His Saving Grace (22 page)

Grace had never been punched in the stomach, but she imagined that what she was feeling now felt very close to that. The breath rushed out of her, and it seemed as if her body went numb.

“What?” she whispered.

“You heard me,” Michael said.

“Because I spoke to Sir Timmons, you’re ejecting me from my home?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

She searched his eyes, looking for the Michael she knew. But not even the new Michael was there. This man was completely different and very frightening.

“This has nothing to do with Sir Timmons. Tell me what this is about.”

He looked away, and she knew that she’d touched on the truth, though she didn’t know what truth. “Tell me, Michael. Talk to me.”

He shook his head and looked at her with no emotion in his eyes. “If you won’t leave, then I will.”

Michael tried to move around her, but Grace stepped in his path and put her hand on his chest. “No. Don’t. Talk to me. Please.”

He looked over her shoulder, refusing to meet her gaze. A muscle in his jaw twitched. They stood like that for long moments. She could feel his heart pounding, but he said nothing.

Grace’s hand slid down his chest until it fell to her side. He stepped around her and walked out of the study. Moments later, she heard the front door open and then close.

She stood alone in the middle of the room, staring blankly at the opposite wall, her stomach a knot. Her knees shook. Her hands shook. Her entire body trembled. Fear and anger abandoned her, leaving her an empty shell.

Michael managed to catch George before he moved the carriage to the carriage house. “Take me to town,” he said as he climbed in.

He put his head back and breathed deep, willing his heart to return to normal and his body to stop shaking so much. He felt as if he’d been in battle. But while he’d walked away from the skirmish, he wasn’t certain he was the winner, and he was damn certain he wasn’t unscathed.

It’s for the best.
That was what he kept telling himself, and he tried to believe it. He’d seen the expressions on Grace’s and Timmons’ faces when they were talking. Timmons hadn’t been panicked by the growing crowd. Timmons hadn’t been confused because there were too many conversations going on around him. Timmons didn’t have to walk with a cane because his bloody knee kept giving out on him.

How could he saddle Grace with that for the rest of her life?

The carriage slowed as it neared town. It was impossible to drive down the street. The children were home in bed, no doubt, but the festive atmosphere had risen. There was dancing on the makeshift dance floor, and a band playing music, and someone was attempting to climb the maypole while people stood around and cheered him on.

Michael pounded on the ceiling with his cane and the carriage came to a stop. His destination was close, and he could skirt the crowd to get there.

As he had hoped, the local tavern was nearly empty. On this fine evening, almost everyone had chosen to be outside and partake of their spirits there. Michael found a quiet corner and ordered a bottle of Scottish whiskey. He sat with his back to the wall and within full view of the room, something his military training had taught him.

He nursed his drink, numbing his overtaxed brain until the room took on a soft quality and the people appeared to be moving in slow motion.

He wasn’t surprised, hours later, to see Tarik enter. Grace must have sent him. No. Knowing Tarik, the man probably took it upon himself to follow Michael. He looked directly at Michael and made his way over. People stared and moved out of Tarik’s way, but the big man didn’t seem to notice. He pulled out a chair and sat down.

Michael waved to the serving woman to bring another bottle. But when it arrived, Tarik pushed away his empty glass before Michael could pour. Good thing, because Michael wasn’t at all certain he could fill a glass without spilling all over the place. Raising his arm took a monumental effort.

“This is what it’s come to?” Tarik asked.

Michael deliberately took a long swallow of whiskey while eyeing Tarik. “This is none of your business.” He pointed a shaking finger at Tarik. “You seem to forget, my friend, that you are a servant. Servants mind their own business.”

“You seem to forget, my friend, that I saved your life and therefore have reason to interfere.”

Michael looked away. There was no getting around that. He continuously told Tarik that he owed him his life. But did he? “You should have left me there.” He wasn’t sure if he voiced the words or if they were in his head.

“If you continue to look back, you aren’t able to look forward.”

“What is there to look forward to? Tell me, for I find myself oddly curious why you believe my future is so bright.”

“You’re alive, for one. Many families can’t say that about the loved ones they sent off to war.”

“They died an honorable death, and my death would have been as well. There is nothing honorable about my life now.”

Tarik tilted his chair back, folded his hands over his stomach, and stared at Michael for so long that Michael wanted to snap at him to stop.

“What about Lady Grace?” Tarik finally asked.

“What about her?” Michael stared at the scratches and dents in the ill-used table. When the silence grew to uncomfortable proportions, his anger stirred. “She’s better off without me.”

“Pray tell, how?”

Michael finally looked at his friend. The man he alternately admired and despised. “That is none of your business.”

Tarik sighed. “Are we to go through this again? Because I will, if you insist.”

“You go too far, Tarik.”

Tarik leaned forward. “Don’t tell me who is going too far, because it is not I. I am not the selfish one here.”

Michael reared back. “You think I’m acting
selfish
? I love Grace with my whole being. The thought of living without her tears me apart.”

“Then don’t live without her.”

“I have no choice. She is much better without me.”

“Have you asked her if she would be better without you?”

“No.”

“Ah. So you make this decision on your own, without her input?”

Michael’s back teeth came together. “It’s for the best.”

“Whose best? Yours? Or hers?”

“I don’t have to sit here and listen to this.” But the thought of actually standing and attempting to walk out the door seemed beyond him.

“No one is keeping you here. Go back to your wife.”

“I’ll say it again. You go too far. If you don’t like my decisions, you are free to leave.”

Tarik stared at him for a long moment. Michael despised when Tarik did that, because the man was adept at hiding his thoughts. Slowly, he stood and pushed his chair in, then bowed, turned on his heel, and walked out.

Michael watched his one and only friend leave, knowing he was losing the last decent part of himself.

He was truly alone now.

Grace ran into Tarik as the man was leaving the tavern.

After Michael had left, she’d allowed herself a few moments to wallow in her misery; then she shook it off and let her anger take over. Michael was not going to eject her from their home, and she was not going to allow him to leave, either.

She learned from a footman that Michael had told George to take him to town. She’d asked a stable boy to harness the buggy, and she’d driven herself to town. From there, she’d deduced that Michael was in the tavern. He wouldn’t willingly get involved in the crowd in the middle of the street, and before the war, he occasionally enjoyed an ale at the tavern.

“Is he in there?” she asked Tarik.

Tarik’s expression was stony, and she got the impression that the usually implacable man was holding on to his anger by a thread.

“Now is probably not the best time, my lady.”

“Nonsense. This is going to end, Tarik. One way or another.”

She tried to push past him, but Tarik grabbed her arm to stop her. “Let him be for now.”

She looked down at the large brown hand on her arm. “Unhand me, Tarik. I am going to find my husband.”

With a sigh, Tarik released her arm and stepped back. Grace pushed open the tavern door and stepped inside. The place was half empty. She recognized most of the people, and they were all either looking at her with pity or avoiding her gaze.

She saw Michael in the corner. His hair was mussed, his shirt untucked, his cravat gone. And there was a woman on his lap.

He looked up and their gazes locked. He stared at her boldly, his arm around the woman’s waist as she leaned in to him. When he didn’t push the woman away, Grace’s heart sank.

She looked at the others in the room. Every one of them was aware of what was happening. Humiliation burned in her cheeks, but instead of crumbling like she wanted to, she lifted her chin, straightened her spine, and turned to walk with her last shred of dignity out the door. She had to push past Tarik, who was standing at the door. He, of course, had witnessed the whole mortifying scene.

Silently, he walked with her to the buggy. She stood before the conveyance and stared at it, her mind a blank as to what she should do.

Tarik helped her in and took the reins himself. The cool wind, which had been refreshing before, now bit through her clothes and made her shiver.

When they arrived at the manor house, she went straight to her rooms and called for Jenny.

“Pack my bags,” she instructed.

Jenny’s eyes widened. “My lady?”

“Pack them.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Take only what is necessary.”

Jenny moved quickly, and before long, she had two trunks packed. Grace would leave the rest. There was no need for ball gowns.

Grace’s previous mortification had given way to raw fury. She couldn’t get the image of her husband with another woman out of her mind.

The dower house was dark and cold when they arrived. Grace started a fire herself, having forgotten that the fireplace in the drawing room didn’t draw well. The room began to fill with smoke, but eventually, it cleared out. She really did need to get that looked at.

She pulled an ottoman as close as possible to the fire in the hope that the heat would stop her shaking. It warmed her skin but not her insides, where she was the coldest.

The flames danced and hissed and popped. Grace rubbed her arms to generate more heat. Tears dripped down her cheeks, and her stomach roiled to the point where she feared she would be sick.

The image of the woman sitting on Michael’s lap played in her mind until she doubled over and gave in to the sob building inside of her.

When Michael stumbled out of the tavern, Tarik was waiting for him.

“Tarik. You’re a good friend.” He wasn’t sure if that was exactly how the words came out, but the intent was there. Tarik silently helped him into the carriage and climbed up top.

Michael wanted to ask where George was, but the thought slipped out of his mind just as quickly as it had slipped in. The swaying of the carriage caused his stomach no little discomfort, and he fought to stay conscious and not spew all over himself. But his mind was numb, and that was what he had intended when he ventured into the tavern.

He opened his eyes to find Tarik yanking him out of the carriage. He was not gentle and Michael groaned. He remembered little of walking up the stairs to his set of rooms, but he did remember swaying in front of Grace’s door. The numbness he’d worked hard to achieve cleared a bit when he was faced with her closed door. He leaned forward to put his hand to it, but he must have been standing farther away than he thought, because he fell into the door with a loud crash. Tarik yanked him away and shoved him toward his own room.

“Musn’t wake her ladyship,” Michael murmured.

Tarik said something, but Michael did not hear him. He staggered toward his bed and collapsed on it and that was the last thing he remembered until the sun pierced his closed eyelids and caused his head to hammer mercilessly.

He rolled onto his stomach and covered his head with his hands
.

“Tarik.” He meant to yell for his manservant, but it came out as a weak croak that had his head screaming in agony and his dry, scratchy throat protesting.

He would have to get up and find his very nonsubmissive servant. And he would. In a moment. When his stomach settled and his eyes were used to the light. Who forgot to close his drapes? When he found out, he would…

Who was he kidding? He would do nothing, because as soon as he got out of bed, he would forget that the drapes had remained open.

Memories of the night before crashed around him, and he buried his head in the pillow. Squeezing his eyes shut only made his head pound harder. He wanted to forget the devastation on Grace’s face when she saw him with the serving girl on his lap. He wanted to forget the dignity she possessed as she looked around the room and discovered that a large portion of the town was witnessing her humiliation.

He’d wanted her out of his life, but he hadn’t meant to do it in such a public way. In truth, the whole fiasco had been a mistake. The serving girl had not meant to fall into his lap, and he had intended to push her off, but when he looked up, Grace was standing there and he had frozen.

He pressed his head into the pillow and groaned.

He’d accomplished what he set out to do. Grace would never have him back now.

It’s for the best.

He had to keep reminding himself of that.

The door to his room opened and slammed shut, making him wince and groan. He lifted his head—no small feat—to find Tarik glaring down at him.

“ ’Bout damn time. I need a bath drawn.”

“Yes, you do.”

Michael managed to push himself up to a semi-sitting position. “Someone forgot to close the drapes.”

“I opened them earlier.”

He glared. “Do you mean to punish me?”

Tarik raised an eyebrow. “Your pounding head is not punishment enough?”

“I find your insubordin
ation tiring.”

“Excuse my insubordin
ation. But you did know I was not a subservient servant. I recall that you were pleased with that in the beginning.”

“Enough, Tarik.” He slid off the bed and stood on shaking legs.

Tarik’s nose wrinkled. “I will call for that bath.”

Before Tarik could get out the door, Michael called to him. “The countess?”

Tarik looked at him for a long while. “She’s gone, my lord. Left last evening.”

Grace’s absence was felt keenly throughout the entire household. And if Michael was not aware whose fault it was, then the servants had no problem reminding him. They were polite, as always, and efficient, as always. But they were cool toward him, and the smiles were absent. It was as if Grace had taken the joy from everyone when she left.

Michael closed himself off in his study to compose a letter to his London solicitor. He was unsure how to begin. “Good day, I am writing to procure a divorce” did not seem to be the right way to go about it, and Michael found he couldn’t actually write those words. Besides, a divorce might not be the right approach. Divorces were extremely rare and extremely difficult to procure. And if Grace became a divorced woman, it would devastate her socially.

What he really wanted to do was set Grace up so she could live a comfortable life without him. He would purchase a house in town. Something she could decorate to her liking. With a big enough garden that she could build one of her glass houses. She would never want for anything, and the best part was that she would not have to worry about him anymore.

He began writing.

The problem was that he wasn’t certain he was writing the words he needed to write. Grace would always look over his correspondence for him, and when Henderson was hired, Michael dictated his letters to him. He couldn’t ask Henderson to transcribe this particular letter, and Grace…Well, that would not work, either.

So he started and stopped and crumpled up so many letters that balls of paper surrounded him and still he had nothing to show for his efforts. He stared morosely into the cold fireplace.

His vision blurred and he swiped at his wet eyes, but the tears stubbornly remained. He didn’t want to live without Grace. He didn’t want to walk through this silent house knowing she wasn’t present. He wanted her next to him, but that was not to be. Even if he changed his mind, his actions from last night were irreversible. He had humiliated her in the most public way, and she would never forgive him.

He’d wanted to push her away and he had succeeded.

With heavy steps, he walked out of the study and out of the house. Alfred watched him go with sad, accusing eyes. They all blamed him. He was sure that word of his exploits had already spread, and they all despised him for hurting their beloved countess.

He didn’t blame them. He despised himself.

He wandered to the back of the house and through the woods that covered most of the property. He had no destination, no thoughts other than the image of Grace’s face when he’d told her to leave and then when she’d found him in the tavern.

He stopped when he could walk no more because Blackbourne Lake blocked his path. It was not a large lake, but it was deep, and it had proved entertaining on summer days when he and his brothers were overheated and wanted to swim.

Those were shining moments in his memory. Brothers’ good-natured bickering and horseplay. The rowboat was still hidden among the bushes lining the lake. Normally, the servants would pull it in for the winter, but Nigel must have forgotten about it.

Michael dragged the boat out and dug through the underbrush to find the oars. He pushed the boat into the lake and splashed through the water, ruining his boots and his trousers in the process. The boat appeared sound. No water leaked into the bottom. He hopped in and began to row. Though it was midspring, the water wouldn’t warm for another few weeks. His toes were numb and his trousers clung to his legs, causing him to shiver.

He hadn’t dressed for a walk, let alone a boat trip, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. There was nothing for him to care about. Nothing, really, for him to live for.

Grace was gone. Tarik despised him. The entire village and his household loathed him. If he were gone, Nigel would gladly take over as earl again, and things would go back to the way they were before Michael surfaced from the dead.

Grace could wed Timmons, and she would be happy with a husband who could read and write and possibly give her the children she so desperately wanted.

Michael rowed until his arms ached and his breath caught in his throat and tears blurred his vision. He rowed until he was sobbing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. Only then did he pull the oars in and let the boat drift. He was far from shore. He knew from when he was a lad that it was deep here. Deeper than any other part of the lake. He hadn’t been able to touch bottom even when he’d dived deep to try.

He stared into the dark water as images of his life rushed through his mind. He smiled at some of them, chuckled at a few, and frowned at more than a few. For the most part, he’d led a good life. He’d been born into privilege and had more than his fair share of good things happen to him. Joining the army had opened his eyes to poverty and sickness and suffering, and he hoped the experience had made him a better man.

But the good times were gone, erased by a single strike from a horse’s hoof to his head. He should have died an honorable death on that battlefield. He never should have been saved by Tarik to live half a life.

Walking into Blackbourne Manor was painful, but Grace had no choice. The next day was the picnic she and Michael were hosting for the townspeople, and she refused to cancel it.

This morning when she’d walked through town, she’d seen a few veiled glances in her direction, but she held her chin high and soldiered on. It seemed the past year had been all about shoring up her courage and pressing forward no matter what life threw at her.

A body did what a body had to do. That would be her new motto in life.

And what she needed to do at the moment was direct the servants of Blackbourne Manor in placing the tables. Cook had things well in hand with the food. This wasn’t her first town-wide picnic, and Grace had learned to stay out of Cook’s way.

Sara was beside Grace, which helped and didn’t help. Sara was furious with Michael and showed it by quietly fuming. Even Tarik was angry at Michael.

However, everyone’s support mattered little to Grace. It didn’t assuage the hurt that Michael had caused with both his words and his actions. The woman on his lap was merely icing on the cake.

And yet, through her anger and hurt and humiliation, Grace understood. She was probably the only one within town limits who understood her husband’s actions.

He, too, was hurting and angry. Angry at life for handing him such a silent, yet no less debilitating, injury. An injury that people wouldn’t understand unless they were close to him. She’d seen firsthand what it was like to live with such deficiencies and know to the outside world that you looked hale and hearty while inside, your brain was not working correctly.

His words and actions stemmed from the feeling of helplessness, which had to be crushing to a man who was accustomed to leading other men. Not that what he’d done was right, but she understood.

She wished he were here so she could tell him she understood and that she wasn’t giving up. She would fight until her last breath to save their marriage. And she would do whatever it took to bring dignity back to her husband.

“Where do you think he’s gone off to?” she wondered out loud.

Sara snorted. “Have you checked the tavern?”

Grace winced and smoothed the cloth over the table, keeping her eyes averted.

“Oh, Grace. I’m so sorry. That was horrid of me to say.”

“No need to apologize. I’m sure that’s what everyone else is saying.”

“No. Truly, they’re not. They haven’t said much. At least that I have heard.”

Grace straightened and looked up at the large house. Was he inside? Was he avoiding her? Should she storm in and demand that he speak to her? Or should she leave him be for a bit?

“He’s not a bad man, Sara. He’s just…lost right now.”

Sara drew in a deep breath. “I know. I understand, Grace. You two love each other so much, and it’s difficult for me to watch him hurt you like this. I’m sure with time, things will settle down.” Sara gathered up the stack of tablecloths. “He was gone a year. It takes time.”

“What if time doesn’t heal all wounds, Sara? What then?”

Sara put down the stack of cloths and faced Grace. “Then you will find a way, Grace. Your love for him and his for you will overcome. I have no doubt.”

“Is love enough?”