Saving Grace (36 page)

Grace went to stand before the glass, staring at her reflection as Grandfather’s last gift was fastened around her neck. Her fingers brushed the smooth pearls, remembering his words of praise when he’d given them to her.

You are as the pearl emerged from an oyster after a long period of refining — every bit as strong as when you were a grain of sand, now polished into something beautiful. Always remain so, Grace. Show the world your beauty and strength, both inside and out
.

She closed her eyes, seeking fortitude from his words. She needed them tonight, for she didn’t feel strong at all. She was weak, and it was her own fault. She’d brought this upon herself. In staying here so long, in searching for the good in Nicholas and seeing glimpses of it, she’d opened her heart to possibilities that were not safe.

Remember Mother
, she silently admonished.
Falling in love will only break your heart
.

Studying her reflection in the mirror, she feared that the warning had come too late. When she thought of Nicholas and the way she’d left him, the things she’d said, she felt hollow inside. He was likely as furious as she.

He will not forget it easily.
His long-standing anger with Preston was evidence of that.

Why should I care if he is angry with me? I am the one who was wronged.
Grace told herself that she cared only because her reaction in front of Samuel had set back any progress she’d made in her attempts to convince him to introduce his daughter to Nicholas.

At this rate, Beth will be grown and married before she meets her uncle.

Grace let her fingers slide from the pearls to rest over her heart, heavy with sorrow. What she’d told Nicholas this afternoon was true. So long as revenge ruled his life, all else — all of the good she saw within him — could not come forth. He would not be capable of love.

Dinner proved as dreadful as Grace had predicted. Lady Sutherland criticized her throughout the meal, and Nicholas, in one of the worst brooding moods she’d yet seen, did not once come to her rescue. Grace caught each of them staring at her so many times she began to fear she had a spot on her chin or had made some terrible breach of etiquette.

She told herself that if that were the case, she did not particularly care. She kept her eyes averted to the far wall and kept her sentences clipped throughout the meal. Eventually even the dowager gave up taunting her and took to having a conversation with her son about matters of the past, which Grace knew nothing about. The exclusion did not hurt as it usually did — her feelings were already too mangled — but Nicholas would not engage with his mother, either, and the long, heavy silence that ensued proved exhausting and tense. Grace was only too happy to retire to the drawing room when the torturous meal was at last ended.

Choosing a settee near the window on the far side of the room, she settled herself and stared out at the dark night, watching for the moon to appear while stealing covert glances at Nicholas, who stood near the mantel, with his customary scowl in place. She intended to stay only a few minutes, long enough to give him the opportunity to say something to her, should he choose.

An apology from Lord Sutherland?
She was mad to hope for it, when it was he, no doubt, who found her in the wrong.

“Perhaps you might favor us with a musical selection, Miss Thatcher,” Lady Sutherland said, entering the room and seating herself on the sofa nearest Grace. “It has been so long since we’ve had music in the house. The pianoforte begs for attention.”

Grace turned from the window and saw the shrewd, calculating look that had come into the dowager’s eyes. She had a smile upon her lips, but it was not sincere, and instead, she seemed to be gloating as she looked at her son, then back at Grace.

She knows we are at odds, and she is happy about it.

“I am afraid I do not play much,” Grace said, regretful that this was the case. She’d always loved music and envied those who’d had both the ability and means to develop it.

And it would have been wonderful to leave Lady Sutherland speechless, just this once.

The dowager looked taken aback by such a ready confession. “Your grandfather saw fit to give you riding lessons but did not see to your instruction in music?”

“I did have music lessons,” Grace assured her. “But alas, it is not a talent I’ve been blessed with. I started too late in life and can play but the very simplest pieces.” Were she to have seen the future and this very scene back then, Grace felt certain she would have tried harder and practiced longer. How it shamed her to acknowledge to Lady Sutherland all she lacked.

And Nicholas. What must he be thinking? Good riddance, most likely, to Miss Thatcher and her lack of refinement.

As if my rebuke this afternoon were not enough motivation for him to try again to figure a way out of our betrothal.

“What other talents are you lacking?” the dowager asked. “We have already established that you cannot sew a stitch.”

“I sew many stitches,” Grace said, unable to resist the urge to correct the woman. “I’ve made and mended many a dress. It’s embroidery I’ve no experience with.” Here, perhaps, Grandfather had neglected her education. But Grace would not have given up their evenings playing chess or reading together for the ability to sew even the most intricate of embroideries.

“As I said,” the dowager returned sharply, her eyes narrowed on Grace, “you cannot sew a
proper
stitch, and now you admit that you cannot play the pianoforte. What a pity you have no talent with your hands.”

“Grace has plenty of talent with her hands,” Nicholas said.

The dowager directed her frown at him. Grace resumed looking out the window, pretending indifference. She dreaded what Nicholas might say next. She folded her hands in her lap, newly conscious of their scars.
Will he suggest to his mother that I become a laundress?

She could think of nothing else he might say, for by society’s standards, she
was
inferior. That he might disparage what she had done to survive hurt bitterly. In telling him of her childhood, she had made herself vulnerable.

I trusted him.

“Grace can milk a mad cow,” Nicholas said, with what almost sounded like a touch of pride.

The dowager gasped, and both hands flew to her mouth.

How could you, Nicholas?
Grace thought furiously, while at the same time relieved he had not chosen to make fun of her years spent doing others’ laundry.
But
why tell his mother of the cow? She will hate me even more.

“A
cow
?” The dowager was only starting to recover. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Thom Wallace’s new cow went a bit mad — wouldn’t let anyone near her,” Nicholas explained. “She kicked Thom’s son in the head, and Thom was of a mind to shoot the animal when Grace stepped in. She calmed the cow and got a pail of milk for her efforts.”

The dowager glanced from Grace to her son, her expression pained. “If word of this gets out, we shall be the laughingstock of the entire county.” She brought a hand to her forehead and rubbed it as if trying to eradicate a terrible ache.

“You are missing the point.” Nicholas shook his head. “Grace saved a valuable animal. She helped one of our tenants. She helped
us
.”

His words surprised Grace and set her heart pounding.
One kindness is not a reason to forgive him for hurting me. Besides, it is about time he stood up for me.

“But she
milked a cow.
” From the corner of her eye, Grace watched as the dowager retrieved a fan from the sofa table, snapped it open, and waved it in front of her face.

Grace waited for Nicholas to stand up for her again — yearned to hear more words of praise — but was not surprised when he remained silent. She glanced at him, wishing she knew what he was thinking as he stared into the fire with the same inscrutable expression, his face bathed in shadow.

She recalled her declaration that she would never again be afraid of him and realized that it was true. Nicholas had perfected his dark looks, but she’d glimpsed his heart
.
And it was not black, as he’d proclaimed.

Merely spotted and in need of a good cleaning. Which he will have to do himself
.

She was not afraid of him, and she wasn’t sympathetic to anything about his cause, either.
I am angry, and I have a right to be.

Grace rose from her seat, intent on leaving the room. Her attempts at being polite company were finished, her patience stretched beyond its limit. “I fear all of that
cow milking
I did today has left me rather tired. I bid you both good night.”

“The shame.” Lady Sutherland moaned and brought a hand over her eyes as she leaned against the sofa.

As Grace started for the door, Nicholas removed himself from his place near the fire and walked so their paths would cross. Grace hurried her steps, intent on making her escape. He sped his pace as well, and they reached the door at the same moment. His hand covered hers on the knob.

“Forgive me,” he whispered. “Please.”

She felt certain he could hear her heart’s traitorous beat, loud as it was, as it reacted to his touch. But fear did not cause her reaction as it had on that other occasion, weeks ago, when he’d trapped her at his bedroom door.

“It is customary for one to apologize before requesting forgiveness,” she said with as much frost in her voice as she could muster.

“Did anyone see you milking?” Lady Sutherland called from the sofa. “Anyone besides the Wallace family? Where was this cow?”

“In a
barn
, Mother,” Nicholas said. Then quieter, for only Grace’s ears, “I
am
sorry.” He leaned nearer, his head bent close to hers. “It was wrong of me to use you that way. I was rash and uncouth, and you’ve no idea how much I regret it. I would take the moment back if I could.”

Grace could not look at him, but inside she trembled, and her heart longed to soar at his words.
An apology! From the man who guards his anger like buried treasure.

Nicholas touched her chin, gently tipping it up, so she was forced to look at him. His eyes were sorrowful. “Can you forgive me? Will you? Please.”

She turned her face away.

“But
who
was there in the barn?” Lady Sutherland called.

“Several dozen tenants witnessed the miraculous event,” Nicholas said, openly exaggerating the facts. A sly grin curved his lips. With shock, Grace realized that he was enjoying discomfiting his mother.
Were the situation different — were she not the center of the discussion — Grace might have found it amusing too.

As it was, she was enjoying his nearness altogether too much.

I am angry with him
, she reminded herself.
He has used me ill.

“You needn’t torture her for my sake,” Grace whispered, tugging her hand from beneath his on the knob. “If making her detest me even more is how you think to show remorse —”

“That was not my intention at all.” Nicholas turned the knob and pushed the door open. He held his hand out, an invitation for her to leave.

Grace brushed quickly past him, out to the foyer. Nicholas followed her to the stairs, where, against her better judgment, she paused and looked back at him.

“Is there something I can do,” he asked, “to prove that I am truly sorry for kissing you?”

I did not necessarily wish him to be sorry for that.
Grace felt her pride inexplicably wounded. It must have shown in her expression, for Nicholas’s had altered as well, as if he’d realized the implications of his admission.

“I am
not
sorry for it, in the manner you are thinking.” Exasperation flared in his eyes.

Grace knew she needed to accept his apology, and quickly, or all between them might be lost. But she could not seem to bring herself to do so. The events of the afternoon were no longer holding her back — his first utterance of regret had melted that anger — but fear held her in its clutches. She’d overcome her apprehension of Nicholas only to realize a greater danger.

I fear myself.
She’d crossed the one barrier she’d promised herself never to breach. This afternoon had been an awakening to the depth of her feelings —
my foolishness —
and she had this one chance to get herself in check, to restore the wall between them, before the damage to her heart became irrevocable.

“I am decidedly
not
sorry to have kissed you today.” Nicholas placed his foot on the bottom stair. “It was my method and reasons that were lacking.” His other foot gained the second stair. “I think perhaps the best way I might show my remorse would be to correct those actions, to right them, as it were ...” His hand slid up the rail toward hers as he continued to advance. “... with a better kiss.”

Though her lips tingled with yearning for that very thing, Grace shook her head and began backing up the stairs. “No. Please don’t.”

Nicholas’s hand dropped from the rail, and he stopped his climb. Grace read hurt and distress in his eyes and hated that she was the cause.

It cannot be helped. It is better this way.
No doubt her mother had faced a similar moment but had been swayed by affection.
I must be stronger than she was.
I will be.
I shall guard my heart more carefully until such a time as I can make it free again.