My Saving Grace

by Harmon, Danelle

  “I know. And trust me, I understand. I was young and in love once, too. With a man who was supposed to be my enemy, a man I’d vowed t’ kill for the wrongs he’d done t’ me family. And then I went and married him, and he’s given me the happiest years of me life.” She held Grace close, her arm an anchor when Grace felt she was going to come apart. “Hearts are stubborn things, they are, and we can’t tell ’em what direction they’re supposed t’ go in. ’Twill all work out, I promise. And here comes Colin. Dry yer tears, love, and I’ll take ye upstairs.”

  36

  He was miserable.

  Sleep provided a welcome escape from that misery and Del, lying on his stomach with his cheek pressed against the pillow, resisted the pull toward consciousness as he felt his mother’s hand against his shoulder, her touch through the light blanket. Someone must have opened the window; he could feel the cool kiss of the summer evening against his bare shoulders, the nape of his neck. He tried to sink back down into oblivion. Instead, the pillow melded itself to his cheek, and he felt the ever-present ache in his head.

  “Mother,” he murmured, “please let me be.”

  She had always been a little hummingbird, a hoverer through every childhood cut, bruise and illness, and while the part of him that had once been that little boy treasured those memories, right now Del only wanted to sleep.

  His mother didn’t answer, though the light touch against his shoulder fell away. He shifted onto his side, trying to get comfortable. There was a scratchy spot in the pillow— probably dried mucus, he thought in disgust— and he moved his head away from it. Slid a hand under the pillow to support his cheekbone.

  Wakefulness persisted.

  Ohhhh, I feel like absolute shit.

  He pushed himself to his side and dragged open his eyes.

  The room was in darkness, save for the soft glow of a candle. He groaned, trying to orient himself. There was a figure sitting in a chair, her face beautiful in the candlelight.

  Del blinked.

  What the hell? He raised himself on one elbow and wiped at his eyes, feeling oddly disoriented, detached from his body. “Lady Grace?”

  She smiled nervously. “Captain Lord.”

  “Am I dead, or just dreaming?”

  “Neither, it would appear.”

  His mother had given him one of her cursed Irish drams to help him sleep. Now, the cobwebs that threaded his brain were a hindrance instead of a blessing. He struggled to make sense of the reality as opposed to the impossibility.

  “If I’m imagining you to be here, I must be sicker than I thought.”

  He shut his eyes, determined to try and get back to sleep, because as delicious as this dream was, the painful reality was that Lady Grace belonged to another, that Lady Grace was far, far away in Norfolk, and that Lady Grace was only here as a figment of his fevered imagination.

  But that figment was gently peeling back the blanket that covered his shoulder, denying him the sleep he so desperately sought. He felt fingers near the wound that Colin had sewn up with such confidence. What the devil? This dream was more real than it had any business being, and impatient with the dram that had brought it on instead of the sleep he craved, Del pulled his arm back, pushed himself up on the pillows and ran a hand through his disheveled curls.

  The figment was still there.

  Solid and warm and real.

  “Lady Grace?” he said again, blinking. “What...?”

  “I know. What am I doing here?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “May I see your arm?”

  Frowning, he offered it to her. Her fingers were sweet and light as she cradled his elbow in her palm and peered down at the wound, her brows drawn close with concentration, her hair falling over one shoulder and tickling his wrist. She looked up in confusion. “Why, I expected it to look so much worse.”

  “I have been living in a fog of my mother’s doing for the past three days,” he murmured. “You’ll understand if I don’t quite believe what I’m seeing.”

  She smiled and lowered his arm down to the sheet on which he lay. “I’m sure it must be confusing to wake up and find me here, but... well, I had to come.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we received word that you were dying. And that you were... that you were asking for me.” She flashed him a smile and then looked back at his wound, her eyes confused. “But your arm appears to be healing quite nicely.”

  “Well of course it is. My brother is thorough and competent.”

  “I thought that with blood poisoning, the flesh would be black and putrid.”

  “Blood poisoning?”

  “Well, yes, that’s what usually happens, is it not?”

  “Dear God, I should hope it’s not black and putrid!”

  “It looks sore, but it’s not black, and—” she lowered her nose to his skin, sniffing it— “it’s certainly not putrid, either.”

  “I’ve taken great pains to keep it clean.”

  “So you’re not dying?”

  “Of course not, though I certainly felt like I was a day or two ago. I’ve been sick as a dog.” He reached for the handkerchief he’d tucked under his pillow. He blew his nose, balled up the fabric and stuffed it back beneath the pillow. “Got it from Colin’s youngest. Worst illness I’ve had in the last twenty years. Couldn’t sleep, fever and chills, so Mother gave me one of her blasted Irish remedies. Thought I was past common childhood colds, but I guess not.”

  “All you have is a cold?”

  “Well, maybe more than a cold, but certainly not blood poisoning. Whoever told you that?”

  “You’re not dying then?”

  “You don’t have to look so accusing, you know.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, pushing back a bit. “Your parents sent us a letter... they told us you had a fever, that you had blood poisoning and to expect the worst.”

  “That’s ridiculous. If I had blood poisoning I’d be dead. My mother obviously connected the wound with my fever and assumed the worst, though I can assure you that its origin was none other than little Aaron. In any case, I’m sorry. You must feel as if you’ve wasted your time, coming all the way down here from Norfolk.”

  “I felt guilty. And the letter said you were calling for me.”

  “I don’t remember calling for anyone.”

  “Well you must have been, because the letter cited my name and begged me to come. So I did. And now that I’m here, I can let you know in no uncertain terms, Captain Lord, that I was very hurt by your sudden departure. Why did you do that?”

  “As I explained in my note, I was running out of time and wanted to visit my parents before leaving England.”

  Her eyes were accusing. “You still could’ve said goodbye. Properly.”

  “Why? Because that’s what friends do?”

  “You are being churlish. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “I’m sick and cranky and miserable and confused. Not to mention, drugged. D’you want to know the real truth? I left because I wasn’t needed anymore, and staying there watching you fawn over that... that peacock was more than I could stomach.”

  “So you’re jealous.”

  “I’m human. A living, breathing man who can only stand so much.”

  “So you were serious with what you said in the barn? When you told me to leave Captain Ponsonby and marry you instead?”

  “Does it matter?”

  She was relentless. “Were you?”

  “Of course I was. But that doesn’t matter now, does it? You two are now courting. You won your man, Lady Grace. It was foolish of you to journey all the way down here to see to the welfare of another one. Ponsonby has his pride. He won’t think highly of that. You may even lose him because of it.”

  Movement caught the corner of his eye and there was his mother, just pushing open the door of the room. She carried a tray, and smiled when she saw Grace sitting next to the bed.

  “I hope I’m not disturbin’ ye both,” s
he said, using her heel to shut the door behind her. “I brought some chicken soup.” She set the tray down on the night table and leaning over him, plumped up his pillows and then added another from the nearby chair. “Ye’ll make sure he eats, won’t ye, Lady Grace?”

  “Oh, I’ll make sure.”

  “I’ll leave ye be, then. And get some sleep, Del.”

  “I’ve been sleeping, Mother.”

  She just smiled, cast an appraising look over them both, and left.

  Awkwardness. Unspoken hurts, raw accusations, the air still throbbing between them. Del sat up and reached for the tray. But her hand was there, fingers against his chest. He looked up.

  Their gazes met.

  “I’m sorry, Captain Lord.”

  “Aye. I am, too.”

  “I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

  “I’m not angry with you. I’m angry with myself. Usually happens whenever I breach my own standards of self-discipline.” He sighed, the fight going out of him. “But still, you should not have come.”

  “But I did come, and I’m here, now. So at least let me help get some food into you.”

  He said nothing, allowing the remains of his anger to fade beneath the dulling embrace of Mother’s dram and Lady Grace’s ministrations. He succumbed to the gentle pressure of her hand and relaxed back against the pillows, watching as she shook out a napkin and laid it just under his chin. She tucked it around his shoulders. Her fingers brushed his ear, the corner of his jaw. Against his wishes, he felt a part of himself responding to her as men do when in the presence of a beautiful woman and he was grateful, very grateful, for the thick and rumpled rolls of the sheet and blanket that covered him.

  She picked up one of the two bowls.

  “I suppose you intend to spoon-feed me like a baby, as well?” he asked, trying to further lighten the mood.

  “That is my intent, Captain.”

  “I’m not used to anyone coddling me, except my mother.”

  “Well, you’re sick. Everyone needs coddling when they don’t feel well.” She picked up a spoon and stirred the soup in its chipped green bowl— a bowl that was familiar because it was part of his childhood, a bowl that had carried soup and porridge and fish stew to him and his siblings so many times, so many years ago. And now she had it in her hands, leaving her own imprint on the ongoing history of his family, on the memories it carried for him— memories that would now, always, include her.

  She dug deep into the bowl, brought out the liquid, frowned when she saw the steam curling up from the spoon.

  “Go ahead,” he said.

  “And do what?”

  “Blow on it. You wouldn’t want your patient to burn himself now, would you?”

  She laughed, the tension further dissipating, and brought the spoon to her mouth. He watched the shape her lips made as she blew softly across it. Her lashes lifted and her gaze met his, a little sly, a little shy, and Del felt the tray shift on his lap and it had nothing to do with the blankets slipping or a movement of his leg.

  Damnation.

  She brought the spoon toward his mouth. Her hand was trembling, and a drop of the soup escaped the spoon and plopped onto the napkin.

  “Oh! I’m so clumsy... I’m sorry, Captain Lord.”

  He grinned. “There’s plenty more where that came from.”

  He opened his mouth and then the spoon was safely within, the soup, delicious and just the right temperature, sliding over his tongue, slipping down his throat, hot and salty and good.

  “So tell me what’s going on back in Norfolk,” he said, between spoonfuls. That was surely a safe subject, one that wouldn’t plunge them back beneath the surface of this veneer that covered the confusing mess that roiled underneath.

  She did. About how Sir Graham had quietly gone off to the rectory where Lord Nelson had been born and raised and spent the afternoon there in the church, all by himself. How Polly was mooning about after Jimmy Thorpe had also left. About the magnificent Norfolk Thoroughbreds and how they’d all oohed and aaahed when Lady Ariadne had brought out the famous Shareb-er-rehh, put a saddle on him, and demonstrated his blazing speed with a gallop across the pasture that had had the Falconer girls screeching in delight. And when she’d returned, the great horse lathered and sucking in air through massive distended nostrils, she’d assigned the “cooling off” task to Ned, who was allowed to put his twin sisters up on the famous steed’s back while he walked him around and around.

  “And Sir Graham allowed that?”

  “He had no choice. The twins were, um... rather vocal about their wishes.”

  Del laughed, envisioning his beleaguered admiral.

  “After they had a ride on the horse, he let Ned have one as well. And that horse took care of those children as if he knew exactly how precious his burdens were. Walked ever so slowly, placing his feet with what was almost cringing care. Lady Ariadne was laughing... she thought it was quite funny, especially as Shareb supposedly lets nobody on his back save for his mistress.”

  “I’m sorry to have missed it,” Del said, opening his mouth for another spoonful.

  Quiet again. The heavy silence was unable to contain unspoken hurts, continue the charade that all was well, any longer. The thing between them, whatever that thing was, demanded recognition, acknowledgement, and appeasement. It had not been quiet from the moment they’d met, and it refused to be quiet, now.

  She paused with the spoon just inches from his mouth, and it was then that her gaze fastened on his and shifted, no longer falsely cheerful, no longer laughing, but dark and serious.

  “So where do we go from here, Captain Lord?”

  There. It was said. The words were out and hanging in the air between them, and they demanded the truth.

  “I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “That is up to you.”

  “Ned told me why you really left.” She looked down and stirred the soup, watching the chunks of chicken and carrots and rice revolve within the old green bowl. “But I needed to hear you say it, yourself.”

  “Ned is all of eight years old. He has no idea why I left.”

  She said nothing, only the spoon making a little scraping noise around the inside of the bowl.

  “Ned is also a deeply intuitive child,” he added. “But that intuition isn’t always correct.”

  “He said you left because I broke your heart.”

  That very organ seemed to stop for a moment in his chest and sitting up straighter, Del took the tray, set it on the table, and lifted her chin with his finger. She stared miserably up at him.

  “Lady Grace,” he said softly.

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she swayed toward him for one heartbeat of a moment. And then she caught herself and looked away, her eyes tragic.

  “Sheldon Ponsonby proposed to me.”

  Del felt everything inside of him go still. Felt his heart actually quit beating. The blood went still in his veins. Nausea flared in his belly and he was suddenly cold all over.

  He almost didn’t dare to say it. To ask it.

  But he did.

  “And...?”

  Pound, pound, pound, went the stricken thing in his chest. He felt his headache returning with force, and a dizziness he thought he’d overcome with the departure of the fever.

  She looked away, biting her lip, the tears in her eyes welling up to make them look huge and glassy and blue.

  “Did you accept?”

  Her gaze swung back to him. Her lower lip was caught beneath her teeth, and he saw one of the tears beginning to spill over, to make a sudden run for her cheek, and he longed to reach up and wipe it away.

  Longed for it in this last second of ignorance, of not-knowing, of freedom to feel whatever it was that he felt for her, and Del knew with every shred of his being that what he felt for her was love.

  And in that moment he knew what she was going to say before the words actually left her mouth.

  “I did,” she whispered.

  Del f
elt the soup sitting heavily in his stomach, and he wondered if he was going to lose it.

  “Well, then,” he said, putting on a brave smile. She’d wanted this all along. He had helped her to obtain it. It wasn’t her fault he’d been stupid enough to have lost his heart to her along the way. No, it wasn’t her fault at all.

  His fault.

  His alone.

  “Well then,” he said again, because he could not think of anything else to say.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes.

  “Don’t be silly,” he said a little too loudly, a little too cavalierly. “He’s what you wanted, Lady Grace. Your childhood hero. Why, now I can sail back to Barbados knowing I accomplished some good here in England, helped make a beautiful young lady’s dream come true.”

  She was wiping at the other eye now, her face tightening as she tried to hold back her emotion.

  “You are too good for me to have as a friend, Captain Lord. Someday, some lucky girl is going to call you Husband... and she will be the most blessed woman on earth.”

  Del’s stomach roiled some more, and he feared that he was actually going to be sick.

  “Last chance, then, Grace,” he said cheerfully. “Last chance to have me, instead. Because nobody is going to love you harder or longer or more than I already do.”

  He had slipped. Called her by her Christian name without her title. A breach in formality, one that he was too desperate to catch and she was too upset to notice.

  Or maybe, she did.

  She burst into tears. “I gave him my word... Mama expects me to wed him... it’s been something I’ve wanted for a long time... how do I throw that all away when we worked so hard? How do I know that what you and I feel for each other is even real? I’ve loved him for years, and I’ve only known you for less than a month. How can I can I take such a wild gamble? I’m confused! I need time, time to think about this, time to know my own heart.”

  “Time.”

  “Yes, time!”

  “Well, I cannot give you that, Lady Grace. I’m taking your uncle back to Barbados, probably within days. I don’t have time.” He pulled the napkin from his neck, his appetite gone, and crumpled it within his fist. “Do you not love me in return?”