Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace (13 page)

His aunt’s lips turned up at the corners. “If you are asking whether the letter’s author tarried, she did not. Should I ask the inn’s proprietor if he has knowledge of the lady?”

“Who said I asked about a woman?” Gabriel said tersely. Once his aunt set her mind on an idea, she was like a hound to scent.

“No one said,” she said coyly. “I simply made that particular assumption after all your secrecy.”

Gabriel’s own mouth showed how much he enjoyed this battle of wills with a self-assured woman. Perhaps that quality was Grace Nelson’s appeal. “I will question Mr. Bradshaw later.”

“As you wish, Gabriel,” she said before she disappeared.

His gaze searched the room It was almost as if Grace was never here, he thought. Yet, he held very real memories of his Grace. And she was his. In his heart, he knew as such. Even if he never saw her again, he knew she had freely given himself to him.

Sanders’ return interrupted his thoughts. “The bounder is gone, Your Lordship,” his valet announced. “The innkeeper sent the man packing after finding him snooping about your room.” Sanders immediately resumed his duties as he summarized what he had discovered. “The gentleman sported a wound, which Mrs. Bradshaw tended.”

Gabriel sat taller as Sanders piled the pillows behind his back. “I was aware of the man’s injury. I trailed him to this inn, but I was too weak to pursue him further.”

“Whoever you found, Sir, to tend you did the job right. We could have used such care in Belgium,” Sanders said with real admiration.

“I could not have asked for better,” Gabriel said softly. “Now, tell me what else you discovered.”

Sanders pulled a chair close. “The stranger has been lurking about the inn for over a week. Yesterday, a man in a fancy phaeton joined him. Mr. Bradshaw said the aristocrat claimed to be earl, but the head groomsman said he overheard the man with the sling call the other ‘baron.’ The scene, by the way–the one in the sketch–is what a person can see outside this room’s window. It is likely this Mr. Wright. That is what the stranger called himself: Jonah Wright. This man called Wright likely stood below in the stable yard and watched this room.”

Gabriel wondered if Jonah Wright had observed Grace while she drew her sketch. He certainly would not wish her in danger. “What else do we know of this nobleman?”

“Not much. He and Wright played cards throughout the night. Bradshaw reports they shared a few heated discussions during the evening, but they had their heads together in close affinity.”

Gabriel waited for the other shoe to fall. Something did not feel right. “Anything else?”

“This baron turned earl met with a woman early on. She left with him shortly afterwards.”

Gabriel’s heart clenched. He did not require confirmation that the woman had been Grace. Had he been totally hoodwinked by a woman again? Had he permitted Grace Nelson’s spinsterly looks to deceive him? What did he know of the woman? Counting their time in London, he held the lady’s acquaintance for less than a sennight, and he had been under a fever’s influence for half of those days. Could she have been a purposeful distraction? While he slept away his fatigue, had Grace searched his belongings? Had Wright been in the room with Grace’s permission? Gabriel had overheard her speaking in whispers to a man. The possibility of her betrayal cut him to the core. “Did anyone have a description of the lady?” he asked tentatively.

Sanders refused to meet Gabriel’s eyes when he said, “The main claimed the lady to be your marquise, Sir.”

Gabriel suppressed the groan of frustration that filled his throat. Grace Nelson had only shown a kindness because someone had paid her to do so. And why not? he thought. He had enemies who would pay well in order to place someone near him. To undermine his trust. Especially when he was most vulnerable. And Miss Nelson likely required the funs. With Kerrington and Wellston instituting a halt to Viscount Averette’s manipulations of the parish funds, the man likely dismissed Miss Nelson without a reference. Grace was likely near destitute, but it still rubbed his conscience raw to think he had misjudged her. “I secured the assistance of a former acquaintance of Thornhill’s to aid me in my time of need. I could not very well announce my condition to the world with our Mr. Wright taking refuge in the same inn as I; therefore, I told Mr. Bradshaw I had come north to meet my bride,” Gabriel explained.

Sanders sniffed indignantly. “And the innkeeper believed such poppycock?”

“It sounded more realistic when the Marquis of Godown said it.”

Sanders refolded one of Gabriel’s neck cloths. “I suppose so,” he said grudgingly. “What may I reveal to your aunts, Sir?”

“Nothing. I have satisfied the Three Roses with my promise to seek a wife and establish a family. If my aunts acknowledge I have spent the last week with a genteel lady, I would be honor bound to apply for the woman. I am certain the Roses will not press the point. They have other candidates in mind for my bride.”

“In addition to attending to your ablutions and clothing, what would you have me do, my Lord, in regard to the lady and your attacker? It would give me great pleasure to be of service in this matter.”

As he would not be announcing his investigation into the true identity of Jonah Wright and Grace Nelson’s connection to the man to his aunts, using Sanders as an intermediary between him and Lowery would be a luxury. “I will keep your offer close to my heart, Mr. Sanders. For now, if you will complete a quick inventory of my belongings. For the moment, I have no knowledge of the whereabouts of my signet ring. Are there other items missing? Afterwards, you may assist me in making a more presentable appearance. It will please the Three Roses to see me on my way to health.”

Grace held no idea how long she had remained unconscious. Her head throbbed as she cracked one eye open to survey her surroundings. She rode in an open carriage. Her brother’s she recalled, and then the realization of how she had utterly and completely failed Lord Godown sent her into the deepest despair. She squinted her eyes tightly shut to block the truth. Had His Lordship met the intruder’s challenge? Surely if he had succumbed to his attacker she would know. Gabriel Crowden owned her heart. She knew it impossible for their joining, but it did not stop her from loving the man.

Reluctantly, she opened her eyes again. She reached tentatively to wipe away moisture from the point of her chin only to come away with blood on her fingertips. Then she recalled her brother striking her–preventing Grace’s exodus to save Lord Godown. As Geoffrey had not noticed her recovery, Grace permitted herself a moment to evaluate what she had discovered regarding her brother’s actions. Clearly, Geoffrey held a connection to the man who had attacked Lord Godown. He might pretend no knowledge of the stranger, but she had witnessed the brief exchange between them. Knowing her brother’s volatile temperament, she decided not to confront Geoffrey regarding what she had observed. Over the years she had learned her brother was not a very good liar. If one asked him the same question over a several days, Geoffrey would tell a slightly different tale each time. Eventually, Grace could put together the pieces to form the whole truth. As for her actions, she must construct an excuse for her frantic reaction.

She wondered how much her brother knew of her time with Lord Godown. If Geoffrey thought she had spent the week with the marquis, he would demand a marriage. Even if Lord Godown were his enemy, her brother would manipulate the connection for his own benefit. Therefore, Geoffrey was not aware of her time with His Lordship. The man at the inn had not shared that particular fact with Baron Nelson.

Secondly, she must discover why her brother had been at the inn. With their unexpected reunion, she had foolishly permitted him to distract her from that important fact. It was a favorite of Geoffrey’s tactics: to put a person on the defensive before his opponent could discover her brother’s perfidy. Grace had been so long from home she had forgotten how to counter Geoffrey’s manipulations. He had accused her of wantonness, which had frightened her because it was close to the truth. Yet, in her heart Grace knew her actions had not concerned Geoffrey: Her brother’s actions were what proved suspect. Therefore, she must delve through the stories and the lies to discover the truth, and, if necessary, send Lord Godown a warning.

Suddenly, her brother’s hand was thrust into Grace’s face. He pressed a handkerchief into her grasp. “Do not permit the blood to soak through the seat cushions,” he grumbled.

Grace propped herself up on one elbow. “Thank you,” she said softly as she pressed the cloth to her chin. She would likely be sporting a bruise over the next few days. With difficulty, she righted her position. Grace made a point of looking out over the landscape. Geoffrey’s carriage easily handled the road’s curves and rolling hills. “Where are we?” She would like to comment on his deplorable actions, but Grace feared a return of her brother’s temper. When he had a stinging hangover, Geoffrey had been an unpredictable force. He had always been one of those who could not control his desires or his disappointments.

Evidently, his temper had not completely cooled because he accused, “What was that madness at the inn?”

Grace’s mind raced for a logical explanation. “I apologize,” she stalled in hopes of appeasing his nature. “I…I thought I had left my letter of reference from Viscountess Averette behind. I knew I could not find another position without it.” She ended on a rush.

“And that was reason to act as someone from Bedlam?” he hissed.

Contritely, she said, “I acted reprehensively.” Grace thought Geoffrey should apologize as well, but she knew he would not think it appropriate. Her brother would consider it a weakness to apologize to a woman. She did not totally understand from Geoffrey’s personality came. Neither her father nor her paternal grandfather displayed Geoffrey’s cantankerous tendencies. Some in the family accused Geoffrey of having a temperament similar to her mother’s eldest brother, a man Grace had never met because Uncle Lloyd Bredlowe had settled in Canada a quarter century earlier. There were scandalous rumors the man had taken an Indian bride and lived among the woman’s tribe. “As if he were some sort of heathen,” her maternal grandfather used to say whenever someone mentioned Uncle Lloyd. “Might we not ignore my impetuous response? We have so little time together.”

Geoffrey grumbled, “I suppose it is possible, but you must know I am not our father. I will tolerate no tomfoolery from you. I have enough with which to contend with our sister.”

To better support herself against the carriage’s sway, Grace straightened stiffly. She balanced precariously close, but she made a point of not brushing against her brother. She vaguely recalled slumping against Geoffrey’s shoulder when she collapsed; yet, she had awakened with her head rocking against one of the joints seaming the phaeton’s back to its sides. When her brother commented on Mercy, Grace immediately wondered what their youngest sister suffered under Geoffrey’s reign as Baron Nelson. “Is Mercy unwell?” she asked.

“Not unwell,” Geoffrey assured. “Mercy would like a Season, but I have no intention of sending her off to London, and I refuse to spend months among the ton.”

Grace wondered what had brought about this change. When he had finished his university studies, Geoffrey had tormented their father with his pleas to spend time in Town. As much as her brother enjoyed the company of his gentlemen friends and gaming hells, Grace could not imagine what would keep him from the annual trek to London. He might even find a wife with a dowry large enough to bring the estate solvency. “Is the estate doing well enough to warrant Mercy’s Come Out?” she asked evenly. It would be dangerous to appear too interested in Geoffrey’s financial situation.

“Several of my more recent ventures have proven profitable, but I would not pronounce the estate on solid ground.” Mercy does not understand I will be forced to accept a local offer for her.”

Grace frowned. She could think of no one in the neighborhood who would make an appropriate match for their sister. “Who would you consider? Has anyone make inquiries for Mercy’s hand?”

“Sir Lesley has expressed his interest,” Geoffrey said offhandedly.

Grace cringed. Sir Lesley Trent had five children between the nursery and the schoolroom. The man required a housekeeper and a governess, but not a wife. Sir Lesley kept a mistress and another family in the next village. He had expressed an interest in Grace; unfortunately for the baronet, by the time he exited the mourning period for Lady Trent, Grace had made her escape to Scotland. At the time, Mercy had been but thirteen, but as her sister had reached her eighteenth birthday during the summer, she was of age for marriage. “Hopefully, Mercy has other options,” Grace said cautiously.

“There is nothing amiss with Sir Lesley’s offer,” Geoffrey insisted. “If not Mercy, perhaps his thoughts might be swayed upon your return.”

Grace recalled a man of five and forty, fifty now, with a growing paunch and thinning hair. “I doubt Sir Lesley would honor a former governess with his name,” she said judiciously.

“We will see if your return generates any interest among the gentlemen. Squire Newbery might be brought to snuff or even the new vicar,” Geoffrey declared.

“I am perfectly content,” she lied, “to remain in a position similar to what I found among the Averettes.” The thought of marrying without love lacked appeal, and only one man would ever know her heart. Silently, she added a quick prayer for Lord Godown’s safety. Moreover, even if Grace had not loved a man who would never return her regard, she had abandoned any opportunity for marriage when she had given herself to Gabriel Crowden. No gentleman would accept used property.

*

He had spent a quiet evening with his aunts, but Grace Nelson was never far from Gabriel’s thoughts. He had first cursed himself for his weakness and then the lady for her betrayal. Mr. Sanders had located his signet ring within his purse. He supposed Grace had placed it there for safekeeping. At least, she is not a thief, he had told himself as Sanders shaved him. Well, not a professional crook. His pearl-handle one-shot palm pistol was not among his belongings.