Saving Grace (6 page)

Grace clutched the blanket tighter, as if trying to wrap herself in protection from his prying eyes.
I’ll not recite to him my faults and folly.
If she did, he would likely send her packing at once. She lifted her chin a little and met his intent gaze head on.

“It is a tedious story, one I am not up to telling at the moment. I should greatly appreciate the opportunity to return to bed — another bed,” she added hastily. “I
am
unwell.” As if to prove her point, a tremor made its way down her spine, and her coughing started up again.

“Yes. I can see that,” Lord Sutherland said. “You’re rather a mess. I take it you were not even offered a hairbrush. I regret you found our lodging so inhospitable.”

Grace’s hand went to her tangled hair, and she winced inwardly, wishing she’d made use of the comb offered her earlier.

At last Lord Sutherland looked away, turning his censuring gaze upon his servants. “I imagine my bed is also in poor condition now. Mrs. James, please see that clean sheets are brought up at once. And find somewhere for” — He returned his attention to Grace, searching her face as if that would produce her name — “these people to sleep.”

Harrison stiffened and opened his mouth as if to correct Lord Sutherland’s address, but Grace shook her head at him. Though she’d done her best to speak as befitting a duke’s granddaughter, she had no doubt that she appeared nothing like one at the moment, what with her uncombed hair still damp and flying about her head in who knew what fashion, and only a blanket and a maid’s borrowed nightrail covering her. No wonder Lord Sutherland thought so little of her.

“The maids have already been summoned,” Mrs. James said, bobbing a slight curtsy. She turned to Grace. “If you’ll follow me, please.”

Grace did her best to curtsy before taking her leave of Lord Sutherland. As her bare feet padded down the hall, shame washed over her in waves, replacing the fear that had been her companion since she’d been so rudely awoken.

Lord Sutherland had seen her wearing nothing but a nightgown.

And I was in his bed — with him!

She could imagine no greater shame. As she turned to go into the room Mrs. James pointed out, she met the woman’s eye and sensed that she, too, was thinking the exact same thing. A new distress swept over Grace as the gravity of her situation set in.

I am ruined
.

“Ruined,” Grace murmured as Miranda walked her to bed for the second time that night. “What will my father say?”

“Nothing, because he won’t be hearing about this.” Miranda pulled the blanket from Grace’s shoulders. “Goodness,” she exclaimed, seeing the long rip Lord Sutherland had made in her nightgown. “No wonder you’re trembling. Did this, did he?” Her fingers grabbed the torn fabric trailing to the ground.

Grace nodded, tears of shame building in her eyes as she recalled the dreadful moment. “What was the butler thinking to put me in Lord Sutherland’s quarters?”

“I’m sure I haven’t the slightest notion.” Miranda helped Grace into bed. “But I think he meant well. Servants around here seem to be scarce. They’re not prepared for guests, unexpected or otherwise.”

“Father will kill me — or Lord Sutherland. Or Lord Sutherland will kill him in a duel when Father loses his temper and challenges him. Oh, Miranda. What a mess.”

“Shh now.” Miranda tucked in the quilt and smoothed the top. “Your father needn’t find out about this. There aren’t many here who’ll have to hold their tongues. I’ll speak with Mrs. James to see what can be done. I imagine a few words from her will take care of it.”

Grace groaned. “I wish we’d never stopped here.”

“Can’t say as I don’t agree,” Miranda said. “But bad as it was a bit ago, it’s still better than being out in the rain.”

“I suppose.” Grace found it more difficult to bemoan her circumstances a few minutes later as her head sank into a feather pillow. She ached all over. She was both cold and hot, and she was oh, so tired …

Sleep came easily but was not restful. She tossed and turned in the unfamiliar bed, while one troubling scenario after another paraded before her closed eyes, haunting her.

Sir Lidgate had found a way into her room and was after her. She couldn’t understand why, when she’d gone to such lengths to dissuade him, even purposely injuring herself in a manner that would lead him to believe she could never produce the heir he so desperately wanted.

Grace rolled onto her side and felt the bruise on her hip proving that the escapade — getting herself thrown from a horse — had not been imagined.

“Go away,” she muttered, waving her arms above her, banishing the image of Sir Lidgate and his overly friendly advances.

At last he left. She slept briefly then dreamt again, this time to discover that Lord Crosby had her trapped in his drawing room and was listing all of the qualities he found so important in a wife. His condescending manner and absurd expectations had her seething, and it was all she could do to keep herself from jumping onto the settee and shouting at him. But there were others in the room, men who knew her father, who would report her behavior to him. So she bit her tongue until it nearly bled.

But inside, her mind — she possessed one, contrary to Lord Crosby’s belief — was whirring. He didn’t really want a wife. He was looking for a trophy or piece of expensive art, something docile and lovely to sit on a shelf and purr for him on occasions he took it down to admire it.

Grace did not wish to be put on a shelf or admired or made to hold her tongue for the rest of her life. She had thoughts and opinions. She was not delicate, but strong and determined.

What more could I have done to dissuade him? Why does he still bother me?
He’d asked her to leave after the hunt, hadn’t he? Yet his image, complete with grating voice and pompous manner, continued to harass her through the predawn hours.

The nightmares continued, one after the other. Some were products of her imagination, others reenactments of humiliations she’d suffered since her father had so cruelly sent her “out to pasture again,” as he put it.

She didn’t want to be in the pasture. She wasn’t a cow meant for breeding. She didn’t want to marry. She’d known a life of freedom, and, if only the inheritance from Grandfather would come through, she and Helen and Christopher would have enough to live on.

If only the new duke hadn’t contested the will. And if only they could get Father’s gambling under control. Thinking of that, of the list of debts owed that he’d presented to her days after the duke’s passing, and especially of Father’s solution that Helen be married off to a wealthy man, a feeling of utter hopelessness and desperation came over Grace.

She
had
to marry — and soon — or their father would force Helen to. Helen, who was barely eighteen and shy as a church mouse. Helen, so soft spoken she could rarely be heard. Helen, so exquisitely beautiful that a man like
Lidgate would have devoured her instantly.

Grace gave sleep up for good and lay still, contemplating the last several days and the previous night’s events, the horror and then the shame of realizing that she’d been in a man’s bed —
with him.

The barest hint of dawn peeked through a seam in the heavy tapestries. She tried to find hope in that tiny ray of light, remembering how her mother had always told her that everything seemed better, brighter in the morning.

The solutions to our troubles oft come with the morning light,
she’d said. But Grace could see no solution to her problem. In spite of Miranda’s reassurances that the servants would not talk, Grace knew otherwise. She’d spent the better part of six years at her grandfather’s house full of servants. She knew how rumor and gossip flew among them, between estates and entire villages, and then spread through London and the ton. It was only a matter of time before the story of her time in Lord Sutherland’s bed was well known here and beyond.

Before I am ruined.

Grace tried to recall if she’d ever heard the Sutherland name before last night. Was there any possibility her father knew of him? Not likely, if Lord Sutherland did not frequent London gambling houses, and, given what little she could recall from their arrival last night, she very much doubted that he did.

If so, he is even poorer than father at winning.
For while his residence might be large, Lord Sutherland clearly could not afford to keep it up.

Had he, I would not be in this predicament now, for I should have been properly shown to a guest room.
But of course, she had not.
Oh, help me,
Grace prayed.

In addition to worrying about Helen’s welfare and Father’s debts, she now had to worry over the possibility of a duel. When her father learned of this, he’d be furious. No doubt he’d send Christopher in his stead to face Lord Sutherland.

The only solution Grace could see was to be otherwise settled before her father learned of it. She would have to quit being so particular about the men he’d chosen as possible suitors. She would have to give up her dream of remaining unwed and living with Helen and Christopher in the country.

I shall have to marry — and quickly now.

And all because of an unfortunate misunderstanding.
Because I was mistakenly in Lord Sutherland’s bed. But who will have me?

No one.

Grace’s eyes flew open.
No one
would have her now.
Of course!
Why hadn’t she seen it before? This was not a tragedy, but the miracle she’d been hoping for. And all her “problem” would take to blossom into a miracle was a little nudge. A burst of laughter rolled from her lips.

Miranda was at her side in an instant, bending low over the bed, an anxious, concerned, almost motherly look in her eyes.

“Where did you come from?” Grace asked, nonplussed at her maid’s sudden appearance. She struggled to sit up, wanting to reassure Miranda she was well and eager to share her sudden inspiration.

“I slept in the chair.” Miranda inclined her head toward the far side of the room, which was still in shadow. “I came to check on you shortly after you went to bed the second time, but you were in such a state that I didn’t think it right to leave, not with the way you were carrying on and thrashing about.”

“Thank you,” Grace said, her heart again filled with gratitude toward this woman whom she’d once protested against. Instead of the intrusion into her privacy Grace had feared a lady’s maid would be, she’d found Miranda to be the kindest of women, someone who not only looked after Grace’s physical comforts but who had proven herself a guide and ally.

Now I must test the strength of our bond.
Would Miranda so readily do Grace’s bidding at her next request?

“I feel much improved this morning,” Grace said cheerily. Indeed, it was true. Her forehead and nightgown were damp with sweat, so her fever must have broken sometime in the night. The chills and persistent headache were gone, and in their place, her mind was calm and focused. She knew exactly what must be done now.

“Your voice isn’t right yet,” Miranda said. “And your breathing’s raspy.”

Also true. The vise assaulting her breath still seized in Grace’s chest, and her throat was yet sore, but all in all, she did feel far better than the previous evening. To prove it, she pushed back the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Ignoring Miranda’s disapproving look, Grace stood and began making her way toward the window to look out at the day. She always enjoyed the morning after a rainstorm, when the world seemed fresh and new. Today, in particular, life seemed alight with possibility.

Grace cleared her throat and began carefully. “As I said before, when word of last night’s events gets out, my reputation will be ruined.”

“But it won’t,” Miranda protested. “There’s only Mrs. James and the two girls who work here — just them in a place this big — can you imagine?” She shook her head in disbelief. “And I spoke to Mrs. James about it last night. She’s instructed the girls, and Mr. Kingsley will see to speaking to the groomsmen. They’re none of them to say a word about last night — not if they wish to keep their positions. Mrs. James said they already worry over losing their employment, since Lord Sutherland’s been letting the staff go one by one over the past year and a half.”

Grace reached the window and pushed the tapestry aside. The view was disappointing — only a neglected, overgrown garden below. A thick carpet of several seasons of leaves covered the ground, making any paths or lawn indiscernible. A mangled twist of rose bushes had only a few long-wilted buds amidst an overabundance of thorns. In spite of last night’s rain, everything appeared brown and dull. It was apparent that the gardener had been let go quite some time ago.

“How terrible to have such a grand estate and be unable to maintain it,” she said, wondering what misfortune had befallen Lord Sutherland.

“True enough,” Miranda said. “But at least you’ve no need to worry about servants’ tongues flapping about last night.”

“Oh, but I wish them to.” Grace turned from the window to face Miranda, then rushed forward in her eagerness to explain. “Listen to me, please.”