in the front door at all; they would usually have gone down the back stairs straight into the kitchen. But they had both been curious as to who their visitor was.
Jordan.
Why was he here?
There was something in the depths of his eyes, she realised compassionately, that same bewilderment she had known after the death first of her mother giving birth to Timothy, and then of her father eighteen months ago from a heart-attack. Jordan had known a similar loss; she could sense that.
He also looked a little dazed at the moment!
Jessie: darling, muddle-headed Jessie. Grace smiled fondly at the elderly lady; what had she been doing with the poor man while he waited for them to come home?
‘What are we having for dinner, Grace?’ Jessie looked at her anxiously.
Ah, so that was what they had been discussing. Or, at least, one of the things, Grace correctly read from Jordan's rueful expression. She knew herself how erratic Jessie's conversation could be, but she was a dear, none the less. And she did have a passion for her food. And why not, when her only child, a son, only ever came to see her with the intention of trying to talk her into going into a home? Food didn't hurt her. Grace smiled at the elderly lady affectionately. ‘I put a casserole in the oven before I went to collect Tim from school,’ she assured her.
Jessie's face instantly brightened. ‘You're such a warm, considerate girl, Grace. There you are, Mr Gregory—–'
‘Jordan,’ he put in abruptly.
Grace looked at him concernedly; he really was very tense. And extremely attractive, those dark blue eyes mesmerising, she had to admit. But also filled with that bewildered pain and disillusionment …
‘Oh, thank you, Jordan.’ Jessie clasped his hand warmly. ‘And you must call me Jessie,’ she invited with a coy smile. ‘And how lovely for you, now that you've at last arrived, that you should get here in time for dinner. Grace is such a wonderful cook,’ she added effusively.
‘Chicken casserole is hardly cordon bleu, Jessie,’ Grace said drily. ‘I'm sure Mr—Jordan,’ she amended at his sharp-eyed look, ‘is used to much more exciting fare—–'
‘How long before dinner is ready, Grace?’ Timothy cut in, his eyes bright.
She eyed her little brother suspiciously; he wasn't usually concerned with punctuality where meals were concerned. ‘Half an hour or so …’ she told him questioningly.
He turned excitedly to the tall man now standing beside the fireplace. ‘Would you take me for a drive in your car before dinner?'
‘Timothy!’ she gasped incredulously, looking awkwardly across the room at Jordan.
Her brother looked slightly rebellious. ‘But I've never been in a Jag, and—–'
‘Jaguar, Timothy,’ she corrected quietly, still a little taken aback at this uncharacteristic show of bad manners; obviously the lure of the thought of a drive in a Jaguar superseded everything she had tried to teach him about politeness! ‘And I'm sure Jordan would much rather go up to his room and unpack before dinner.’ She turned to the man as he watched them so intently. ‘The room has been aired, even though you are two days later than you expected to be in your original letter—–'
‘I—–'
‘But, of course, I realise you weren't a hundred per cent sure about the twenty-fifth as your day of arrival.’ She smiled to take away any rebuke he might have read into her earlier words. ‘I'm not that strict about arrival dates,’ she said, and shook her head. ‘And I don't exactly have people beating a path to the door this time of year!’ Or the rest of the year really, although they did pick up the occasional summer visitor looking for solitude rather than luxurious accommodation; the latter she certainly couldn't offer here! But Jordan was a ‘winter visitor’ in search of solitude.
Jordan looked at her wordlessly for several seconds, blue gaze piercing, flickering away with a vulnerability that was vaguely endearing. He seemed undecided. Which Grace guessed was an unfamiliar emotion to him. He had aroused her curiosity about him in spite of herself.
‘Oh, please take me for a drive in your car!’ Timothy was the one to break the silence, gazing imploringly up at Jordan. ‘I've never been in a Jaguar before,’ he added, eyes wide with anticipation, and Grace could already hear the tales he would tell his schoolfriends about the adventure in the morning.
Jordan was looking almost wistfully at Timothy now, Grace thought, her own frown thoughtful. He was an enigma, this man Jordan. And she felt an intense curiosity to know more about him.
‘Did you enjoy your snowball fight earlier?’ He was talking to Timothy now, his tone gentle.
Grace looked at him sharply, wondering how he could possibly know—she hadn't realised anyone had watched them earlier, but how else could this man know about the snowball fight if he hadn't actually seen them have it?
Timothy gave the grin of the victor. ‘Grace isn't bad at snowballing, for a girl,’ he shrugged.
‘Timothy Brown, you only won at all because you played dirty and put one down my neck!’ she rebuked good-naturedly.
Jordan watched her intently. ‘You run this house alone, Miss Brown?'
‘Grace,’ she corrected as automatically as he had earlier, knowing that what he was really asking was where her parents were, that she should have the responsibility of Timothy plus the running of a big house like this one. From the intentness of his gaze she had a feeling he had intended disarming her with the unexpectedness of the question, knew herself matched with a sharp intelligence. ‘I manage,’ she dismissed, her gaze steady.
Jordan met that gaze. ‘I'm sure you do,’ he acknowledged quietly.
She straightened. ‘And right now I had better take off the rest of these damp things and finish cooking dinner,’ she said brightly, knowing that although the two of them knew little about each other they at least understood each other; Grace was here ‘managing’ this house because circumstances had dictated that she do so, and because they had she did it with all the love and care that she could. Jordan was here for reasons of his own, but those reasons owed just as much to circumstances as her own.
Timothy was still looking up at Jordan with hopefully expectant eyes. Grace knew that look only too well, had succumbed to the pleading there too many times herself not to know it. And she could see Jordan wasn't unmoved by the pleading over-big eyes either.
‘If you would like to bring your things in from the car I'll show you up to your room …?’ she politely prompted Jordan, removing her scarf.
He was looking at her again now, indecision in the dark blue depths of his eyes. She smiled at him, knowing instinctively that the vulnerability she sensed in him wasn't a part of himself he felt able to cope with.
Grace doubted he would be able to cope with her response to that either; he didn't look as if he very often had women he was barely acquainted with throw their arms around him because they felt an overwhelming need to comfort him in whatever pain it was he was suffering!
There was an answering flicker of warmth in the dark blue depths of his eyes, although he barely smiled in response to hers. She wondered what he would look like if he ever laughed. Younger, was her instant guess. He had an air about him of someone much older than the early thirties she guessed him to be. Too much responsibility at too young an age, she surmised, wondering if she had a similar air herself.
She didn't think so, because she wasn't unhappy. And this man obviously was. Very unhappy.
‘I haven't brought much with me,’ he finally answered in measured tones. ‘But I'll bring it in after I've taken Tim for his drive,’ he added decisively.
Any reply Grace might have made to this remark was drowned out by Timothy's whoop of delight and his cries for them to go right now, this very second. Just in case Jordan should change his mind, Grace