His Saving Grace

by Sharon Cullen

  Everyone’s heads swiveled to look at Grace, their gazes alight with not only interest but also the expectation that they would be the first to learn a very interesting on-dit. Sara shifted and cast a quick look at Grace.

  “Do tell, my lady,” Violet said. Prudence, sitting next to her daughter, nodded vigorously.

  Grace cleared her throat, despising Clara at the moment. She did not want anyone knowing until she could sort it all out in her mind. Curse Nigel. She would not put it past him to tell Clara to announce it at their meeting, thus boxing Grace in and forcing her acquiescence.

  “Yes, well. I just recently found out myself.” She shot Clara a glare, but the woman merely smiled back.

  “Well, you can’t leave us wondering, my lady. What is this wonderful news?” Prudence asked, nearly vibrating with interest. There were few occasions when Prudence allowed her meetings to be delayed or interrupted. Apparently, this was one of them.

  “The dowager countess is to wed Sir Clayton Timmons,” Clara blurted out with a clap of her hands.

  Chapter Two

  Violet’s teacup clattered in the saucer, and a bit of tea sloshed over the side. “Oh, I’m so clumsy,” she said, grabbing a napkin and wiping the small spill while she blinked rapidly.

  The others exclaimed in delight and wished Grace congratulations. Sara sat quietly and looked at her in sadness. Grace watched Prudence put her hand on her daughter’s arm and squeeze. Violet shot her mother a tremulous smile and surreptitiously swiped at her eye. Had Violet had an interest in Sir Timmons? It would make sense, since he was a wealthy eligible bachelor and Violet was on the marriage mart. If that were the case, then Grace felt even worse. Nigel, it seemed, was ruining everyone’s life.

  Grace pulled her attention from Violet to accept the women’s good wishes and tried her best to deflect the most important questions of when the wedding would take place and when exactly she’d been spending time with Sir Timmons that he’d offered for her hand. Clara was more than happy to answer all the questions, launching into the story of how Timmons had approached the earl with his request for Grace’s hand and how thrilled the earl had been to give it to him. Clara did like throwing around her titles.

  Violet and Prudence sat in silence, Prudence with a pained expression. Grace felt their tension and shock from across the room. She wished a hole would open up and she would fall through it. She wasn’t one for cursing but felt now would be an appropriate time to utter a few silent curses at Clara and Nigel and Sir Timmons. And yes, even Michael, for leaving her in this situation. It wasn’t the first time she’d been angry at him for abandoning her.

  “It’s so soon,” Sara said quietly, effectively cutting through everyone’s joy.

  The chatter abruptly stopped, as everyone stared at Clara, waiting for her response.

  “Sir Timmons said he was fine with waiting out the dowager countess’s mourning period,” Clara said with a bite to her words, apparently miffed that Sara wanted to take away her moment. “Meanwhile, she can plan the wedding. Besides, Michael has been gone much longer than ten months and, well, we all know there is no threat to the earldom in the form of an heir.”

  Sara turned wide, accusing eyes on Clara. Rarely did she allow anger to show. In fact, Grace wasn’t certain she’d ever seen Sara angry. “There is more to mourning than waiting to see if a child is born,” she said in that soft way. But this time it put Clara in her place, and everyone knew it.

  Heads swiveled to Clara, waiting for her response. Grace was convinced everyone was holding their breaths for fear of missing one word of the discussion. She should have heeded Ida’s advice and stayed home. That would have taken the wind out of Clara’s sails.

  Clara’s chest and neck turned pink, and she appeared chagrined before indignation took over. “Well, of course there is, but it wasn’t as if Michael’s death was a surprise. He was fighting in a war, after all.”

  Sara shot Grace a look as if to say, Can you believe the nerve of this woman? While Grace silently implored Clara to be quiet. Didn’t she see she was making things worse? Not just for Grace. Clara’s insensitive comments were putting her in a bad light, and Violet and her mother were becoming visibly uncomfortable.

  “Sir Timmons is greatly enamored of our Grace,” Clara rushed on, maybe sensing that she was losing the good graces of her audience. “And I’ve been assured that she is equally enamored. Isn’t that right, my lady?”

  And what should she say? That, no, she wasn’t enamored of Sir Timmons? That would be cruel, because word would surely get back to him. And yet she couldn’t lie. She shot Violet a quick glance, but the poor girl was looking down at her hands.

  “I’ve just recently learned of these events,” Grace said carefully. “I’ve yet to form an opinion one way or another.”

  “Sir Timmons is handsome and a very nice man,” Violet said quietly. “Besides, living in that drafty old dower house has to be such a hardship after living so long in the manor house.”

  Clara stiffened. She despised any reference to the time when Grace lived in Blackbourne Manor. She would much prefer to pretend that Grace had never been countess at all. Grace wasn’t certain what she had done to elicit such animosity in Clara. They’d never had much in common, but they’d always been civil to each other. Until Nigel had assumed the earldom. After that, Clara’s claws had come out.

  Her mother squeezed Violet’s hand, and Grace had to commend the girl for overcoming her shock to be so gracious.

  “The dower house is not drafty,” Clara said, all quivering indignation. “The earl is very aware that he has a responsibility to the dowager countess.”

  Grace closed her eyes in mortification and anger. The earl might be aware of his responsibility, but he in no way acted on it other than to get her off his hands at his earliest convenience.

  “Yes, well.” Prudence clapped her hands together, and even if her smile was strained, she took control of the meeting. “It’s time we got started, or it will be close to dinner before we’re finished.”

  The meeting didn’t last as long as dinnertime, and as it wound down, the ladies gathered their shawls and parasols. Clara, likely sensing that she would be the topic of conversation afterward, hung about later than usual but soon ran out of excuses and had to say her goodbyes.

  Sara and Grace left the house together, and when they were standing at the street, Sara hugged Grace hard. It was all Grace could do to keep the tears that had been threatening from falling.

  “I’m so sorry, Grace.” Sara pulled away and looked into Grace’s eyes. “I had no idea.”

  “That makes two of us.” Grace tried to laugh but failed.

  “What will you do?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Well, you can’t marry him.”

  “Can’t I?”

  Sara reared back and stared at Grace in shock. “Tell me you aren’t seriously considering his proposal.”

  “There was no proposal. There was an agreement between Nigel and Timmons. My wishes or thoughts were not considered. According to Nigel, the deal is finished, and all that is left is the ceremony.”

  “You have a choice. Talk to Sir Timmons and tell him you don’t have feelings for him.”

  Grace began walking in the direction of town. Sara walked beside her and the burly footman followed as discreetly as an enormous man could.

  “Tell him you’re still mourning Michael,” Sara said.

  Grace could do that, and she had every right to do that, but something stopped her. Something Nigel said had been nagging at her. He’d been convinced that Grace wouldn’t want to spend the rest of her life alone, while up until that moment she had wanted to do just that. Or she’d thought she had, only because she’d never considered a second marriage. But after returning to the dower house, after visiting the manor, something had shifted inside of her.

  The dower house was old and rotting and hadn’t had a dowager living in it for a few decades. Michael’s older brother had not
married before his death, and their mother had died while giving birth to Nigel. For the past ten months, Grace had not minded living there. It had been the only place that held no memories of Michael, and that had been a blessing for a time. But after her short visit to the manor house, she realized she missed living in a home where the fireplaces worked and the damp didn’t seep into her bones.

  How horrible was it that she was considering marrying Sir Timmons for warmth and a solid roof over her head.

  “Grace, are you seriously considering this marriage?”

  Grace’s hands shook so hard that she hid them in the folds of her gown. “No. Yes. I don’t know, Sara. It never occurred to me that Sir Timmons would offer for my hand, but now he has me thinking of my future.” It was more than the house. It was the loneliness that weighed her down. She wanted someone to talk to in the evening. Someone to sit with by a fire.

  Oh, bother. She should just get a dog. Dogs were good listeners, and they loved sleeping by fires.

  “Nigel wants to be rid of me,” she said.

  “Why? You keep to yourself. You live in a house he wouldn’t ever step foot in. You don’t ask him for anything.”

  All very true, but…She wouldn’t be so crass as to mention money, but there was that. Nigel hated giving her the one third owed to her from the estate’s profit—the one third he’d yet to pay her. By marrying her off, he wouldn’t have to.

  “Well, you can’t marry Sir Timmons,” Sara said matter-of-factly. “You’re still in your widow’s weeds, and you’re still mourning your husband.”

  Therein lay the problem. The one thing that trumped any argument Grace had to remarrying. She was still in love with Michael and would be forever.

  Grace stopped suddenly, causing Sara to walk a few paces without her before realizing that her friend wasn’t beside her.

  Sir Timmons was striding toward them. Grace’s heart thundered, but not in the way it had thundered when Michael walked toward her. This had more to do with apprehension and a permeating feeling of doom.

  “Oh, dear,” Sara murmured. She touched Grace’s arm. “I can stay.”

  “No. This conversation has to happen at some point. But thank you for your loyalty.”

  “Are you certain?” Sara’s eyes were full of concern.

  Grace wasn’t at all certain. “Yes.”

  “I will call on you tomorrow, and we will discuss this in greater detail without half of Hadley Springs watching.”

  It was only then that Grace noticed that they were on the main street and people were pretending not to watch; there was movement at the windows of the milliner’s shop and the local pub.

  “My lady.” Sir Clayton stopped in front of them and bowed. He smiled at Grace, then nodded to Sara. “Lady Sara.”

  “Sir Timmons.” Sara appeared to shrink inside of herself. She was so painfully shy around others. She turned to Grace. “I will leave you two. Good day, Grace. Sir Timmons.”

  Sara and her guard hurried away, leaving Grace and Sir Timmons alone among the townspeople who were watching but pretending not to watch.

  “How was your meeting?” Timmons asked.

  “My meeting with the festival committee or my meeting with Nigel?”

  He seemed taken aback by her abruptness and her direct question. She knew she shouldn’t take her pique out on Timmons, but at the moment he was the object of her ire.

  He was an attractive man. Tall, wide shoulders, crisp blue eyes, and brown hair flecked with red. He dressed well, if conservatively. He was mild-mannered, polite, and nice to be around. Rumor had it he had a sharp mind, and it was his business acumen and massive wealth that had earned him the title of baron.

  He’d moved into Hadley Springs two years ago after commissioning the popular architect Sir Charles Barry to build him a country home. Grace met Timmons on a few social occasions around that time but hadn’t befriended him until after Michael’s death, when Timmons had called to offer his condolences.

  For any other woman, Timmons would be a very desirable catch; she could see why Violet might set her sights on him. But he was not for Grace. He didn’t make her laugh with abandon or cause her stomach to twist when he was near.

  Not like Michael had.

  He wasn’t Michael.

  No one but Michael was Michael. A man like that came along once in a lifetime.

  “I was taken aback by Nigel’s announcement.” For that was exactly what it had been. An announcement.

  “It all came about rather suddenly,” Timmons said. “Lord Blackbourne and I ran into each other at the pub, and over drinks, he asked me of my intentions toward you. He seemed concerned.”

  Grace turned cold, and it was all she could do to concentrate on breathing and not give in to her fury. Nigel and Clara had painted an entirely different picture than Timmons was telling. The earl and countess had made it seem as if Timmons had approached Nigel when in fact Nigel probably had plotted the entire scene. Grace had no doubt that Timmons was telling the truth, but that did not make her feel any better.

  “I told him I was enamored of you.” Timmons stopped and put a hand on Grace’s arm, forcing her to stop. “I swear to you, Grace, I wanted you to be the first to know. I’m aware that you still have feelings for your deceased husband, and I thought it improper to announce such a thing to you while you were in mourning. My hope had been that Lord Blackbourne would wait.”

  Grace was trembling in outrage at Nigel’s behavior. He’d taken her friendship with Timmons, something innocent, something that might have been good in Grace’s life if it had been given the opportunity to grow on its own, and twisted it to his advantage.

  “I apologize for Lord Blackbourne’s…” What would she call this? Manipulation? No, she would be polite even if it killed her. “Enthusiasm. He had no business approaching me without your consent.”

  “He assured me you had similar feelings.”

  Grace sighed. Of course he had. She’d never spoken to Nigel about Timmons, but that would not deter Nigel in the least. She couldn’t stay angry at Timmons, because none of this was his fault. He was just as caught up in it as she was. Except it was obvious now that he did have feelings for her.

  “Did I misread our relationship, my lady? Do you not want to marry me?” His expression was stoic, but she saw the hurt in his eyes. He had been so kind after Michael’s death, but she’d thought of him as nothing more than a good friend—when she could think at all, that is.

  “I’m still in mourning, Clayton.”

  “I understand that. We don’t need to tell anyone until after your mourning has ended if you wish.”

  Too late. Clara had spread the word already.

  How did she tell him that she could never love him the way she loved Michael? That she didn’t have it in her to love another with her whole heart and her whole being? That loving that completely scared her to death?

  —

  Michael was dead.

  He wasn’t coming back.

  Grace didn’t have to continue to live in the dower house, fighting Nigel for her dower rights, shivering in the cold, drafty house.

  Alone.

  These were the thoughts that ran through Grace’s mind after she left Sir Timmons. She roamed through the few rooms open in the dower house, too agitated to sit still.

  It was the loneliness that wore on her. Timmons was easy to talk to, and while there would be no passionate love, nothing other than mutual respect and maybe friendship, it was the companionship she craved.

  He would take care of her. House her, feed her, clothe her. Maybe even give her children.

  Oh, to have children. She’d been denied not only a life with Michael, but also the exquisite pleasure of becoming a mother, and she wanted that so much.

  She wandered out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. She’d kept most of the rooms closed off. There was no need for them with only her and the Fishers here. Besides, most of the rooms needed new wallpaper and new furniture at best. At worst,
some needed flooring replaced, and she couldn’t even think about the chimneys and fireplaces. Fire traps, almost all of them. The one in the sitting room was the best, but she worried that it wasn’t safe.

  When she’d moved in, she hadn’t had the energy to worry about any of that. She’d taken the bedroom closest to the stairs and closed off the unnecessary rooms. Now, with the possibility of an upcoming marriage, she could put all those worries behind her. Sir Timmons’s home was brand-new and wouldn’t have any of the problems the old dower house had.

  The clatter of carriage wheels had her peeking out the front window. The dower house was located at the end of a long lane on the edge of Blackbourne land. Not including her own, she could count on one hand the number of carriages that traveled the road. She had two frequent visitors. Sir Timmons and Sara. She’d just left Timmons, and the large black carriage was not the usual one Sara arrived in.

  The conveyance bumped along the pock-ridden lane, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. Grace opened the front door and stood in the doorway, watching the well-appointed carriage make its way toward her. She knew no one other than Nigel who owned such a fine carriage, and that wasn’t Nigel arriving at her doorstep. If he wanted to speak to her, he sent for her, and she had to find her own way to the manor house.

  The coach pulled up, the beautiful matching gray horses snorting and pawing the ground, their harnesses jingling in the sudden quiet. The driver tipped his head toward her, then looked straight ahead. The curtains on the carriage were drawn, allowing her nary a glimpse of the occupants inside.

  Grace stood quietly and folded her hands in front of her even though she was nervous. She was acutely aware that she was alone at the end of a lane that no one traveled. She wasn’t certain George was on the premises, and Ida was in town doing the shopping. If someone had come to do her harm, surely he would have arrived in a less ostentatious vehicle and in a much more duplicitous manner.

  After long moments when she was beginning to think that no one at all was inside, the carriage door finally opened. A man hopped out, making her blink. Not the fact that it was a man but the type of man he was. Dark-skinned and so very tall. She’d never seen anyone as tall as this gentleman. Although “gentleman” might not be the appropriate term for him. He seemed…well, to put it bluntly, uncivilized. A long saber hung from a scabbard at his waist. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and his top hat was perfectly placed over his dark hair, but there was something about him that made her want to step back, slam the door closed, and bar it. It was probably the long mustache and the hard look in his eyes.