Shattered Grace (Fallen from Grace)

by K Anne Raines

  * * * *

  Copyright © 2013 by K Anne Raines

  Book formatting by JT Formatting

  Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the above author of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Now I lay me down to sleep,

  I pray the lord my soul to keep,

  If I shall die before I wake,

  I pray the lord my soul to take.

  -- The New England Primer --

  Gone. He was actually gone.

  Grace shook her head in disbelief as she wiped at her sensitive, puffy eyes with a rough tissue, unable to wrap her mind around the fact her grandfather was never coming back. He hadn’t been sick, didn’t seem to be slowing down at all, and yet…

  He was gone.

  With his death, he seemed to steal away what Grace had always so desperately wanted—the binding ties of family. Instead of receiving the safety and warmth of a familial bond from the two individuals who brought her into this world, she received it unconditionally from her grandfather. Through his love, she had a life. What she had now was anything but. It was dark and lonely and hopeless. He was the only person who had ever understood her and, to be honest, the only person in her life who had ever tried.

  Time and time again her grandfather had told her she was a survivor, and even embraced her difference as if it were his own. Her difference was nothing but a curse. To her it was, anyway. Grace didn’t think she would survive much past this day. Obviously, he was wrong. She really wasn’t that strong.

  With trembling hands, she swiped at a lone tear dangling from her chin. She tried to remember a single day in her seventeen years that he hadn’t been a part of, and she came up empty. All of her memories had traces of him.

  The large manor that felt more like her home than the one she shared with her mother was filled with family. The remains of her family were going through the motions of the post-funeral visitation, and yet, there she sat, never more lost and alone. Every one of them avoided looking her in the eye, and no one offered her any kind of condolence. If a pair of eyes did chance to meet hers, there was nothing in the hollow gaze that could be considered kind or heartfelt, but was instead biting and cold. Especially the murderous glares from her much older cousin Rose.

  Grace had always been the black sheep, so this was nothing new. Defiantly, she continued watching them all with contempt, refusing to hide how she truly felt toward them. Every single one of her family members mooched off the man they buried today. He had been nothing to them but a meal ticket. Even to her mother.

  Grace watched from her lonely vantage point on the stairwell as her relatives milled about below, making themselves quite at home as they pretended to grieve together. Mourning didn’t move them all in swarms around her grandfather’s belongings. Greed did. She watched as they salivated over every possession with longing, sometimes going so far as to pick up a piece of bric-a-brac, turning it over nonchalantly as if to see if their name was penciled with intent by the deceased on a piece of tape underneath, before replacing it on the polished furniture with disappointment. The awful part about the whole sham was they believed they were fooling each other. They only pretended to be grieving. Grace wanted nothing more than to punch them in their pathetically sad faces.

  Idiots!

  Heartless, money-hungry pigs!

  The whole thing made her sick.

  Sour acid burned harshly in the back of her throat, and for a second, Grace thought she might lose what little food she had managed to force down earlier. With her face in the crook of her elbow, she scooted along the bottom step of the grand stairwell until she felt the wainscoted wall against her shoulder. An uncontrollable scream bubbled dangerously up Grace’s throat, but the sudden sight of black loafers from underneath her folded arms helped to repress it. Surprised, she snapped her head up and found a man in a black suit watching her. “Grace Morgan?”

  A few straggling tears escaped her sore eyes. She swiftly wiped them away with the diminishing tissue. “Y-y-yep. That’s me.” At the moment, she wished she could be somebody else.

  “I wish I could offer something other than an apology—”

  “I’m sorry,” she interrupted. “Who are you?”

  Extending his hand, he paused until she took it for a brief handshake. “I’m your grandfather’s friend and attorney, Quentin Kenward. I came to the reception to pay my respects, and to keep a promise.”

  Grace took his outstretched hand and looked up into his face. Through her grief she could see how young he looked. How in the world could he be an attorney at his age? He appeared barely out of college. She tried not to let her skepticism and distrust work their way into her expression; it would be rude, and after all, he was the only one talking to her. But her brows drew together on their own volition, as the rest of the frown took over her mouth.

  He withdrew his hand and chuckled. “I can see you think I’m a little young. I assure you, I’m actually an attorney. I’m older than I look.” With that, he gave her a wink.

  The wink threw her off guard, but not so much she couldn’t remember all he’d said. “What promise?”

  “Could you come with me to his office?”

  Her legs shook as she rose from the step, and her gaze fell upon where her family members still congregated. The ugly scene only made the bile rise again. With a slight clearing of her throat, she nodded and followed along.

  One of her grandfather’s favorite places in Morgan Manor was the open hallway. All the special moments from Grace’s birth to now were captured behind wooden frames hanging on the walls on either side of the hallway. He had taken every single picture. A lifetime of memories flashed before her eyes, making it nearly impossible to stay walking upright as her feet faltered. She touched the wall with her hand to help steady herself as she continued.

  The sound of clinking metal tore her attention from the onslaught of flashbacks. When Quentin turned the knob to open her grandfather’s office door, she had to contro
l herself from stopping him. An overwhelming panic washed over her. She wasn’t ready to go in there. Quentin’s eyes were searching out the office when he swept his arm out in invitation for her to go inside.

  She hurried past him, not thrilled about him seeing her cry even more. The instant he felt the effects of being in her grandfather’s office, she knew. The nonchalance that controlled his features seemed to flee as he walked into the room, pulling his face down into a frown as it left him. The grief in his eyes mirrored hers. Grace appreciated the camaraderie, no matter how unfamiliar. Quentin hesitated before walking to where she stood, and held his hand out. Confused by a tri-fold black folder lying across his palms, she carefully took it from his outstretched hands without touching him, and held it in her own.

  Quentin hurried to move away from her and as he turned, she saw him take an inconspicuous wipe at his eyes. Her heart constricted painfully in her chest, seeing how choked up he was as well. He continued to the fireplace and knelt to start a fire. “I never understood why Christophe insisted on keeping this hearth exactly as it’s always been.” His voice broke as he spoke. “I’ve tried for years to get him to replace it with a gas insert, but he’d have no part of it.” He chuckled softly.

  Thoughts of her grandfather and his stubborn ways brought a smile to her lips. The cool, soft material of the folder slid along the tips of her fingers as it started to slip from her hands. Gripping it tighter, she inched a couple more steps into the office. “What is this, Quentin?”

  Still on his haunches, he gazed up at her. The firelight danced hypnotically along his bronzed skin and flickered behind him, creating a luminescent halo around his raven hair, cut a little long for today’s standards. Instantly, she was taken aback by how handsome he was. Embarrassment warmed her cheeks as Grace forced her eyes to the folder in her hands. She turned it over, not at all surprised to see the unique seal of her grandfather’s crest melted in wax over the folds. The creak of leather as Quentin took a seat on the sofa brought her eyes back to meet his steel-colored gaze. “It’s why I brought you in here.”

  “This folder?”

  “No. The contents inside it.” A few minutes passed as she visually inspected it, and she wondered if he could sense her hesitation. “Go ahead, Grace. It’s okay.”

  A few more pressure-filled moments passed before she found the courage. She broke the seal between her thumbs and pulled the folder open. On the left lay a folded piece of paper with her name written across the outside, and on the right, a brass key with a red velvet lanyard tied to its top. She took it from the folder and felt her eyes tear up a little.

  “Do you know what this key unlocks?”

  He smiled warmly. “I’m sure it’s explained in the letter.”

  Her eyes moved to the paper again.

  “Okay. Well …” he began as he got up from the sofa, “… this is where I leave, and you read.”

  The prickle of his stare on her back told her he hadn’t walked out the door. Not ready for the inevitable moment of acceptance, she stood motionless. “And, Grace,” Quentin said softly from the open doorway.

  “Yes?” she said, her gaze fixed on the folder.

  “You must do everything your grandfather asks in that letter. It’s important.”

  “Uh, okay,” she said.

  “I’ll just be in the hallway.”

  A soft click of the door and she was alone again. The room seemed to drop a couple degrees in temperature and she shivered a little, even though the fire burned hot. The fear of a life filled with solitude held her heart still. The folded piece of paper lay heavy in her hand as she made her way to her grandfather’s desk. She could almost see her grandfather bent over it. Whispers of pen on paper as he conducted business could faintly be heard in the echo of her memory. Tears trickled down her grief-stricken face as she sat in the large leather chair that had wrapped around her grandfather night after night. With the cuff of her shirt, she rubbed the tears from her eyes and began to read.

  My Dearest Grace,

  There are so many things I want to say to you, to show you, but I’ve run out of time. Sometimes life doesn’t go how we’ve planned or imagined.

  My one wish now is that you find a way to forgive your parents. Your mother does the best she can with the cards she’s been dealt. It hasn’t been easy for her. I hope I’ve been able to ease some of her burden by helping provide for you and her. Well, as much as she’d allow me to. She’s a stubborn woman, that one. And your father did what he had to do to protect you. He never wanted to leave you and your mother, but it was the only way. I know you can’t understand that now, but I’m hoping with time, you’ll come to understand, and maybe find it in your heart to no longer hate him.

  The key in the folder is a master key. It opens every door in and on the estate. It also opens the safe deposit box at the bank. Quentin has the details of where. You must go and retrieve the contents before your birthday and tell no one of its existence. That’s three weeks, Grace. Make sure you get there before then. It’s not a simple expiration date. Please trust me. I can’t press this enough!

  I trusted Quentin with my life. You can trust him with yours, and with your secret as well. He’ll be able to answer many of your questions, but some of them you’ll have to find answers to yourself.

  I love you, Grace, with all my heart. Thank you for giving me what money has never been able to buy. I’m sorry it feels like I’ve abandoned you. Please forgive me.

  Love,

  Your Grandfather,

  Christophe Morgan

  P.S. Throw this letter in the hearth at once and do not leave the study until it is incinerated completely.

  Overcome with sadness, teardrops fell haphazardly from Grace’s eyes to the confusing letter that lay loose in her hand, smearing some of the ink down the page. Grace clung to the letter, reluctant to do as he asked and relinquish the last precious message from her grandfather. She held it tight to her chest as she forced her feet to carry her to the fireplace. After tossing it into the flames, she covered her face and sobbed, watching it burn through the narrow space between her fingers. Several times she had to restrain herself from grabbing it. Once it was reduced to ashes, she remained lost in the blaze, trying desperately to commit every word of the letter to memory.

  Quentin was out in the hall, still waiting with apparent protection and answers. Her grandfather had trusted Quentin with his life and had told her she could too. But her secret? Since the moment she had realized she was different from other girls, she had known she was a freak. That’s all she needed right now on top of this. To trust some baby-faced lawyer with a secret that undoubtedly would end up with him having her committed. Not gonna happen. No way! Her trust in Quentin would only go so far. She had no other choice but to lay her secret to rest with her grandfather.

  Grace snagged four tissues from the dark cherry bookshelf behind the desk, then blotted her eyes and softly blew her nose. Through her grief, her even-numbered demon still managed to rear its ugly head. After glancing down at the thin tissues in her hand, she sighed and shoved them all in her pocket.

  With one final glance around the room, she left in search of Quentin.

  If there were carpet under his feet, Quentin would have worn a path from his pacing by now. Gentle sobs from under the door of the study caused him to pause. Self-doubt painfully twisted at his insides, an emotion foreign to his kind. Once Guardian to Christophe, he was now Guardian to his granddaughter. What if he failed? What if he was wrong for her? The gnawing was relentless. So was the pull to console her; however, duty kept Quentin’s feet planted on the dark wood flooring. After a few moments, his feet gave in to the nervousness and continued to pace up and down the wide-open hallway.

  Generations of family portraits watching him on his nervous walkabout did little for his nerves. If anything, they made things worse. They all seemed to be judging him from the perch of their perfect mountings. “What the hell are you looking at? I got you guys through it, di
dn’t I?” He scowled. In fact, he’d fulfilled his duty with every single one of them. So, why was this one so different from all the others? The answer was obvious…Grace.

  Quentin wasn’t afraid of dying. He’d lived so long that he often fantasized about it. What he did fear was failing. He feared her dying, because of him. A shiver ran up his spine at the thought.

  Others must know about her by now, he thought. The contents of Quentin’s stomach rose in protest at the notion, and he pressed a hand to his chest as if to suppress it. A slight jangle from the office door handle pushed his queasiness back down. The seneschal band around his left bicep warmed beneath his shirtsleeve as soon as Grace stepped through the doorway, pulling his emotions and focus back to his purpose, to his duty. Unfortunately, the man in him marveled at how tall and beautiful she had become. He had to tear his thoughts from wondering if her skin was as soft as it looked, or if her mahogany hair would feel like silk running through his fingers. His gaze moved back to her face, catching the sheen in her round, moss-colored eyes, which stared back at him expectantly.