Saving Grace (9 page)

Nicholas told himself he didn’t care. Soon enough, no female from here to London would have anything to do with Preston. Once his fortune was gone, he’d lost everything, and had to return to doctoring — Nicholas intended to see to it that the man was barred from that profession as well — Preston would hold no attraction for Miss Thatcher or any other woman.

But for all of Nicholas’s efforts to see Preston brought down, the time was simply not coming fast enough. “I see not what this has to do with me.” Nicholas looked at his papers again, searching for the document he’d been reading.

“It has a great deal to do with you, I’m afraid,” Mrs. James said. “The story about Miss Thatcher being in your bed has traveled beyond our gates, and Mr. Preston’s whole household knows of it. Only Miss Thatcher does not, as she’s been shut up in her room at Mr. Preston’s, recovering from illness since she arrived yesterday morning.”

“Preston believes that the woman he invited to his ball spent the night in my bed?” Nicholas’s mouth curved into a near grin. The situation was almost amusing. Almost.
There could never be anything truly amusing about Preston. Thoughts of him always circled back to Elizabeth’s death and Preston’s part in it.
“For certain he won’t want the girl now.”

He supposed he could feel satisfied in that, at least. Preston didn’t deserve to find another woman or any sort of happiness, not when he’d been given perfection in Elizabeth and had allowed her to die.

“But he
does
want her yet,” Mr. Kingsley said.

Mrs. James nodded. “That was word at the market this morning was, though all the staff and guests, and even Mr. Preston, know what happened.”

“What exactly
did
happen?” Nicholas asked. He’d been tired that night, but he was rather certain that his recollection of the events had him and Miss Thatcher in the same proximity of blankets for less than half a minute, during which time he had done nothing to her.

“Oh, it’s dreadful.” Mrs. James brought a hand to her mouth, as if she couldn’t bear to say more. “They say that Miss Thatcher was — was —”

“Taken advantage of by you,” Kingsley supplied.

“There’s even a torn nightgown been passed around the servant’s quarters for all to see,” Mrs. James said.

“Ridiculous.” Nicholas stood abruptly.
An absurd accusation.
“I did nothing to her nightgown
.
”
But even as he said it, he remembered reaching for the woman, remembered the feel of cloth in his hand and the sound of tearing fabric. “How on earth did it end up at the servants’ quarters?”

“Her maid brought it down and asked about thread for mending it,” Mrs. James said.

“Is the woman daft?” Nicholas exclaimed. She’d seemed sane enough during their brief encounter that awful night — the night that seemed to be getting worse by the minute.

“I don’t understand it either,” Mrs. James said. “Miss Thatcher’s maid came to see me as soon as Miss Thatcher was settled again. She wanted a guarantee that word of the incident would not get out, lest Miss Thatcher’s reputation be ruined.”

“Her footman came to see me as well,” Kingsley said, his face grim. “Mrs. James and I both assured them that the word of the evening would not go beyond our doorstep.”

Nicholas ran a hand through his hair and began pacing behind his desk. “So Miss Thatcher’s reputation is in shreds, and
I
am the accused. And truly, Preston doesn’t care?”

“So it would seem,” Kingsley said.

“Mrs. Telford says he’s taken the servants to task for their gossiping and threatened to dismiss the lot,” Mrs. James added. “He’s planning to dance with Miss Thatcher tonight in hopes of minimizing the damage.”

“And what of the damage to me?” Nicholas muttered. He didn’t much care what the country neighbors thought of him; he cared even less for the opinion of his peers in London. But his mother would care deeply. She’d had her heart broken enough; he didn’t wish to inflict any more wounds.

“Why would Preston still want her?” Nicholas asked, though he guessed the reason easy enough. Samuel Preston might be new money, and he might not set store by many of polite society’s rules, but he’d have to be an idiot not to understand that any young, single woman who’d been in another man’s bed — for however brief a time — wasn’t one he’d want to be involved with. To do so would be to risk everything. Only a man besotted with love would be such a fool.

It had taken time and effort — and marriage to Elizabeth — but eventually, most of Preston’s neighbors had accepted him. And, much to Nicholas’s frustration, he was becoming well respected and making connections and acquaintances in London. But if what Kingsley and Mrs. James had said was true, Preston stood to lose his precarious standing this very night. His other guests — those who’d heard of the incident, in whatever form it was being bandied about — would shun Miss Thatcher and Preston, in turn, as well.

Nicholas paused, rubbing his hands together almost gleefully. If Preston was to be shunned by the gentry, his business connections would fail. The inheritance he’d come into would last only so long, and the many investments he’d made wouldn’t pay off. It might take time, but he could be forced to lose his estate. Then — and only then — could Nicholas live at Sutherland Hall in peace.

Of course, there would be a price. Nicholas considered the outcome for himself. No respectable woman would want him — for a while, at least. But he still had his fortune, and in the end, money always spoke loudest.

Besides, he wasn’t looking for a wife just now anyway. He wasn’t interested in anything until he’d seen Preston driven out and destroyed —
as he destroyed my family.
All in all, Nicholas deemed the damage to his reputation a small price to pay. Eventually, his part in the “indiscretion” would be forgotten. It was Miss Thatcher and Preston who would not be so fortunate.

“I thank you for the information,” he said, dismissing Kingsley and Mrs. James.

Mrs. James nodded and backed out of the doorway, wearing a frown of disapproval. Kingsley, however, made no move and continued staring at him.

“Is there something else?” Nicholas asked.

“I only wondered if there was a particular suit you wished to be pressed,” Kingsley said. “I’ll advise your valet now, so he has plenty of time.”

“Time for what?” Nicholas asked, seating himself at his desk once more.

“To ready your things for the ball tonight.” Kingsley spoke as if it were a forgone conclusion that Nicholas would attend. Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

“I am not going anywhere tonight,” Nicholas said. “And if I were, the last place would be a ball hosted by Samuel Preston.”

“I see. My apologies.” Kingsley nodded and turned to go.

“Kingsley, why would you think such a thing?” Nicholas felt both perplexed and bothered by the butler’s assumption.

“Nothing — no reason, milord. My mistake.”

“Kingsley!” Nicholas’s tone was sharper than he’d intended. He tried again. “It was not
nothing
. Did I say or do something to indicate that I wished to go?”

Kingsley hesitated before facing him and answering. “Not at all, milord. I only assumed you would attend because a young lady’s honor is in question, as is your own. And both are matters of significance to the Sutherland name.”

Dearest Helen and Christopher,

A most unfortunate incident has occurred, but I have determined to take advantage of the circumstance and make the most of it for all of our sakes. However, I must warn you …

Grace fastened the clasp of her earring, then lowered her trembling hands — it seemed they’d yet to stop shaking or warm at all in the past two days — and stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her eyes were large and worried, her face pale, but beyond those somewhat usual features, she almost didn’t recognize herself.

Gone was her plain bun, and in its place, a riot of curls adorned her head, with a few trailing down either side of her face. A sparkling tiara nestled among the curls, and a matching necklace lay at the base of her throat.

“You’ve never looked lovelier,” Miranda said.

“Nor ever felt quite so treacherous.” Grace hadn’t thought she’d miss wearing black. In the previous month, her shift to gowns with more of a gray hue had felt like an acceptable improvement. That was shortly before embarking upon this trip, which she now termed “the madness of her father, George.”

But after nearly a year of donning only the darkest, plainest clothing, she felt something of a shock to see herself looking fashionable. Tonight she wore an ivory ballgown, with her hair done up and jewels at her neck and dangling from her earlobes, a hint of color on her cheeks and lips. Perhaps Miranda was right that Grace had never looked as lovely as she did right then. But it did not
feel
lovely to be showing extreme disrespect for her late grandfather, who had been so generous to her.

“The duke would understand,” Miranda said kindly.

“Would he?” Grace turned to her, once again seeking comfort and reassurance from the older woman. At times like these, she would have given much for a five-minute conversation with her mother. She feared — she
knew
— she treated Miranda as a substitute far too often.

“I believe he’d say that you had your wits about you and are using them.”

Grace smiled her gratitude. “That
is
something he would have said. Oh, but how I miss him. How I hope he knows I mean him no disrespect by dressing this way and acting this part. Were it up to me, I should have remained in mourning two years and longer, and I should never have my name known for anything.”

“Don’t trouble yourself over the gown, at least,” Miranda said. “It’s a shame to have those fine clothes and never use them. And your father already took you to task for such at Sir Lidgate’s.”

“
Father.
” Grace gave an indignant flounce and turned to face the glass once more. “His letter only confirmed that he has spies everywhere. I’ve never felt so tattled upon in my life as I did after that visit. I should very much like to know who told him that I wore my plainest black frock to Sir Lidgate’s lavish dinner party. Besides —” She brought a hand to her chest. “I
had
to. It was the only thing keeping me safe from Lidgate’s prying eyes and hands.”

Miranda let out a snort that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “That you did. And this is what you must wear now
if”
— Miranda leveled a gaze upon her — “you still wish to continue this façade.”

“As
if
we have any choice in the matter.” Grace shook her head. “No going back. I’ve no doubt Harrison has already done his job exceedingly well.”

“You’ve no idea.” Miranda rolled her eyes. “It appears the man is a natural-born gossip. His tongue has been flapping at both ends since we arrived.”

“Wonderful,” Grace said. “How perfectly marvelous that everyone here will think the worst of me, that I am a fallen woman ... that I am no longer marriageable.”

Nor is Helen, by association
.
“All is well,” Grace said, her voice stronger, more convinced.
I need only get through this evening.

Since her arrival yesterday, she’d stayed in her room, partially because she continued to feel poorly, and partly to allow Harrison and Miranda time to spread rumors.

At Miranda’s suggestion, instead of accepting Mr. Preston’s invitation to dine this evening, she’d begged off, claiming she still wasn’t entirely well and needed to reserve her strength for dancing later.

Another half-truth.
Her fever had mostly subsided, though she hadn’t been up and about enough to test her strength. The more worrisome issue had been her ability to handle herself at an intimate dinner of only twelve or so persons — all of whom, by now, had likely heard of her visit to Nicholas Sutherland’s bed.

“It’ll be in your nature to want to defend yourself,” Miranda had warned when the three of them had met early this morning. “But you can’t. Neither deny nor confirm anything. Remain as vague as you can — noncommittal, if confronted.”

“It will drive the men mad,” Harrison had said.

“And make the women loathe you all the more,” Miranda added.

“Sounds like a perfectly delightful evening,” Grace had quipped, feeling more unsettled by the minute.
But better than an evening with Sir Lidgate.

“Take care,” Harrison had warned. “Those men you’ve driven mad will pursue you more than ever, though it won’t be marriage they’re offering.”

Remembering his earlier admonitions, Grace leaned forward, resting her head in her hands and not quite suppressing a groan of dread.

“You’re still far too unwell for this,” Miranda scolded, but a second later she placed a comforting hand on Grace’s shoulder. “You don’t have to, you know.”

Grace looked up at her. “But I do. For Helen’s sake — and mine. We’ll have no peace from Father otherwise. Hopefully, he’ll be so angry, he’ll disown us both.”

“If you are fortunate,” Miranda said, expressing the same doubt as earlier. Yet it was the encouragement Grace needed.

“You look the part anyhow,” Miranda said.

“What do you mean by that?” Grace asked. “Do I look like a woman who would casually share a bed with a man?”