Not by Sight by Kate Breslin Page A

bank.
    The mirror distorted as a flock of colorful ducks swooped down to skid along the glassy surface and land with a splash. They ruffled their feathers and swam for a patch of reeds near the opposite shore, quickly acclimating to their new gathering place. She smiled over their antics and turned to call out to Lord Roxwood, intending to share her discovery—then realized he wouldn’t be able to see them.
    “I heard the ducks,” he said when she’d returned to the car. “Are they pochards? The shovelers are common this time of year, as well.”
    “I have no idea,” she said. “They had many of the same colors: browns, creams, a few with green heads. Several were a dull brown.”
    He crossed his arms. “Miss Mabry, surely you know the difference between a northern shoveler and a gadwall when you see it?”
    She sensed his jeering expression behind the mask. “I’ve lived in the city all my life, sir. Perhaps I could offer you instead the differing species of street pigeons?”
    He didn’t answer her. Instead he said, “My brother and I sometimes took our small boat out here to fish.”
    Grace heard his pensiveness, but the mask hid his expression. She imagined two young boys on the water with their fishing poles, each hoping to catch the bigger prize. More than a year ago, the Times had reported the drowning of his brother in Serpentine Lake at London’s Hyde Park. Hugh Benningham was in a boat then, as well. “Did you spend much time at the estate?” she asked.
    “Hugh and I spent our childhood summers here.” His voice sounded hollow. “Miss Mabry, I believe I’ve had enough country air for one morning. You may return to the house now.”
    “Of course.” Using the car’s throttle and crank, she brought the engine back to life. He said nothing as she drove the car back in the direction they had come. Lord Roxwood’s first outing after being cooped up in the house for so long had doubtless tired him.
    His earlier rapid-fire questioning still disturbed her. Grace understood natural curiosity—as a writer, she had it in abundance. Yet he’d seemed insistent, demanding to know as much about her as possible. Why? She felt certain now he had no knowledge of her being at Lady Bassett’s ball. Still, he’d asked so many questions, about her father in particular.
    Patrick Mabry had never been introduced to any of the Benninghams, nor did he expect to be. Despite the privilege of Lady Bassett’s patronage, a self-made Irishman, even a wealthy one, didn’t travel in the same circles as an earl of the realm.
    Returning to the manor, Grace stepped from the car and was surprised to see the sun almost directly overhead. She checked her watch and saw three hours had passed. She moved around to open her employer’s door. “Shall I call for you again tomorrow?”
    “It’s what I pay you for.”
    Again his surly self, Lord Roxwood exited and began mounting the steps. “Oh, and Miss Mabry,” he called back. “While you work for me, please notify Edwards if you decide to leave the estate. There may be times I request an afternoon outing.”
    How he enjoyed being lord of the manor. “Very well,” she said, holding her temper.
    As she watched him continue toward the front door, where the sour Knowles awaited him, Grace reminded herself of the reasons she’d taken the post. She also said a prayer for patience.
    Because if her morning with Lord Roxwood was a sampling of the days to come, she would need it desperately.

6
    “Jack, you won’t believe what I discovered.”
    “So tell me, Marcus.” Jack held the telephone as he sat on the edge of his desk. Since returning from the morning’s ride with Grace Mabry, he’d been reproaching himself over his clumsy interrogation. Like a novice, he’d drummed her with so many questions that even the most innocent person might become suspicious. He’d been trained by the best at MI5, and it unnerved him to think he’d lost his edge.
    “Patrick Mabry bribed a