His Saving Grace (15 page)

He swallowed loudly. “True enough, my lady, but these houses aren’t the respectable ones that the nobility frequent. These cater to…the baser…proc
livities.”

Poor Sir William. Grace feared his reddening face would burst into flames. She had the impression that he wished to be anywhere but here.

“Baser proclivities,” she repeated. What did that mean? She wasn’t about to ask the poor man. Instead, she would unleash her imagination and keep her thoughts to herself. Whatever these proclivities were, they appeared to be bad enough that Sir William thought it important to tell her. “What is the name of this establishm
ent?” she asked.

His head snapped up in alarm. “My lady, I don’t think—”

“Please, sir, don’t believe that I would actually appear on their doorstep. However, I do need to be armed with the appropriate information.”

He sighed. “Polly’s Palace of Pleasure.”

Grace tried hard not to let her lips twitch in the smile that wanted to form. Polly’s Palace of Pleasure? Was the man serious? “And this place is appropriately inappropriate that it could cause a scandal if it were to become known?”

“Yes, my lady.” He pressed his lips together as if refusing to say more on the matter. Grace was very curious about this place. What went on inside that even Sir William would not speak of it? “It’s not uncommon for a man to step out of his marriage to find…comfort in another woman,” she said, unsure that this bit of information was enough to silence Nigel.

Sir William cleared his throat and mumbled something.

Grace sat forward. “Pardon me? I did not hear what you said.”

“I said that this is a most inappropriate conversation.”

Her lips twitched again. “Please be assured that no one but you and I will be aware of this conversation.”

He let out a frustrated breath. “I refuse to go into sordid detail of that…
establishm
ent’s
activities. Not with a woman of quality. Believe me when I say it is unseemly, and that is all I will say on the subject.”

Grace’s brows furrowed. Now she was intensely curious. Sir William said something under his breath that began with “bloody” and ended in “women.” She didn’t ask him to repeat himself but merely waited for an answer.

“Sir William—”

“No, my lady. I will not.” His lips thinned, and a mulish expression settled on his face.

She could point out that she was the one paying for the information, but she had a feeling that mattered little to him. For now she let the matter drop. Maybe she could find out some other way, if just to assuage her curiosity. “Is that all you unearthed?” she asked instead.

“No, my lady. There is more.”

More than Nigel frequenting a house of such ill repute that Sir William would not speak of it?

“It seems he has debt.”

“I believe Lord Blackbourne is aware of Nigel’s debt and is taking care of it.” Michael had mentioned something about Nigel and Clara running up some small debts at the haberdashery and modiste.

“This he may not be aware of.”

“Oh?” Even more intriguing, Sir William was proving to be a wealth of information. Money well spent, in her opinion.

Michael’s meeting with his solicitor was not nearly as arduous as the meeting with Roberts had been. Part of it was due to Grace’s brilliant idea for him to take notes as they spoke.

Michael had come up with his own style of shorthand that he could decipher. There were occasions when he read back on his notes and didn’t understand what he’d written, but those were happening less often. He felt so much better about himself now that he could handle a simple business meeting.

With relief, he had left the meeting with the knowledge that his estates were being handled adequately and his attention was not needed here as much as at the Blackbourne estate in Hadley Springs, where decisions sometimes needed to be made on a daily basis.

He was beyond exhausted. He got that way when he had to think too hard and for too long. He’d never known that one’s brain could actually hurt, but his did, and quite frequently, at that. Sometimes the effort of even simple thoughts was almost beyond him. Along with the fatigue, he had lost some of his ability to walk. He had to rely heavily on his cane and on Tarik, who had waited for him, possibly understanding what an ordeal the meeting would be and what it would take out of Michael.

When he entered the townhouse, the butler met him with the news that her ladyship was entertaining in the drawing room and requested his presence.

The last thing he needed was to be paraded in front of a gaggle of women who wanted to take a gander at the back-from-the-dead earl. He wanted to cry off but pictured Grace’s pinched face this morning and knew he wouldn’t. She’d done so much for him that he could not deny her this.

He shot Tarik a long-suffering look. Tarik merely shrugged and wandered off.

Michael pasted on a smile and opened the door. He was confronted not with a group of simpering women but, rather, his brother and sister-in-law. Grace’s smile was strained and her face pale as she stood to greet him. “My lord, look who has come calling.”

Nigel rose as well, but his wife—Cora? Caroline? Damn, he couldn’t remember the woman’s name—looked over the selection of biscuits and chose another one.

Michael nodded to his brother. “Nigel. To what do we owe the honor? I thought you were in Scotland.”

“Clara and I had business to conduct in London and discovered you and Grace were in town as well. We thought we would visit.”

Clara! That was her name, and on the heels of that thought was another: He did not believe for a moment that Nigel and his wife were here as a courtesy. “That was…nice of you.”

Nigel settled back in his chair as Michael sat in the one closest to Grace. Her shoulders were rigid and her smile false. She was on edge, and Michael felt a spurt of annoyance at Nigel for causing Grace discomfort. He wanted to reach over and put his hand over hers, but he kept to himself and offered her a small smile instead.

“Nigel and Clara and I were discussing the festival before you arrived. I told them we were opening the grounds again. As we have always done in the past.”

Michael bit back a smile at Grace’s pointed words. Clara shot Nigel an anxious look as she bit into another scone.

“You were?” He looked blandly at his brother.

“In truth,” Nigel said, “Clara and I came for a reason.”

Michael raised a brow and forced himself to appear calm when he was on alert. His soldier’s instincts were still honed, and he didn’t like what they were telling him now. This was a frontal attack, and Michael was not prepared.

Nigel cleared his throat and sat forward. “I was rash during our last conversation.” He laughed nervously. “In truth, it was a shock to see my brother, who I thought was dead, standing in the middle of my drawing room, and I did not act appropriat
ely.”

“My apologies for not giving advance notice,” Michael said.

Nigel waved his hand in the air as if it were of no importance. “That is neither here nor there. I wanted to apologize for the things I said.”

Michael considered his brother. It had to be difficult being the third in line to the earldom. Yet Michael had been second in line and had done fine with his choice of career in the military—up until that last battle.

Nigel had had a decent practice as a solicitor. And then he had lost two brothers in the space of a few months and become the earl. He’d been ill equipped for it, as his solicitors and Roberts had pointed out. And just as quickly, the earldom had been taken away from him.

Nigel was his brother, and Michael would like to believe that he was being sincere.

“Apology accepted,” Michael said. Although he was not happy with the way Nigel had treated Grace, but now was not the time to bring that up. Michael’s head ached, he was exhausted, and they had a ball to attend tonight.

Beside him, Grace was so rigid that he feared she would shatter if touched. Clara reached for another biscuit, her gaze darting between Nigel and Michael. Michael wondered if she even dared to breathe.

“We will be leaving for Scotland in a few weeks’ time. We will spend the summer there before I resurrect my career as a solicitor.”

“That sounds like a marvelous idea,” Michael said. “Where will you be staying in the meantime?”

Nigel hesitated. Clara stopped chewing to watch them. Grace didn’t move. Michael got the impression that all of them were waiting for him to extend an invitation for Nigel and Clara to stay with them. And he got the impression that Grace was hoping he wouldn’t. He had no intention of spending his time in London entertaining his brother. He was willing to give Nigel the benefit of the doubt, but he was not equipped to have houseguests even if they were family.

“We have a suite of rooms at the Langham,” Nigel finally said.

“An excellent choice.”

A silence fell between them. Clara continued chewing. All Michael wanted to do was close his eyes and rest his brain.

“We should go,” Nigel said to Clara.

Clara swallowed and stood. The rest of them stood as well. Awkwardly, Nigel and Clara said their goodbyes, and then they were gone.

Grace looked at the closed door. In the entryway, Michael could hear Nigel and Clara preparing to leave the house.

“Excuse me,” Grace said, and she hurried out of the room. By the time she reached the entryway, Nigel was climbing into the carriage in front of the townhouse. She watched as the carriage pulled away.

“My lady?”

Grace spun around to find the butler behind her with a concerned expression. “Yes?”

“If I may.” He looked down at his shoes.

“What is it, Nelson?”

“Lord Nigel. He was here earlier, before you arrived home.”

“Yes?” She had known that, of course. She’d returned from an appointment with her modiste to find Nigel and Clara sitting in the drawing room, Clara eating scones. She had not been happy to see them, although Nigel had been solicitous and Clara strangely quiet. Grace had yet to decide what she would do with the information she’d learned from Sir William; she wasn’t prepared to present it to Nigel. Besides, he hadn’t done or said anything to make her feel threatened. Which was odd to her. And Michael seemed to accept Nigel’s change of heart.