Saving Grace (8 page)

Miranda held up the borrowed nightgown. “And I don’t know what to do about this. The whole side is practically torn out.”

“Bring it with us,” Grace said. “It’s no good to anyone else in that condition, and what better fodder for gossip than actual evidence of the deed?”

Miranda began folding the garment, a distinct frown of disapproval written on her creased lips.

Grace spoke for her, waving her hand in the air as she did. “I know. You still say I haven’t the slightest notion of what I am getting myself into.”

Miranda gave a tight-lipped nod as she packed the nightgown with Grace’s other things.

“Harrison thought my plan brilliant,” Grace said.

“Harrison keeps company in the barn,” was Miranda’s retort. “’Course he’d think well of your idea.”

“I imagine the animals might be better company than some I’ve been forced to suffer lately.” Grace recalled Lord Crosby’s demeaning comments as she looked out at the garden again. Her eyes strained to follow what she guessed used to be a garden path. Now it was little more than a narrow space winding between thorny bushes and overgrown trees. What had happened to cause Lord Sutherland to let his staff go? And why did he spend so much time away?

She thought of him as he’d been last night — at first savagely demanding to know who she was, then promptly forgetting her name minutes later. He’d been angry, but he’d not tossed her out or even insisted upon knowing why she’d been on a lonely country road in the middle of the night and a storm with just a driver and her maid.

He did not press me at all
, Grace realized. And felt immense gratitude for that, and for the role Lord Sutherland was about to play — unknowingly — in her effort to gain her freedom.

I must only endure two days at Mr. Preston’s.
She reasoned that two days was not so very long. “What do you suppose Mr. Preston will be like?” she asked Miranda, not really expecting an answer.

“Before or after he learns that the woman he’d hoped to court recently spent time in another man’s bed?” Miranda had finished packing and stood near the door with Grace’s belongings.

“Both.” Grace spoke with more courage than she felt. She held her head high and stood a little straighter as she walked past her maid and into the hall. “Let us go then, and see for ourselves.”

Grace peered out the carriage at the towering mansion drawing ever closer. The horses turned onto the long, curved drive lined with stately poplars. A hedge of brilliant yellow rosebushes grew along the drive, and beyond these, a lush, green lawn spread endlessly, dotted by an occasional outbuilding and numerous oaks ablaze with fall color.

“Goodness,” she said. “Father has outdone himself this time.”

As they approached the house, numerous servants exited the front doors to greet them.

All beauty and order here.
It was the very antithesis of Lord Sutherland’s estate just a short distance away.

“Had we only known we were so close, we could have ridden a little farther last night,” Grace said.

“You were in no condition to ride.” Miranda sat stiffly in the seat across from Grace, hands folded primly on her lap, and she stared straight ahead at the carriage wall instead of at the scenery.

“True,” Grace agreed. “And we shouldn’t have had our means of escape so clearly in front of us,” she added, again trying to shore up her courage for the damage that was soon to be done to her reputation.

They rolled to a stop, and Grace leaned back into her seat, not wanting to appear over-eager to greet her next would-be suitor. “I cannot imagine how Papa came to know Mr. Preston. And more, how he was able to solicit an invitation for me.”

“He didn’t.” Miranda took up the bag on the seat beside her.

“What?” Grace asked. Outside a footman approached, and the carriage rocked slightly as Harrison climbed down. “Is Mr. Preston not expecting me?” It was one thing to purposely set herself up as fodder for the gossips, but it remained quite another to show up uninvited.

“Oh, he’s expecting you, all right.” Miranda looked away, but not before Grace caught an abashed expression.

“What aren’t you telling me?” Grace pressed, reaching her hand out to touch Miranda’s. Outside, she heard the step being pulled down. “Was Mr. Preston forced into it for owing Father money?”

“It’s not my place to gossip.”

“Nonsense,” Grace said. “That’s exactly your place. It’s what we’ve come to do, so practice right now. Tell me what you know —
quickly
.” She grabbed the door handle and held it fast.

“I don’t normally listen in on conversations, you understand,” Miranda began. “But this one happened outside, and I was around the corner of the house —”

“Who was talking?” Grace asked, trying to hurry the story along.

“Why, Mr. Preston and your father, of course,” Miranda said. “Who else do you think I overheard?”

“No one.” Grace waved her gloved hand, urging her to finish.

“Mr. Preston had come to see your father. He’d heard it said that you were to be coming out of mourning early and were looking for a husband.”

“
Father
was looking,” Grace muttered. She didn’t know why she was worried about ruining her reputation. Her father had likely already done a fine job of it. Coming out of mourning early had been scandalous enough, but to advertise so blatantly that he intended for her to marry — The door rattled, and the handle jiggled beneath Grace’s hand. “Do go on,” she pled.

“Mr. Preston
requested
you as his guest,” Miranda whispered. “He told your father that he knew you from previous acquaintance with the duke. He sought you —”

Another tug on the door saw it opened this time. Grace withdrew her hand to her lap, waiting until a footman had extended his and offered assistance. Sending a fleeting glance Miranda’s way —
Here we go —
Grace stepped from the carriage.

“Miss Thatcher.” A man in a butler’s uniform bent low before her. “We were not expecting you until tomorrow, and I am afraid Mr. Preston is away this morning.”

“My apologies for our early arrival,” Grace said in her most refined voice. “We encountered some difficulties en route and thought it better to impose upon your hospitality an extra day rather than remain at our previous lodging.”

“You are most welcome here,” the butler said. “I am Mr. Goyle, and this is Mrs. Telford. She will acquaint you with the house and all that you need.”

“Would you care to join our other guests in the breakfast room?” Mrs. Telford asked.

“Thank you,” Grace said. “But I fear I am still somewhat overwrought from — our travels.” From the corner of her eye, she caught Harrison exchanging a covert glance with the servant he’d been speaking to.

So it has started already. No turning back now.
Grace felt suddenly ill.

“May I beg leave to rest in my room?” she asked Mrs. Telford. “I’m afraid I did not sleep well last night.”

“Of course. Come this way. We’ll have your things brought up directly.” Grace followed the woman into the mansion, which was modern on many counts compared to Lord Sutherland’s. The floors gleamed, and the light-colored curtains were thrown back, flooding the space with sunshine. Yellow roses, likely from the hedge outside, overflowed from vases on almost every surface. Their scent was sweet and pleasant. A more welcoming room Grace could not imagine.

You are not here to enjoy any of this,
she reminded herself. She went through the motions, taking care to hold her gown and walk with poise as they crossed a large hall, ascended a long flight of carpeted stairs, and passed through a corridor lined with paintings. She nodded and thanked Mrs. Telford at all the right moments, then practically sagged against the door in relief when it was closed and she was alone.

Not wanting to wait for Miranda, and especially not wishing to allow her mind the time to think on what was already being said about her in the servants’ quarters below, Grace left the door in favor of the inviting bed on the far side of the room. She’d scarcely lain back when her eyes closed and sleep claimed her. This time she did not dream.

Nicholas kept his head bent to the papers in front of him for a good minute after noticing both Mrs. James and Mr. Kingsley hovering in the study doorway. He had not summoned either, so the two of them coming to see him did not bode well.

Are they both here to give their notices?
Each would be justified in doing so. Perhaps they’d come together as moral support while facing the ogre. It was a term he’d chanced to overhear some months ago, from one of the few maids still in his employ. After the incident, one
less
maid worked at Sutherland Hall.

Still, he didn’t like that the staff considered him a tyrant. He hadn’t always been one — a dour, gruff-around-the edges sort of employer — but it seemed that was the only way he knew how to be anymore. Nicholas used to tell himself that as soon as he’d finished with Preston, he would be better.

Life
would be better. But lately, he wasn’t sure it ever would.

He set his work aside, looking up at the pair waiting patiently in the doorway. No doubt he’d tried their patience with the way he’d railed at them two nights past, when he’d discovered that woman in his bed. He’d hardly spoken to anyone since. She and her servants had been gone before he’d risen the next day, and now he wished only to put the incident behind him.

He shouldn’t have been so hard on Kingsley. Nicholas’s conscience pricked, telling him he would never have found the woman in his bed had he employed enough servants to keep up the house — a spare room or two, at least.

“Yes?” he said to his two most trusted servants, inwardly cringing at his brusque tone.

“We have some news that may be of interest to you,” Kingsley said. His expression was guarded, as usual, but Nicholas sensed something beneath the blank mask, some worry or concern.

“Has it to do with Preston?” Nicholas asked. Almost anything else didn’t interest or concern him these days — even things that ought to.

“Yes,” Kingsley said.

“And Miss Thatcher as well,” Mrs. James added.

“Who?”

Kingsley and Mrs. James exchanged wary looks. Nicholas propped his elbows on the desk and leaned forward, indeed interested in what his servants had to say.

Had his former brother-in-law become involved with another woman? Nicholas had long suspected it would happen one of these days; Preston was the sort of man possessed with a charming air women seemed to adore.

Elizabeth certainly did.
She’d been gone from this earth a scant three years, and it seemed like both yesterday and forever since Nicholas had last seen his sister. Those years had passed slowly. Not a day went by that he didn’t miss her. He’d felt the same way — the whole house had — when she’d married Samuel Preston and moved to his neighboring estate. Life at Sutherland Hall had changed then, no longer graced with Elizabeth’s presence and the touch of joy she’d brought to everyone and everything around her.

All hope of that joy ever returning had been lost just a year and a half later with her passing, but the echo of her laughter still rang in the halls. Nicholas imagined that he could still hear her playing the pianoforte in the music room. Her garden of roses, though neglected, still carried the sweet, heady scent he would always associate with her.

He hadn’t forgotten, or recovered from, the loss. The thought that her husband might be moving on with life only fueled the hatred burning bright in Nicholas’s soul. “Who is Miss Thatcher?” he repeated.

Kingsley cleared his throat and tugged at his collar. “The woman who stayed here two nights ago.”

That pale, wild-haired thing?
Nicholas could not imagine Preston, or any other man, being attracted to her.
“What has she to do with Preston?”

“She was headed there the night her carriage broke down,” Mrs. James said. “And she is there now. Mr. Preston is hosting a ball this weekend, and she is his particular guest.”

“Jolly good for them,” Nicholas said darkly, drumming his fingers together. The woman — Miss Thatcher — couldn’t hold a torch to Elizabeth, who’d been as rare a beauty as she’d been in spirit. But if Miss Thatcher really was at Preston’s, at his particular invite, then
something
about her must have attracted him.