miss Mabry!”
    Mr. Tillman hurried up the track on his crutch. “Wait!” he cried, wheezing for the effort it took to reach them. “Miss Mabry, the land agent, Mr. Edwards, wants a word.” He leaned against the crutch, trying to catch his breath.
    Grace’s insides knotted. Was she to pay for Lord Roxwood’s damaged rosebushes, then? “Did he say why?”
    The farmer shook his head. “You’re to get up to the house straightaway.” His look of vindication breathed life into Grace’s fear. She glanced at Agnes, then Mrs. Vance.
    “Grace, you’d better go and see what he wants,” Mrs. Vance said. “We’ll leave when you return.”
    Taking a bicycle, she pedaled up the long gravel drive to Roxwood Manor. Lifting the door’s crested brass knocker, she banged it several times before an aged, sour-faced man in butler’s attire finally answered.
    His rheumy gaze traveled first to the bicycle, then settled on her. A slight frown formed beneath his beak of a nose. “Milord isn’t receiving guests.”
    Unaccustomed to such haughtiness from a servant, Grace tipped her chin and said, “I am not here to see milord. I’ve been requested to visit with Mr. Edwards.”
    “It’s all right, Knowles,” a man’s voice called from the interior of the house. “Please allow Miss Mabry inside. Lord Roxwood is waiting.”
    Lord Roxwood? Grace barely acknowledged the butler as he sketched a bow and stepped back to let her enter. A small middle-aged man in a charcoal suit stood at the foot of the stairs. “Miss Mabry, welcome. I am Edwards, Lord Roxwood’s secretary.”
    Secretary? “You have many titles, Mr. Edwards. I was told you were the land agent, as well?”
    “And Lord Roxwood’s steward.” He smiled. “We accommodate a small staff here at the manor, so his lordship can enjoy the level of privacy he requires.” He indicated a part of the house beyond the stairs. “This way, please.”
    “Wait.” Grace hesitated. “Lord Roxwood wishes to speak with me?”
    “All in good time, Miss Mabry.”
    Edwards turned and took the lead. Anxious, Grace followed him down a lushly carpeted hall. Above the dark mahogany wainscoting, red-and-gold fleur-de-lis wallpaper rose along either side. She noticed a trio of paintings—sailboats—each slightly different but obviously intended as a series and cast in ornate gold frames.
    “This way.” The steward halted beside an open door.
    Cautiously Grace entered the room. Clearly