His Saving Grace (12 page)

“I completely agree, my lord. I still have my notes from our meeting over a year ago. Would you like to go over them?”

Michael rubbed his aching head. What he wanted was to lock himself in a quiet room so his mind could settle. “We will leave that for our next meeting. Tell me, what did Nigel do regarding the rents?” They had a few long-standing tenants for whom Michael felt a deep responsibi
lity.

Roberts hesitated a long moment, his brow furrowed. “We’ve discussed the rents, my lord. Twice now.”

Michael stared at Roberts. He had no recollection of discussing rents, but he remembered that he’d wanted to ask Roberts about numbers in the ledger that indicated rents had been raised. “We have?” he asked.

Roberts appeared ill at ease. He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and tapped his papers together. “Yes, my lord.”

“Ah.” Michael stared at the numbers in the ledger. He had no idea what had been discussed. Had Nigel raised the rents? If so, why? “Lower them,” he said, hoping he was making the right decision. Nigel hadn’t already lowered them, had he? The estate relied on them enough that he couldn’t afford to lower them too much. But what if Nigel already had? Had Michael made the right decision?

“Yes, my lord.”

Michael stood, too agitated to sit, his head pounding so hard that he was having difficulty seeing. “I apologize, Roberts. It’s coming on teatime, and I fear hunger is getting the best of me. Perhaps we can finish this tomorrow?”

“Certainly.” Roberts stood and began gathering his papers.

“You can leave them. I would like to go over them again before tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Roberts bowed his way out of the room, and Michael had the impression that the man was beating a hasty retreat, taking his confusion with him. How many times had Michael asked about the rent? Twice? Thrice? Had they been raised or lowered?

Damnation. He rubbed his aching head and closed his eyes. The quiet was such an enormous relief. He dropped back in his chair and kept his eyes closed. He sat there, listening to his own breathing, letting his thoughts float away. But the uncertainty remained. He knew Roberts was aware that something was not quite right with the new earl of Blackbourne.

Before leaving for her festival committee meeting, Grace pressed her ear to the study door. It was unseemly, to be sure, but there weren’t servants around to witness it. She hoped.

It was probably a good thing she had her meeting, else she would pace and fret, and Michael had made it clear that he didn’t want her worrying about him. He also had made it clear that he wasn’t stopping for lunch. The insufferable man.

There wasn’t anything to hear on the other side of the door other than the low rumble of men’s voices. That was good, wasn’t it? She would take that as a good sign. And so she left to attend her meeting.

Of course the talk was of Michael’s return. What a different meeting this was from the last. Clara was not there to stir up trouble, and Violet seemed inordinately happy that Grace was no longer betrothed to Sir Timmons. Silently, Grace wished the girl well and hoped that Sir Timmons would eventually see what was right in front of him. She hadn’t seen Clayton since the awful confrontation in the drawing room of the dower house, but she had thought of him often and wondered how he was doing and if he was still angry.

“And how are you faring, my lady?” Prudence asked.

Grace smiled, although it took effort to constantly pretend everything was well. “Very well, thank you.” Inside, she was a jumble of raw emotions, anxiety being the prevalent one. She worried about everything these days. How Michael’s meeting was going with Roberts. How he was going to run the earldom if he couldn’t write a simple letter. How in the world they were going to hide his condition from society when it was obvious there was something wrong.

It seemed that lately, she walked around with a constant ball of dread in her stomach. She found herself watching Michael closely, wondering what she would discover of her husband next. But to the outside world, she needed to put a smile on her face and pretend that everything was well indeed. Thank you very much.

Only Sara seemed to suspect that not all was as it seemed, for she kept shooting Grace curious looks.

“You must have been so excited when you discovered his lordship was alive,” Violet said with a dreamy look.

Oh, dear. The girl positively had stars in her eyes. It seemed she thought Grace and Michael’s story very romantic. Or maybe the stars were for Sir Timmons, back on her list of potential husbands.

“Excited. Yes,” Grace said. “It was a bit of a surprise.”

“Did you swoon?” Violet asked, her hand on her heart.

Her mother shushed her, but Grace smiled. “No, not quite. I believe I was too shocked to swoon.”

Margaret, the reverend’s wife, leaned forward. “Did he simply walk up to the door? How did it happen?”

Grace drew in a deep breath. She had not anticipated all of these questions. “He arrived in a carriage, and yes, he simply walked up to the door.”

“Oh.” Violet’s hand moved from her heart to her mouth. Did Grace detect tears in the girl’s eyes?

“While we all want to hear his lord and her lady’s story,” Sara said, “we should begin the meeting. We have much to discuss.”

The women settled back, some looking disgruntled that they’d been deprived of a juicy bit of gossip. Grace was thankful. She wasn’t certain how long she would be able to keep up with the inquisition and make it sound romantic and glorious, like these women expected.

“Now that her ladyship is back at the big house, we can hold the annual picnic on the manor’s grounds,” Prudence said, full of excitement.

Grace wanted to groan, while the other ladies exclaimed what a great idea that was. In the past, Blackbourne Manor always hosted the last day of the festival. The earl and countess would provide a picnic, along with games to play throughout the day. Last year, Nigel and Clara had not hosted the picnic, and the townspeople had not been happy.

Grace couldn’t say no in the face of their excitement. But remembering Michael’s behavior at church, she wasn’t sure how he would react to hosting this event. It seemed that they were caught in a large snowball careening downhill at a speed that took her breath away. Nothing was in her control, and that only added to her anxiety.

After the meeting, Sara met up with Grace outside the house and fell into step beside her. Her constant bodyguard followed at a discreet distance. “Do you have time for tea?”

“We just had tea at the meeting.”

“Do you need to go home right away?”

Grace thought about Michael and his meeting with Roberts. She desperately wanted to know how it was going, but those two would likely be locked in the study still, discussing sheep and tenants. Grace looked at the watch attached to her brooch. She had a little time left. “Not right away,” she said.

Sara wound her arm through Grace’s and propelled her toward town. “Lovely. Let’s have tea at Victoria’s Tearoom.”

“How do you do it?” Grace asked, tilting her head to indicate the bodyguard. “Having a bodyguard follow you everywhere?”

“I’m used to it, and it makes my father worry less. It’s no different from your footman following you.” Sara’s father had gone into almost total seclusion since the death of his oldest daughter, Meredith.

They entered the teahouse, ordered their tea and biscuits, and took their seats. After their tea was brought, Sara took a sip and pointedly looked at Grace. “Now tell me how things really are.”

Grace’s hands shook as she put her teacup down without taking a sip. “Things are well.”

“No. They’re not. I know you, Grace. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

Grace looked around the teahouse. Since it wasn’t teatime, the place was nearly empty; the closest person was by the windows, a few tables away, and he was reading a book.

“I can’t…” Grace cleared her throat. “I can’t betray Michael’s confidence, Sara.”

“I would never ask you to do such a thing.” Sara paused and considered Grace. “Who is taking care of
you
?”

“I don’t need taking care of.”

“Nonsense.”

Grace glanced away and took a fortifying breath. Beneath the table, her hands were clenched. “Michael was gone a long time. We have to relearn how to live together.”

“What happened to him while he was away?”

Grace pressed her lips together.

“I would never betray your trust, Grace.” Sara leaned forward and put her gloved hand on Grace’s arm. “But I feel that you need someone to talk to.” She sat back. “Only a close friend can say that you look awful.”

Grace let out a surprised laugh. “Should I be offended or pleased with that observation?”

“You put on a good show. I don’t believe that anyone but I can see it. You’ve lost weight. You’re pale, and your smile is strained.”

Good breeding didn’t allow Grace to slump in her chair, though she wanted to. She hadn’t realized how heavy the weight was on her shoulders or how much she was holding everything in.

The need to tell Sara everything was so great. She desperately wanted to discuss the situation with someone. Sara wouldn’t go telling tales or spreading gossip.

“He was injured,” Grace began haltingly, still not convinced she was doing the right thing and feeling like she was betraying Michael in some horrible fashion. She fluttered her fingers in the air. “His head…was…hurt. He didn’t return for so long because he couldn’t. There were repercussions from the injury. He’s very forgetful. He has headaches.” The words were inadequate to describe what Michael was like and what their lives were like.

Sara watched her solemnly, not offering condolences or false words of wisdom or hope. She simply waited for Grace to continue, and now that the words had started, they were impossible to stop.

“He’s different. We used to…” Grace cleared her throat and smoothed the tablecloth. “It’s like the caring part of him is missing. He’s back. We’re living together. But it’s as if he’s only going through the motions because he’s expected to. I can’t seem to break through the wall that’s separating us, and the worst part is that I’m not certain the wall is due to his injury. I think he put it there on purpose.”

Sara continued to sip her tea even after Grace stopped talking, but her wise gaze remained on Grace, full of compassion and wisdom. Finally, she put her teacup down and folded her hands on the table. “Men are strange creatures,” she said. “When my sister died, my father went into a deep depression. He blamed himself for what happened.”

“Your sister’s death was not his fault.”

“Of course it wasn’t. Nevertheless, he felt responsible.”

“So you’re saying that Michael blames himself for his injury?”

“Possibly. One thing I’ve learned is that men like to be in charge. They need to feel they’re in control. It sounds as if Michael isn’t in control. Does he rely on you for many things?”

“In some instances, yes. He also has Tarik, the manservant he brought from the Crimea. Michael relies on him as well.”

“He’s not in control and therefore feels out of control. He feels like less of a man.”

Grace stared at Sara, attempting to take all of this in. Some of it she had already speculated, but hearing it said by someone else made it all the more clear. “How did you get so wise, Sara?”

Sara shrugged and looked down at the table as pink climbed up her cheeks. “I’m quiet. People tend to overlook me, and it gives me a chance to observe them. For the most part, they’re very transparent.”

Grace wanted to comfort her friend, for she could see the sorrow on Sara’s face. Because she was so quiet and, well, somewhat plain, people did tend to discount her. What they didn’t realize was that a very intelligent person lay beneath the shyness.

“I feel privileged to call you a friend, Sara.”

Sara looked up in surprise, the blush rising up her cheeks. “And I you, Grace. If there is any time you need to talk, I’m always available to listen.”

Grace left the teahouse feeling lighter and with a smile on her face. Talking to Sara had worked. While her problems were by no means resolved, it felt good to know there was someone she could talk to.

She had not realized how alone she felt in this new life. Part of her envied the people she passed on the street. They were going about their lives, just as they had done the day before and just the way they would tomorrow. And it seemed to her that they were moving in slow motion when she was moving at a speed far faster than anything she’d experienced before. She knew that was not so. They weren’t strolling slowly on purpose. It was Grace who was different now. Talking to Sara had brought her back to the life everyone else was living. Even if it was only for an hour.

She was still feeling the lightness in her step when she reached the manor house. She handed her hat, parasol, and pelisse to Alfred. The door to the study was open, but Michael was not in there. She went in search of him, but he found her first as he was coming down the hall from his rooms.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, his expression twisted into anger.

Grace stopped, stunned. All the good feelings from her time with Sara drained out of her.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” Michael said, waving his hand in the air as if indicating that he’d been running through the house searching for her. Which he probably had been. “I was frantic. No one knew where you were.”

She could see that he truly was frantic. There was panic in his eyes, and his pinched expression betrayed his fear. But what was he afraid of? “I told you at breakfast this morning that I had the festival committee meeting.”

He stopped abruptly, his anger slowly giving way to confusion. The panic in his eyes clouded with a different kind of fear, one that she had seen too many times to count. Every time she witnessed his bewilderment, it broke her heart.

“You did?” His voice was thin, almost like a child’s voice. His eyes narrowed, and she could see him thinking hard, trying to recall that conversation. “I don’t remember.”

Tea with Sara already seemed a lifetime ago. The good feelings were completely gone. She was right back where she had been since Michael returned. Lost, alone, and scared.

“You had just kissed me,” she said in a gentle voice. “And you were about to leave for your meeting with Roberts. I reminded you that I would be gone for most of the afternoon, and I told you why.”

Her heart went out to her husband as he stood before her, looking confused and embarrassed and so lost. She had no idea what it would be like to lose parts of your day. There were times when she was frustrated by his forgetfulness, but she couldn’t imagine how frustrated he was, especially considering he’d never been that way before.

She had learned a few things in the weeks since Michael’s return. Dwelling on the difficulty only made things worse. So she changed the subject before Michael became more agitated. “How did your meeting with Roberts go?”

He ran a hand through his hair and mumbled something.

Grace leaned forward. “Pardon? I didn’t hear you.”

His expression was so bleak that her stomach dropped. Oh, no. The meeting hadn’t gone well.

“I think I asked him the same question too many times. But I couldn’t remember that I had already asked him.”

Grace looked up and down the hallway. There were no servants about, but that didn’t mean one wouldn’t appear. She motioned for Michael to follow her into her suite of rooms. Mercifully, it was empty, and she closed the door to discourage anyone who might enter.

“What happened?” she asked, facing him.

“I couldn’t remember what he said about the rents, and so I asked. Many times, I fear.”

“Do you remember now?”

“No.”

She wanted to hug him tight, to protect him from everything, but that wasn’t feasible, and neither would he want her to do that, so she tried to be practical. She’d been foolish to think her conversation with Sara would change anything. All it had done was give her a glimpse of normalcy, something that was sadly lacking in her life.

“And what did he say?” she asked.

“He answered my questions, of course, but I could see he was surprised.” He looked at her with tormented eyes. “I can’t do this, Grace.”

“Nonsense. You can do this. We must simply find a way that will help you.” She was becoming very good at faking strength, pretending to be positive when she was anything but. If she didn’t, no one would, and all would be lost.

“I hate this.” He paced away and stood before her bed, running his hands along the sides of his thighs. “I hate that this happened to me. I hate that I brought this to you.”

She stepped up behind him and touched his rigid shoulder. “I know you do, but it did happen, and we have to find a way to live with it.”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I keep thinking it will go away, that I will wake up and be better, but that’s not going to happen. My greatest fear is that I will be this way for the rest of my life and that people will pity me.”

Grace gave in to her desire and hugged him from behind, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tight, pressing her cheek to the tight muscles in his back and closing her eyes. She wanted to fix everything. To make it all go away. For Michael’s sake more than hers.

He turned within her embrace and wrapped his arms around her. His hug was nearly crushing, but she didn’t mind. She’d learned not to take moments like these—any moment, really—for granted.

“No matter what happens,” she whispered, “we will make it. I promise you that, Michael.”

He made a sound, and she realized that her once unflappable, happy husband was crying. She’d never, in all the years of knowing him, seen him cry.

She hugged him tighter and let her own tears flow. It felt good to share the anxiety and the fear and the uncertainty, even if they didn’t speak a word of it.

The effects of Michael’s day were telling. Grace sat across from him at the dinner table. Once again he picked at his food, toying with it but not eating. He’d barely spoken to her since they sat down. While this was normal behavior, Grace hated it. She thought of her conversation with Sara. Did Michael pull away from her because he was ashamed that he had broken down in front of her? Did he close her out because he felt so out of control?

She would never forget the panic in his eyes or the tremor in his voice. How horrible that he had been roaming the house, frightened because he couldn’t find her. On top of that, he had been dejected because of his meeting with Roberts. He’d probably gone in search of her to tell her about it, and she hadn’t been there for him.

The emotional turmoil of the afternoon had taken its toll on him. He appeared exhausted. Whether he accepted it or not, he was susceptible to weariness. Could a head injury take time to regain strength, like a physical injury to one’s leg or arm?

She had a lot of theories and questions that she’d peppered Tarik with, but he knew little about the workings of the brain. All he could tell her was what seemed to work for Michael. But what if there was something out there that the doctors hadn’t thought of? Some way for him to cope or maybe, God willing, a cure? What if there was a doctor who could give them the answers they needed?

To break the uncomfortable silence and to quiet her overactive thoughts, Grace cleared her throat and broached the subject she’d been nervous about voicing.

“As you know,” she said, a little too loudly. She quieted her voice. “In the past, it’s been tradition to open the grounds and part of the house to the townspeople on the last day of the festival. Last year Nigel did not open the house, and I fear the people were disappointed.”

Michael looked up at her for the first time since they sat down. “Why would Nigel not host the last day of the festival? The festival is one of the strongest memories I have as a small lad.”

“As is the case for most of the townspeople. Now that we are back in residence, the committee…
Well, they would like us to open the house this year and resume the tradition.”

Michael frowned. “Why wouldn’t we?”

She hesitated to speak her thoughts, especially considering what happened earlier in the day. “I just don’t want to overburden
…the…um, the staff.”

“Nonsense.” Michael waved his fork in the air. “They love it as much as everyone else. And if I recall, we are the ones who do most of the serving.” He smiled, and it was as if they had gone back two years, to
before.
Sometimes that was how she thought of her life.
Before
. And now they were in the
after.

“They work hard,” Michael went on, spearing a piece of his potato. “They deserve to make merry. What are you worried about, Grace?”

Grace hesitated. “It will be a much larger crowd than at the church that first Sunday.”

His head jerked up, and he leveled a hard look at her. “Do you not believe I can handle the festival?”

The accusation made her want to squirm in her seat. “I…”

He put down his fork and carefully placed his napkin beside his plate. For a long moment he stared down at the table.

“Michael…” Grace wished she could start this conversation anew. She’d had no intention of questioning his abilities. She’d only been worried about him.

Michael held up his hand, and she stopped. A dreadfully long silence followed in which she could vaguely hear the servants talking in the kitchen.

Finally, Michael met her gaze, his eyes flat. “You are right to question me, of course. I’m…I didn’t react well in church that first Sunday. I was unprepared. But I will be fully prepared for the festival. I can’t hide from them, Grace.”

“I’m not suggesting you hide.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly not believing her.

“Fine. Maybe I was suggesting that you hide.” She looked away.

“Gracie, look at me. Please, Gracie.”

She pulled her gaze back to his. She’d expected to see anger, but it was conspicuously absent.

“Thank you. I know you worry about me.”

She tried to smile, but it wobbled so that she feared it didn’t resemble a smile at all. “I just want…” She laughed feebly. “I don’t know what I want.”

“Things to be the way they used to?”

She shook her head. “There is no going back, just forward.”

“I wish I had your positive outlook.”

She looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times. “I just want you to be happy, Michael. You don’t seem happy anymore.”

When the silence stretched, she looked at him. He was studying her pensively. “I try, Grace, but most times it’s beyond me. I’m at my happiest when I’m with you.”

“Are you?” The question had passed her lips before she could stop it. “I feel as if you try to avoid me most of the time.” He averted his gaze, and her heart dropped. “I’m here to help you, Michael.”

“I’m unsure if anyone can help me with this. I’m afraid this is who I am and who I will always be.”

“Then we need to find ways to cope with it, but avoiding me, closing me out, is not a way.”

A corner of his lips lifted in a sad attempt at a smile. “I love you.”

Taken aback, she blinked. His words soaked through her broken and bruised heart, giving her some hope, little though it may be.

“I now know why my soul remembered you when my brain couldn’t. You are my strength, Grace.”

“Oh, Michael. You always know what to say to quiet me.”

He laughed, and it was such a beautiful sound to hear. “We will host the last day of the festival, as is befitting our stations as the earl and countess of Blackbourne. I will not hide from my duties, and neither will you ask me to hide.”

“Of course, my lord.” She couldn’t stop her smile. “I will let the committee know, the next time we meet.”