Saving Grace (26 page)

My Dearest Grace,

Christopher writes that he has made little headway in our case. The courts are so terribly slow, and we are so unimportant. I beg of you, be patient a little longer. Stay at Sutherland Hall …

Exactly five minutes before the hour, Grace left her room. She walked down the hall and began descending the stairs, her trepidation growing with each step. If she’d thought the situation strained between her and Lord Sutherland before, it felt ten times worse now that his mother had arrived. The prospect of facing the dowager again — and her firestorm of criticism — was only slightly better, or perhaps slightly worse, than the idea of facing a dragon.

Grace imagined the dowager’s sour face on a dragon’s body, complete with green scales and belching fire. The image brought a smile just as she entered the dining room.

“Good morning,” she said pleasantly, as if there were no other place in the world she’d rather be or people she’d rather be with.

“Good — morning.” Lord Sutherland’s response was stilted.

Grace could tell her cheery greeting had caught him off guard. Mornings, she had noticed, were not the best for him. It seemed almost as if it took the whole of each day for his temperament to mellow into the cordiality they enjoyed each evening.

And then we start all over again the next day.
She sighed inwardly, weary already for the effort of the day.

The dowager, of course, said nothing by way of greeting but deigned to glance up from her plate of eggs.

They did not wait for me.
Grace felt the intended slight. Though she knew she’d arrived for breakfast on time, Lord Sutherland and his mother had decided to eat earlier.

Without me.

She pretended not to notice and graciously accepted the platters Kingsley brought to her. Now that the dowager was in residence, serving oneself breakfast from the sideboard was, apparently, no longer acceptable. Grace knew she wasn’t the only one suffering from the older woman’s presence. The staff had to be more overworked than ever. Yet, oddly, there seemed to be a bounce in Kingsley’s step. When he leaned over to pour her juice, she almost thought he had a bit of a merry twinkle in his eyes. And he’d taken to acknowledging her and even given her a brief smile — once.

“Did you sleep well?” Lord Sutherland asked.

Grace nodded.
Leave it to him to wait to address me just when I’ve a mouthful of toast
.

“Quite,” she managed after forcing the bite down too quickly.

“Good.” He looked directly at her. “Then I thought we might take a ride around the estate today. If you’re to be mistress of Sutherland Hall, you ought to know the land and people living here.”

“I should like that very much,” Grace said, half-wondering if this was another ploy to scare her off. Lady Sutherland had certainly taken pains to do so since her arrival. But she and Lord Sutherland did not understand that no matter what attempts they made at making Grace miserable, they would not meet with success.

Not yet, anyway. I
cannot
leave. No matter how much I may wish to.
Helen’s safety depended upon it.

“Will we be riding or taking a carriage?”

“
You
ride?” The dowager peered down her long nose.

“Yes,” Grace said, struggling to keep her tone light. “Grandfather taught me — or, rather, saw to it that I had lessons when I came to live with him.”

“That must have been lovely.” The dowager’s words rang as false as her smile. “To go from a life of poverty and hard labor to wealth and luxury, overnight. You are a fortunate girl, indeed.”

“I was
most
fortunate that Grandfather found me,” Grace readily agreed, earning another look of surprise from Lord Sutherland. “And it
was
wonderful,” she continued, meeting the dowager’s stare. “To go from a house where I was seen as a burden, where my only value was as a possession to be sold off, to live in a home where I was appreciated and loved — I suspect that may be the only time in my life I shall ever enjoy such an experience.” She pushed her chair back and stood before Kingsley could cross the room to assist her. “If you’ll excuse me, I fear I’ve lost my appetite.” She turned to Lord Sutherland. “Shall I change into my riding habit, or —”

“The curricle will do today,” he said, his tone even more brusque than usual.

Grace cringed, upset with herself for inciting his bad temper so early in the day. If only she had kept hers, but it seemed an impossible feat around his mother.

And now as punishment, I shall have to endure his bad temper for hours.
She pressed her lips together and nodded. “I shall await you outside.” Before either could protest her rude departure, she turned and walked from the room.

She’d just entered the foyer when Lord Sutherland’s scolding words reached her ears.

“You shouldn’t have chided her like that, Mother.”

Grace stifled a shocked gasp. And though the remainder of the conversation was lost to her as she marched briskly across the marble floor, she felt the tiniest catch in her heart.

He defended me.

Perhaps things were not as hopeless as they seemed.

“Our closest tenants are a ways out,” Nicholas said, snapping the reins. Obediently, the horses began a slow trot down the drive, lined this morning with workers busy pulling weeds and hoeing gravel back into place.

Didn’t want Miss Thatcher attempting that next,
he’d reasoned as an excuse for why he was bothering to clean up the lane. Neither did he wish her attacking his sister’s roses as she had last week. He’d employed a dozen gardeners to see that she’d never have reason to again.

“I suggest we use the time before us to become better acquainted.”

Miss Thatcher looked sideways at him, as if she didn’t at all believe he was in earnest.

Why should she?
Nicholas acknowledged.
I’ve been nothing but curt with her since Mother’s arrival.
He tried again. “As we are betrothed, I believe it prudent we know about each other — our backgrounds and upbringing at the least.”

Miss Thatcher coughed into her hand. “Really, Lord Sutherland? I am quite certain you know all about me that you wish to know — probably
more
than you wish.”

“None of which I’ve heard from you.” He glanced at her, his gaze lingering on her face a second longer than necessary.
How much better were she plain,
he thought for probably the twentieth time. Instead, each day they were together, the more he became aware of her beauty.

When he’d first taken a place at her side at Preston’s ball and she’d looked up at him, he’d scarcely believed Miss Thatcher to be the same woman he’d discovered in his room. Her wide, shocked eyes had looked the same — albeit brighter than he’d remembered — but all else seemed changed, from her fitted gown and pink cheeks to the tempting curls adorning her head. To put it mildly, he’d been stunned.

And he’d known at once what Preston found so attractive.

It had been easier than Nicholas had thought to take her hand and claim her as his own — for the evening, anyway. He certainly hadn’t planned on what had come after. But moments like this, with her sweet scent and those pouting lips so close, he almost didn’t regret their situation.

Almost.

As if she was aware of his thoughts, Miss Thatcher shrank away, practically hugging the far side of the buggy. “What do you wish to know?”

“Tell me of your family,” Nicholas said, his attention again directed to the road, where it had best stay.
It wouldn’t do to have an accident — with the carriage or otherwise
.
That’s what started this whole mess.

Sometime during the past weeks, he’d come to believe that Miss Thatcher had spoken the truth about not knowing Preston and had not, in fact, plotted with him at all. Her presence at Sutherland Hall had been completely by accident, and then, at the insistence of her father. The initial anger Nicholas had felt toward her had dimmed considerably.

“Tell me where you’ve lived and traveled. What your life was like before and after you met your grandfather.” His questions were sincere; her comment at breakfast had piqued his interest.

He hadn’t intended on having this conversation when he’d asked Miss Thatcher to go driving this morning. He’d hoped, at his mother’s suggestion, to show her just how out of her element she would be here. How much better it would be for her to return to her father, and for both of them to forget that this whole thing had ever happened. His mother believed that if Grace saw the difficulty of her life here, saw that she could never be accepted — even by his own tenants — that she couldn’t handle the responsibilities of being mistress over such an estate, then this little charade would soon be over.

But just now, for a few short hours, Nicholas didn’t want to think about any of that. He wanted to know the woman next to him for who she really was. Which, he’d begun to realize, wasn’t at all who he’d believed her to be.

“You’ve already had the misfortune to meet my father.” Miss Thatcher spoke as if she had a bitter taste in her mouth. “I cannot imagine you wish to know more of him.”

“No,” Nicholas agreed. “I cannot say that I do. But what of your mother — the duke’s daughter?”

“She never lived as a duke’s daughter when I knew her,” Miss Thatcher said. “She was a mother who loved her children unfailingly, who did all she could for them in spite of our wretched circumstances.”

“She is deceased?” Nicholas knew as much already. It had been in the solicitor’s report.

“She died when I was eight.” Miss Thatcher stared straight ahead, her voice devoid of emotion. “Consumption, the doctor said, but I always thought she died of a broken heart. My grandfather had been against the match and threatened to disown her if she went through with it. But my mother loved my father — don’t ask me why,” she said, glancing at Nicholas. “They ran away and were married. Grandfather was furious and refused to give them a penny. After that happened Father suddenly failed to return her affection. He marched Mother off to the nearest slum, and they took up residence there.”

“And still your grandfather did not intervene?” Nicholas asked uncomfortably. He could well imagine the man’s wrath against George Thatcher, but wouldn’t his heart have softened toward his daughter? Would he have held a grudge, knowing how it hurt his only child?

“He never attempted to find Mother,” Miss Thatcher said. “He did not even know of her death. It wasn’t until many years later — after he’d become quite ill himself and experienced a change of heart — that he determined to find her.”

“And found you instead,” Nicholas said.

“Yes.” Miss Thatcher smiled, likely recalling one of her few good memories. “I was eighteen.”

She survived ten years with only her father for support.
“But what did you do after your mother’s death?” Nicholas asked, trying to push aside the image of an eight-year-old girl weeping over her dead mother. “How did you manage without her?” From what he’d seen of George Thatcher, he could not imagine the man had been a particularly attentive parent.

“I did what she asked me to,” Miss Thatcher said, sitting a little taller in the seat. “I promised Mother that I would take care of my younger siblings, Helen and Christopher, and so I have. So I
am
,” she said pointedly, this time more than glancing his way. “It is the
only
reason I agreed to my father’s scheme of finding a husband. It was the only way to protect Helen.”

“So you do admit it
was
a scheme?” Nicholas didn’t intend to sound angry, but he knew she’d think it of him.

“I never said it wasn’t.” Miss Thatcher turned in the seat, facing him. “I only said that
you
were not a part of it. Blame your involvement on a stormy night or a broken carriage wheel or ... on me.” She sighed. “I speak the truth when I say that I am as regretful as you are of our situation.”

He knew she was being truthful, and it bothered him. No doubt she wished she’d ended up with Preston. The thought rankled, as did the fact that Miss Thatcher didn’t appreciate her circumstances, did not realize how fortunate she was

Fortunate to have landed in my bed.

He was not a monster like Lidgate. Since that first stormy afternoon in his study, Nicholas had treated her with respect. She was safe and well cared for. And if they did marry, she could have anything she wanted, any luxury life afforded, and yet —

She loathes me.

Nicholas very much wanted to know why and suspected it all circled back to her father. “What did your father do after your mother died?” he asked, steering the subject away from the present and purposefully softening his tone.

“The same thing he’s always done,” Miss Thatcher said, turning away from Nicholas again. “He gambled.”

“But his profess —”

She gave a harsh laugh. “Gambling
is
his profession. Or so he’s always said. He’s never worked long elsewhere.”

Nicholas arched a brow, disbelieving. “And he was able to support a family on his winnings?”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. “Mother supported us. And when she died,
I
did.”