Saving Grace (14 page)

“Very well.”
An appropriate name for one in such need of Heaven’s blessings.
Nicholas cast a final look at the bed and their patient. “Inconvenient this, to be sure, but we must do our best, Kingsley. The new priority, so long as she is under this roof, is saving Miss Thatcher.”

Saving Grace.

Nicholas brushed a fallen leaf from his shoulder as he walked in the twilight, Erastus Jasper at his side. “Tell me what have you have discovered, my good man.”

“You mightn’t think me good once I’ve shared it with you,” Jasper said, his cheeky grin in place.

The look, more than his words, stirred unease in Nicholas’s gut, reminding him of the one other time he’d used the man’s sleuthing services. Four and a half years earlier, he’d had Jasper investigate their new neighbor, Samuel Preston. Jasper hadn’t uncovered anything distressing; to that point, Preston had lived a respectable, if not boring, life.

And look what disaster ensued anyway.

Nicholas braced himself for the worst. “Let’s have it, then. It’s not you I’m concerned with liking.”

Jasper nodded. “You’re wanting to know if the little miss who caught you is worth the trouble.”

A frown creased Nicholas’s lips. Perhaps he should have taken the time to contact one of his solicitors in London. “My reasons matter not. Tell me what you have learned.”

“At your service.” Jasper doffed his cap and pulled from it a dirty, rolled-up piece of paper. This he handed to Nicholas. “Notes,” he said. “In case I forget anything. I can’t read it myself, but Kingsley wrote it all down for me while I was waiting.”

“Splendid,” Nicholas muttered, then supposed he should feel grateful that if Jasper had to confide in someone, it was with a person already familiar with the sordid details. He stuffed the paper in his pocket to be read later, though Kingsley, with his flawless memory, would no doubt prove to be an even better reference.

“Your lady is twenty-four years old. She’s the oldest of three — has a younger sister and brother. Her father is a Mr. George Thatcher, known just about everywhere for his excessive gambling.”

“They are wealthy, then,” Nicholas said, feeling slightly relieved. He’d been thinking the worst of the woman upstairs in his house, surmising that she’d arranged the whole thing to gain a portion of the Sutherland purse. But if she had her own money —

“Poor as church mice,” Jasper corrected. “Old George hasn’t had much luck the past few years, and it seems he’d do almost anything to secure a bit of fortune.” Jasper held up one hand, rubbing his thumb and fingers together.

“Even involving his daughter in a scheme to trap a fortune?” Nicholas mused.

“Even that,” Jasper said. “But don’t feel too poorly about it. You were not her first attempt.”

“Tell me,” Nicholas said, though he didn’t really want to hear it. He thought back to the night he’d discovered her in his room and then later in the hall, the way Miss Thatcher had come forward, defending Kingsley — a servant she barely knew.

Kingsley couldn’t be involved in this.
Could he
?
Of course not.

Nicholas banished the absurd thought. Miss Thatcher had appeared ill even then.

Bad luck for her that now she truly is ill.
Just rewards if ever he’d heard of them. Maybe he should have left her at Preston’s, and
he
would have taken ill too.

“She first visited Lord Damien Crosby of Whitby,” Jasper went on. “His servants say he showed interest in Miss Thatcher until she gave herself away for who she truly is — not a proper lady, I mean.” Jasper turned his head, glancing at Nicholas, as if to see how he was taking the news.

“Go on,” Nicholas urged, wishing Jasper were more direct. He’d forgotten how the man had infuriated him the first time around. “Why do you say she is not a lady?”

“Miss Thatcher showed up for a
hunt
.”

Nicholas shrugged. “Some women enjoy hunting.”

“Not wearing breeches and riding astride.” Jasper’s chest puffed out importantly as if, instead of scandal, he’d uncovered a rare jewel.

Nicholas tried but was unable to pair the lady whose delicate, gloved hand he’d taken at the top of the stairs with the image of an undisciplined hoyden wearing men’s trousers and sitting astride a horse. He grimaced at the unsettling image.

“I am guessing that incident ended Miss Thatcher’s prospects with Lord Crosby,” Nicholas said.

Jasper nodded. “He asked her to leave.”

Nicholas put his hands in his pockets to ward off the chill as they continued down the drive. It was a cool night to be out walking, but he hadn’t wanted to visit with Jasper in his study or even in the drawing room. Though the man was good at what he did, Nicholas didn’t trust him not to be sleuthing for someone else at the same time. The less Jasper knew of Sutherland Hall, the better. He could not risk Preston discovering any of his business dealings.

The night air was also good for clarity of mind, something Nicholas desperately needed. His thoughts had run the gamut in regards to Miss Thatcher, and he very much wanted to see them settled on one point permanently. With this news, it appeared it would be a very low point on the scale.

“I don’t suppose she came here next,” Nicholas said.

“Nope.” Jasper’s grin was back. Nicholas wanted to wipe it from his face. He saw nothing amusing in this conversation. “Miss Thatcher left Crosby and traveled directly to Sir Richard Lidgate’s home.”

“Lidgate.” Nicholas knew of the man.
An impossible rake
, he’d once overheard Elizabeth and her friend call him.

“There’s the rub,” Jasper said. “Lidgate’s a
reformed
rake. He’s actively searching for a wife — and word has it that he wants an heir before he gets much older.”

“Why ever did Miss Thatcher not solicit him then?” Nicholas asked.

“She did. Stayed there four
whole
days.”

And nights.
Nicholas could well guess what Jasper was implying. With Lidgate’s reputation, no respectable woman would stay one night in his house. The only kind of women Nicholas had ever seen in Lidgate’s company were those adept at flirting, lonely widows, or the unhappily married who believed there was something to be gained from their endeavors. In the past, that would have meant one thing.

Currently?
It was difficult to believe Lidgate to be
that
reformed. Nicholas had seen him in action on more than one occasion, and numerous times with women hanging off either arm.

Once more Nicholas tried to place Miss Thatcher in that role but could not. Yet she must have been if she’d stayed at that house and attempted to win Lidgate over for a permanent situation.

“Why did she leave? What went wrong?” Nicholas asked.

“The third morning, they were out for a ride,” Jasper said. “Miss Thatcher took a jump too high for the horse. Her mount threw her, and she was hurt something terrible.”

“When was this?” Nicholas hadn’t noticed any sort of injury with Miss Thatcher. She’d danced well enough at the ball, especially considering how ill she was.

“Two days before she arrived at your place. Lidgate had a physician attend to her, and the man told him Miss Thatcher wasn’t likely to bear children.”

Nicholas’s mouth gaped. “From being thrown by a horse.”

Jasper shrugged. “Just repeating what I was told.”

“By whom?” Nicholas asked. Perhaps Jasper was not as reliable as he was reputed to be.

“The physician,” Jasper said. “Spoke to him myself yesterday. The man said he’d never seen bruising like that before.”

“Oh.” Nicholas marched on in silence. He found this news disturbing, though it shouldn’t have been. It wasn’t as if he expected Miss Thatcher to bear
his
children. He reflected on the way he’d handled her that night in his room and felt more than a twinge of guilt. Not only had she been ill, but injured, as well, and likely scared. Yet he’d behaved as the injured one, lashing out and demanding answers. Given the trauma she’d recently endured, his behavior had undoubtedly made things worse for her.

They reached the bottom of the drive and turned back. “I assume Lidgate sent her packing too,” Nicholas said.

Jasper shook his head. “There’s the strange thing. Miss Thatcher left of her own accord in the middle of the night —”

“And ended up with a broken carriage,” Nicholas fumed.
And in my bed
. “Why?” If she’d been on her way to see Preston, why not continue on a little farther? Unless . . .

Preston!

Nicholas’s hands clenched. These past three years, he’d done his best to destroy Preston. Some of his ventures had met with success, and Preston had lost money — once in excess of £15,000. It had to have hurt. Yet never once had Preston retaliated.

Until now?

Always Preston had remained cordial, going so far as to extend invitations whenever he hosted a dinner, ball, or other event. Never had Nicholas accepted any of them. He’d never so much as set a toe on Preston’s property.

“Until three days ago.”

“Excuse me?” Jasper looked at him strangely, and Nicholas realized he must have spoken the thought.

“Nothing,” he muttered, unwilling to share his hunch with anyone. He’d been made a fool of already; no one need know the extent of his stupidity. He removed an envelope from his coat and handed it to Jasper. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful.”

Jasper’s eyes lit up as he opened the envelope. “Thank you, Lord Sutherland. I can find out more, if you’d like. I’d only a few days this time, but I could —”

“I’ve learned quite enough,” Nicholas said, cutting him off. Knowing and suspecting what he did now, he intended to have one of his solicitors in London delve more fully into Miss Thatcher’s past.

Jasper thanked him again and took his leave, and Nicholas was left alone to walk up his deserted drive in the chilly fall evening. A leaf floated down from a maple above, and Nicholas caught it, turning the golden stem in his fingers.

Elizabeth had loved this time of year. She’d loved these trees and the burst of color they sent forth every autumn. As with her roses, a leaf like this was a great treasure. He couldn’t count the number of them she’d pressed inside books. Once in every great while, he still stumbled across a book in the library that held one of her preciously preserved petals or plants.

Yet we were unable to preserve her life
.

A familiar bitterness rose in his throat, and Nicholas longed for the past in a way he almost never did. He wished he were fourteen again and Elizabeth twelve. They were out on this lawn beneath these trees, throwing fall leaves at one another while their father cheered them on and Mother scolded their mischievousness.

There had been life at Sutherland Hall then. Parties for every season, presents beneath the great tree at Christmas. Family picnics and riding. Not a week had passed during his growing up years that he and Elizabeth didn’t roam the surrounding hills together.

It had been an idyllic existence. But now, before he’d fully appreciated what he’d had, it was gone. Not only would he and Mother never get that life back, but there was also nothing in his future to ever replace those happy times. Two of the most important people in his life were gone forever, and the world offered him no solace for their loss.

Only the possibility of revenge — of extracting payment from the one responsible — brought him any measure of satisfaction.

Nicholas let go of the leaf and watched it sway as it fell to the ground. He lifted his boot and stomped on it, grinding the heel until the already fragile foliage crumbled beneath his weight.

He would crush Preston and anyone else involved with him — Miss Thatcher included.

As he walked, Nicholas reviewed the sequence of events at the ball. Preston’s greeting Miss Thatcher as if they were long acquainted, Preston dancing with her first, and the easy manner in which they conversed. Miss Thatcher’s becoming suddenly ill.

An idea I gave her?

Miss Thatcher fainting. And finally, Preston’s uninspiring efforts to keep her at his home.

The more he thought on it, the more Nicholas became convinced that he’d been unwittingly caught up in some scheme of theirs.

It will not work,
he vowed. He would send the trouser-wearing, husband-seeking, scheming woman packing the moment she was well enough to stand.

And he would not feel the least bit of guilt about it either. The matter settled, Nicholas returned to the house and retired to his room. As he passed Miss Thatcher’s door and heard her coughing, he remembered the doctor’s warning.
She might die
.

He decided he would not let her. She would not be freed from this predicament so easily. He would make certain she lived, if only so both she and Preston might pay.