Saving Grace (17 page)

“They can wait a little longer,” Mr. Thatcher said. “Nothing has been resolved between us, and I’ll not leave until it has. And don’t go setting that old butler of yours on me again. I’ll take him out this time, that’s what I’ll do.”

“I strongly advise that you not so much as even consider touching Mr. Kingsley unless you intend to end up in Newgate,” Nicholas said icily. “I have done far more than is required of me, offering the best care to your daughter while she ails. It is not in my power to restore Mr. Preston’s intentions, though I advise that if he is so fickle-minded as to take seriously the gossip of a couple of servants — who ought to be dismissed — he is not one you’d wish your daughter saddled with.”

“And I suppose you are,” Mr. Thatcher said.

Nicholas stared at him shrewdly. “I am not presently in search of a wife.” He reached for the cord beside his desk and pulled it, ringing for Kingsley. They were done here, whether Mr. Thatcher wished it or not.

“
You
have certainly acted as one looking for a wife,” Thatcher said. “Following Grace to Preston’s ball, escorting her there, dancing with her —”

“I have already explained my actions.”

Thatcher pretended not to have heard him. “Insisting upon bringing her back to your home, where she lies, unchaperoned.”

“I can assure you that either the maid I hired to attend her or my housekeeper is at her side at all times.”

“I must insist, Lord Sutherland, that you make right this situation by marrying my daughter.”

“She is in no condition to marry.”
Nor am I
. Nicholas wondered that he had not seen through Thatcher’s scheme at once. But he was delusional if he thought to pull it off. No influence in all of England could persuade him to marry the woman upstairs.

A gleam arose in Mr. Thatcher’s eyes. “Preston said you would refuse.” He shook the letter in the air. “So I am to warn you that your lack of concern will be viewed by certain parties as — a challenge.”

No influence except that one.
Nicholas drew in a breath. Thatcher had to be bluffing. It was impossible that Preston would challenge him. He’d promised Elizabeth.
They’d
promised, both at her bedside. Nicholas did not doubt for one minute that his sister would come back to haunt him if he killed her husband in a duel.
No matter how deserving he is. No matter how much I’d like to.

“Certain parties?” he repeated. “Yourself, you mean? You’d challenge me over your daughter’s honor, yet you won’t go to the effort of going upstairs to see her?” Nicholas smiled obligingly. “Forgive me if I don’t trust the sincerity of your threat.”

Thatcher puffed up his chest as he crushed the paper in his fist. “Not I. Though I would if necessary,” he added hastily. “You’ve wronged Preston as well — brought shame to his household by your actions. He — he’ll stand in for me.”

“I happen to know from experience that he is no longer the dueling type.”
And if he is — if he’s gone back on his promise to Elizabeth — I ought to shoot him for that.
Nicholas withdrew his record book from the drawer, almost eager to be back to the business of counting sheep and repairing roofs.

“He warned me you’d say that.” Thatcher thrust the wrinkled letter onto the desk. Nicholas took it, recognizing Preston’s handwriting.

...Nicholas Sutherland is a coward and will refuse to marry your daughter — no matter how he has wronged her. When challenged, he will likely refuse, using his sister as an excuse …

Nicholas placed the letter on the desk. He would have liked nothing better than to shoot Preston down, and the man well knew it. He also knew that Nicholas could not do it, that to do so would mean breaking the promise he’d made to Elizabeth. It would be showing that he hadn’t loved her as much as Preston — though he had. Nicholas had a whole life with her; their ties were made of blood. She’d been his best friend, the joy of their father’s life. The cause of his untimely death.

If I meet Preston in a duel — regardless of the outcome — I’ll be the cause of Mother’s grief.

Nicholas cringed at the thought. He’d caused his mother a fair amount of pain already the past two years. Being here, being home again, he was just starting to realize how much. Assuming there really was a challenge, it had, at the very least, the potential to ruin both their lives.

One of us dead. The other in prison. And Mother to suffer through it all.

He could not do it; Mother had already lost her husband and daughter.

And her son.
He cringed inwardly, confronted with the truth. He’d been little help and no comfort to her these two years.
I won’t do worse by destroying the Sutherland name. Even though declining Preston’s challenge may well mean the destruction of my future.

“For reasons you cannot possibly understand, Preston is correct. I cannot meet him in a duel — though I should very much like to — and it
is
partly because of my sister, because of a promise made long ago. I believe very much in honoring promises.” Nicholas paused, leveling his eyes on Thatcher. “And so I give you one now. If Preston will not have her ...” With an insurmountable will, Nicholas spoke his next words. “
I
will marry your daughter.”

Kingsley chose that moment to open the study doors. Thatcher turned to face him, wearing a nasty smile. “Congratulate your employer. He is to be married.”

Kingsley’s gaze flew to Nicholas.

“Yes,” Nicholas said, with a brief, pained nod. “When Miss Thatcher has recovered” —
If she recovers
— “it is likely that we shall be wed.”

“Just to be certain,” George Thatcher said, “to make all around here aware, lest anything
unfortunate
should befall Grace between now and then — I should like the banns posted this Sunday.”

“There is no need of that,” Nicholas said. “I can afford a license, and a special one at that, if needed.”

“Good to know, good to know.” Thatcher stood and looked around the study once more. “I had wondered, though
this
room seems nice enough. Place could definitely use a woman’s touch.”

“Do not count on your daughter residing here,” Nicholas said.

Do not count on this being anything close to a real marriage.

“I have a townhome in London where she will be more comfortable.”

“I still wish the banns to be published
here.
After all, we wouldn’t want anyone thinking you’d misused her.”

“Perhaps we will,” Nicholas said wryly.
Elizabeth wouldn’t haunt me for defending myself, would she?

“You gave your word,” Thatcher said.

“So I have,” Nicholas said, his tone solemn. “And you may be assured that I will keep it.”

“We have a few other things to be settled.” Thatcher rubbed his hands together as if warming to his task.

Nicholas frowned, wavering between having him thrown out and being impressed by his effrontery.

“Grace has a younger sister also ripe for marriage, and with the rumors flying, her prospects have dimmed considerably.”

“You wish me to marry both of your daughters?” Nicholas barely managed to keep his mouth from twitching.

“Of course not,” Thatcher snapped. “But I expect to be compensated for lost income — for having to support her until this whole affair with Grace dies down.”

“I see,” Nicholas said, and he did, more clearly than ever, what a conniving family he’d become entangled with. But just now, he didn’t much care. He only wanted Mr. Thatcher out of his study, off his property, and as far away as possible — preferably forever. Nicholas forced a smile. “What is it going to cost me to be rid of you?” he asked bluntly.

Sometime later, when he was at last alone and having his moment of solitude, he wrote the events of the previous hour in his record book.

I am faced with the choice of giving Samuel Preston what he wants or being married to a woman I neither care for nor am acquainted with. Her father is abhorrent, and I harbor little hope that she will be any better. A most impossible situation
.

Grace opened her eyes to a dim and dreary world. Save for the single ray of light slanting through the space between the floor-length drapes, she might have thought it was night. But she watched the narrow beam for some time, trying, without success, to recognize her surroundings as she studied the dust particles dancing about.

She’d attempted — several times before, it seemed — to pull herself from sleep, but each time, the effort had been too much. She recalled someone spooning broth into her mouth and being forced to swallow a nasty-tasting medicine. She remembered hushed voices and her own incessant coughing and struggles for breath. But beyond those few recollections, her situation remained a mystery.

She blinked once, staring at the rich velvet of the canopy above her; it was not at all familiar. She turned her head aside to the paper on the walls. The pattern wasn’t Grandfather’s, but she couldn’t imagine where else she might be. The bed was too large and comfortable, the coverlet too luxurious, her surroundings far too grand to be home.

She coughed, and an unfamiliar woman crossed the room and peered at her. “Awake, are you?” she asked, leaning close. She was young, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose and bright red braids tucked under her mobcap, making her look barely beyond childhood.

“Water, please,” Grace managed. Her request was granted, and Grace leaned her head forward, gulping the liquid down as fast as her parched throat would allow. “Where am I?” she asked after she’d drained the cup. She leaned back against the pillows, exhausted from the simple effort of sitting. “And where is Miranda, my maid?”

“You are at Sutherland Hall, miss. And I don’t know any Miranda. I was hired on a week ago to look after you.”

Grace gasped.
A whole week!
“I’ve been here that long?”

“Longer, miss,” the maid said. “At least a week before that, I believe. Lord Sutherland had the idea to send for me only when it appeared you would be staying.”

The rest of the maid’s words began to sink in, followed by alarm. “Why am I at Sutherland Hall?”

“I don’t rightly know, miss.” The maid’s face mirrored the concern Grace knew must be on her own. “You’ve had pneumonia, and for a while, it seemed —” Her face flushed red. “Never mind. I didn’t say that.”

“You said nothing,” Grace agreed, though she guessed easily enough.

I’ve been gravely ill — perhaps to the point of death — for at least two weeks.
Panic rose within her. Much could have happened during that time. Father might have been sent to debtor’s prison. At the least, he’d likely grown impatient and might have sent Helen off as a prospective bride. She could be in trouble too, forced to entertain Sir Lidgate’s attentions or worse.

Grace leaned forward again, this time sitting up all the way. “Miranda is my maid. I
must
find her — and Harrison, my driver. They’ll know what happened. I shouldn’t be here. I must be on my way as soon as possible.”

“I don’t think so, miss.” The young maid backed away, in the direction of the door.

“Wait,” Grace called, reaching a hand out. “What is your name?”

“Jenny,” the girl said. “Stay right there. I’ll be back. I’ll get Mrs. James. She’ll be able to talk sense into you.”

There was no time for talking. As soon as Jenny had left, Grace flung off the covers. On shaky legs, she moved to the door and clicked the lock into place. Then she set about searching for something to wear. She needed to leave.
This very hour.

Her body shuddered, and the coughing began again. She collapsed in a chair near the fire, a single tear trailing from her eye as she fought for breath. The door handle jiggled; shouts came from the hall. A moment later, a key turned in the lock, and Jenny rushed in, followed by Mrs. James.

“Oooh!” Jenny wailed, as she spied the empty bed. “I told you she was bent on leaving.”

“Miss Thatcher is right here.” Mrs. James marched to the chair and reached down, sliding her arms beneath Grace’s. “Come along. Back to bed with you.”

Grace allowed them to lift her onto the mattress and tuck her in. She winced as Mrs. James spooned some horrid medicine into her mouth. “Please. I must leave.”

“You must
rest
,” Mrs. James corrected.

“But Helen —” The coughing started again, and Grace fought for breath until she was exhausted. Her eyes closed, and her breathing finally steadied.

I am too weak.

“That’s better,” Mrs. James said and turned as if to leave the room.

Grace reached for her, catching her sleeve. “Tell Miranda to go to Helen.”

The housekeeper’s brows rose quizzically. “Your maid is not here. Jenny is caring for you now. Lord Sutherland has hired her for that very purpose. Quite generous of him, considering the manner in which you came to be a resident of Sutherland Hall.”