Saving Grace (33 page)

I should be grateful they are ignoring me.
But she wasn’t. She wanted Lord Sutherland’s attention as she’d had it on the stairs earlier. Of course, that was not likely to happen with his mother around.

“Have you or have you not found a way out of this disagreeable arrangement?” Lady Sutherland pressed.

Grace stared at her, affronted by the woman’s continued rudeness — no mistaking which
arrangement
she referred to — but she was determined not to show it.

“Do tell us, please,” Grace said, turning her attention to Lord Sutherland, who sat between them.

A rather uncomfortable spot, no doubt
.

Grace spoke in a voice of sweetest innocence. “Have you found another chaperone for me so your mother may be free to return to London?”

The dowager gasped, and Lord Sutherland appeared to have a sudden difficulty swallowing his food.

“What is this nonsense?” Lady Sutherland demanded, taking her eyes from her son long enough to shoot daggers at Grace. “I’ll not be driven from my home by some impertinent chit.”

Grace met her stare head on. “Nor will I any longer be bullied by a domineering woman in what may someday be
my
home.”
Oh dear.

“It will not be yours. Nicholas, set this woman straight. Tell her how you’ve been to London to find a way out of this entrapment.”

Grace winced inwardly at the dowager’s choice of words. From her point of view — and Lord Sutherland’s — that is what this whole thing must seem. They were the unfortunate victims of a desperate female and her father.

Hearing that Nicholas had been to London to visit not only her solicitor but also seeking a release from their betrothal did not surprise her. But it stung.

He turned his gaze on her, and Grace was astonished at the tender, pleading expression in his eyes. “I took to heart what you asked of me on our drive last week,” he said. “I met with Mr. Littleton and my own solicitors, as well.”

“And?” The fluttery feelings she’d experienced this afternoon returned, along with a rush of gratitude at his kindness. “
Can
anything be done?” Unexpected hope buoyed her spirits at the same time a sense of dread rushed forth. She wanted to leave Sutherland Hall, didn’t she?

Lord Sutherland shook his head. “Nothing that I have discovered. The new duke is using his position in an attempt to sway the court. Even if you were to get the money, and though you have professed to want to never marry, you must understand that scandal will follow you. You’d be unable to find respectable servants or a family willing to rent a decent home in which live. Were you to leave now, as a single woman, you would be shunned at every turn. It would make life excruciatingly difficult for you.”

“A just punishment,” the dowager huffed. “If that is the only thing holding you to this betrothal, Nicholas, think no more —”

“There is more.” Lord Sutherland turned to her. “My name would be had for worse as well — and yours along with it, Mother. If I do not wed Miss Thatcher, the situation will be viewed as abandonment, and if
someone
was to be interested in pursuing the case, it could even be taken up in court.”

“Someone” meaning Samuel?

A heavy sigh escaped the dowager, and her lips turned down even more. Grace did not care to ease her burden, but neither could she admit defeat so readily. She and Lord Sutherland had already danced around this subject for weeks. That it was finally upon the table for discussion could not be ignored. It might be the only chance she had to find a solution, to gain her freedom.

“What if I was to let it be known that I left you of my own accord?” Grace suggested. “If the fault was mine —”

“It would never be seen that way.” Nicholas shook his head. “It would be determined that I drove you to desperate action. Indeed, Miss Thatcher, leaving would be desperate on your part. I cannot recommend it at all.”

“What
do
you recommend?” Grace asked, feeling the flame of hope die as quickly as it had sparked. So did the dread at the thought of leaving.

“I suggest we carry on as we have,” he said. “Neither doing anything permanent, nor anything rash. Perhaps a solution will yet be uncovered.”

“I fear I have lost my appetite,” the dowager said, setting her napkin onto the table. Lord Sutherland jumped up to get her chair before Kingsley could come around the table. As Lord Sutherland assisted his mother, Grace witnessed a new side of both, one she’d not noticed before.

One
I’ve not taken time to observe.

Lady Sutherland seemed to have deflated with news of her defeat. The creases lining her face appeared deeper, her arms more frail, as Lord Sutherland helped her stand. As she gazed up at him and patted his hand, there was a sadness in her expression.

Lord Sutherland sent an apologetic glance Grace’s way, and she noted a new weight there, a responsibility he felt for his mother — for her happiness.

Which I have destroyed
.

“Excuse us, please.” He escorted the dowager from the room, leaving Grace alone save for the two, near-invisible servants somewhere behind her.

Grace looked at her food and found that her appetite had fled as well. A half hour ago, she would have felt incensed at the situation, certain that Lady Sutherland had contrived the whole thing to spirit her son away. But now ...

Grace felt quite certain that was not the case. The sorrow and regret in both of their expressions had been real. She recalled her harsh words and wished she could take them back. She hadn’t been clever at all, but ill-mannered.
The very impertinent chit Lady Sutherland described.

Feeling ashamed, guilty, and overall wretched about everything, Grace stood quickly and was surprised at the ease with which her chair pushed back. She turned to find Kingsley behind her, his hands on her chair.

Grace gave him a sad smile. “You are extraordinarily good at anticipating everything, Kingsley. Would that I had that talent.” She turned to go.

“You have others,” he said, further surprising her with speech, and kindness at that. “A proverb my mother once taught, if I might?”

Grace nodded. “Please.”

“‘It takes more than a lovely gown a lady to make.’” He cleared his throat as if uncomfortable. “She used to tell that to my sister whenever she bemoaned the lack of fashion in our humble home.”

Grace could see his point.
I might have looked the part tonight, but I did not act it.

His implication hurt, but no worse than she already did.

“May I inquire what became of your sister?” Grace ventured, astonished that their conversation had gone this long already.

“She married well and has a passel of children,” Kingsley said, a touch of pride in his voice.

“She is happy, then?” Grace asked.

“Very, miss,” Kingsley said. “Lack of fine gowns, notwithstanding.”

Grace smiled at him. “Some of my happiest days have been when I’ve been dressed the poorest. Thank you for sharing that tale with me.” She walked toward the doorway.

Kingsley bowed. “If I might say one thing more?”

Grace stopped and waited upon him. He was certainly out of character tonight.
Probably taking the opportunity to pounce on my mistake.
Though she didn’t quite think that was it. His comment had seemed sincere, not chastising.

He went ahead, holding the door for her. “Lady Sutherland may never admit it, and I don’t know as Lord Sutherland will either, but they both enjoyed your pie. Ate every last crumb.” The corners of his eyes crinkled, and a conspiratorial smile lit his face. “She even asked for seconds. Lady Sutherland has quite a fondness for sweets.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Grace said, feeling a little better and realizing that her efforts had not been entirely in vain. “Perhaps I would do better here as a baker.”

Kingsley shook his head. “Now don’t go getting any ideas, or cook will have
my
head next time.”

Grace’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Has she had many others?”

Kingsley chuckled. “I can see why Lord Sutherland appreciates your wit.”

He does?
“Thank you for the sincere compliments, Kingsley, particularly on a night when I am less than deserving. I shall take myself off to bed now, before I begin to think too highly of myself.” Grace smiled once more, then took her leave.

“Just remember,” Kingsley called after her. “Lady Sutherland has a strong preference for the sweet. You’ll always get farther with her there than when serving up something tart.”

Nicholas finished admiring one of his tenant’s newly dug wells, then went in search of Miss Thatcher. It was close to an hour since he’d last seen her, as she’d developed the habit of wandering off the moment they set foot out of the carriage.

Likely seeking better company than mine,
Nicholas thought, somewhat irritated. The atmosphere between them had felt strained today, more so than that first outing together when he’d expected as much.

Last night’s aborted dinner had cast a wall up between them. To Miss Thatcher, it must seem as if he’d chosen his mother’s side.
And what of Miss Thatcher’s actions?
He’d been surprised at her outburst at the table; she had crossed a forbidden line by speaking to his mother that way.
No woman wants to be reminded that she will no longer be mistress of her home.

Especially when that woman did not approve of the one replacing her. Nicholas sighed. He couldn’t entirely blame Miss Thatcher for her harsh words. Mother had seemed equally harsh over the berry incident, and while Miss Thatcher had been attempting to please.

She has been patient a long while.
He was not angry with her but imagined she might think he was. He’d hoped his invitation to come visiting might have resolved their awkwardness, but instead, she had spent the day avoiding him.

Contrary to his usual inclination to be alone, he found he preferred her company. He enjoyed watching her in what appeared to be her element — everywhere they went, his tenants flocked to her, young and old, male and female. Meanwhile, he had stood on the outskirts, uncertain how to begin, yet she had seemed to know intuitively how to interact with them.

In the past few hours, he’d watched her help a busy mother take down her laundry, fawn over the size and beauty of a farmer’s geese, sit on a porch step to visit and enjoy a piece of fresh-baked bread, and teach a child how to write his name with a stick in the dirt.

Before the day was out, Nicholas predicted that Miss Thatcher would singlehandedly win the affection of every Sutherland tenant. And all because she’d made them feel valued and important by showing interest in their lives and providing a listening ear.

Skills you would do well to develop,
Nicholas’s father had told him on more than one occasion when they’d made similar rounds. Nicholas recalled the respect with which his father had always treated those living on this land. For the first time in the two years he’d been in this position, Nicholas was striving to do the same. Having Miss Thatcher along made it easier. The people were starting to talk with him. They shared their concerns, successes, and ideas for how to make the land more profitable.

All because she is with me. So where the deuce is she now?
He tromped through the long grass between two cottages, hoping to find her visiting in the back, perhaps helping another woman with her chores. But both yards were empty.

Nicholas turned to go up the road, thinking they might have just missed each other and that Miss Thatcher would be waiting at the carriage, when he noticed a crowd gathered around the entrance to one of his tenant’s barns. A cry rang out across the yard, followed by shouting, then a minute later, silence.

What now?
As his feet carried him swiftly toward the barn, Nicholas worried that whatever had gone wrong involved Miss Thatcher. The rose garden incident and pie-baking were still fresh in his mind. If she’d caused some sort of scene here, the tenants might spread the tale far and wide, and his mother would be furious beyond reasoning. About the only thing she had left was her reputation, and he — and Miss Thatcher — had done enough damage to that already.

He arrived at the barn out of breath and apprehensive. The crowd parted easily, allowing him to move to the front, just inside the open doors. A boy, probably around eleven or twelve years of age, sat on the floor by the wall, head in his hands, a cloth stained red with blood pressed against one side of his face.

“What happened?” Nicholas demanded and was answered by a chorus of shushing voices.

He ignored them. “Is the boy okay? Does he require —”

A hand on his shoulder silenced him. “Ben’s fine. Quiet now. You don’t want to spook her.”

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Nicholas saw that the
her
in question was a mad cow, stomping and kicking on the far side of the barn just a few paces away from —

Grace!

He started toward her, but the hand on his shoulder tightened briefly in warning. “Begging pardon, milord. But I wouldn’t do that.” The farmer nodded respectfully and backed away.

Nicholas held his tongue, watching with everyone else as Miss Thatcher took a step closer to the distraught animal. The barn grew quiet once more, and he realized that she was singing. A soft, lyrical melody floated toward him. The words were nonsensical — something about how much better it would feel to be milked and how pretty the cow’s eyes were and how important she was. The words didn’t matter. Grace could have been repeating the word
mud
over and over again, and her voice would have had the same effect. The cow — along with the rest of the barn’s inhabitants, including those human — stood transfixed, entranced …
enchanted.