His Saving Grace

by Sharon Cullen

  “I tended to stay away from him as much as possible. But treating me ill? No, I wouldn’t say that. I was too insignificant for him to treat me ill.”

  “I apologize for his behavior. If I could, I would evict him from the manor today.”

  “I would not like it if you did so. He deserves some time to get his business in order. We aren’t in any hurry, are we?”

  Michael looked out the window, growing pensive. “No. No hurry, but it galls me that he is residing in the manor house while you are suffering in the dower house.”

  “I’m not suffering.”

  He shot her a stern look, making her bite back a smile because she’d been the recipient of such looks before, like she was receiving a peek at the old Michael.

  “I think a week is a goodly amount of time,” she said. “And I admire you for giving him a stipend.”

  “Believe me, the stipend will be small.”

  “Nevertheless, that was kind of you.”

  He grimaced. “It was more an effort to buy time for myself.”

  “Are you concerned about Nigel’s threats?”

  He frowned at her. “Threats?”

  “He said he would protest because he does not believe you are you.”

  “Nigel is a fool. I can prove I am who I am, and I have no worries.”

  But Grace had worries. She would not bring them up now; Michael had enough on his mind with his imminent reintroduction into the world. In two days they would make an appearance at church, and their lives would be irrevocably changed again. So she kept her thoughts and her worries to herself, taking on the burden so his would be lightened.

  “When I was in Turkey and then France and Spain, I was obsessed with returning home,” he said while watching the bucolic countryside roll by. “Though I could barely remember home, I was convinced that returning was the answer I was searching for. But nothing has changed. My mind still doesn’t work the way it should.” He shot her a quick smile that made her insides flutter in a way they hadn’t in a long, long while. She was reminded of their kiss on the side of the road. They hadn’t so much as touched since then, and it bothered her greatly. She wanted to feel his touch, to kiss him, to lie in bed with him and feel him inside of her.

  Michael had said he foolishly believed that being home would cure him. Grace foolishly believed that if only they could sleep in each other’s arms and hold each other, she could cure him. Both were ridiculous thoughts, and yet they were very real wants and desires.

  She wanted their physical relationship back; it didn’t seem that Michael was in any hurry to resume. It hurt to think that your husband did not want you anymore.

  “I suppose you think me an imbecile to believe that coming home would cure me,” he said.

  Grace studied her husband, mulling over what he’d just said. Slowly, a thought formed and took hold. What an interesting use of the word “imbecile.” Was he afraid that he was an imbecile? Did he fear that others would consider him such?

  Everything inside her rebelled at the thought. He was still intelligent. She could see it in his thought process, even when the words would not come to him and the anger robbed him of speech.

  “I think we all believe that we will feel better when we are where we’re most comfortable. We keep the good memories close while the bad ones become fuzzy. It’s only natural that you would think being home would be better than not being home.”

  “It’s not even that. I truly believed that I would be healed when I came home.” He shook his head and fell silent.

  And she truly believed that he would gain confidence and feel better about himself if they were closer physically. It was something she had to ponder for a bit, but in her heart she knew it to be true.

  —

  He couldn’t remember the name of the butler. How could he have forgotten Alfred? The man had been with the family since Michael was a young boy. And yet when he looked at him, his mind had been a blank, and the familiar panic had set in.

  But Grace had been there. Grace had helped him. She had seen his panic and had understood and had smoothly stepped in so that Alfred had not noticed.

  Michael rubbed his aching head and closed his eyes. Bloody hell, he hated his life. He hated the fear that dogged his every step. The fear of people realizing that he wasn’t right in his mind. The fear that they would believe he wasn’t capable of running the earldom. His own fear that he would not be able to run the earldom.

  So many fears. So many unknowns.

  He’d wanted nothing more than to come home, but now that he was here, part of him wanted to run away again. It had been easier to relearn how to walk, to speak, to dress himself than it was to face his family.

  All his life he’d been confident in himself, knowing his place, knowing he loved Grace from an early age, and knowing they would spend the rest of their lives together. Knowing he was Michael John Ashworth.

  Now the confidence was gone. He didn’t know who he was or what his place was in this new life. Yes, he was the new earl of Blackbourne, but what did that mean? And could he do it? Was he even capable?

  He feared that people would label him unsound. But he had already labeled himself as such.

  The conversation with his brother had gone well in one perspective. He’d been proud that he hadn’t had too many moments of forgetfulness. Yes, he couldn’t remember Nigel’s wife’s name—hell, he still couldn’t remember it. But he hadn’t faltered when Nigel had fought back. When Nigel blatantly refused to believe Michael’s story. A small niggle of apprehension slithered through him. What if Nigel followed through on his threat? What if he discovered Michael’s deepest secret?

  And how will he do that? No one knows what happened to you except Tarik, and Tarik will not tell.

  He looked around his room, at the four walls, the faded wallpaper, the prints that meant nothing to him, and tried to calm the raging panic.

  There was one thing he was certain of. That when he was alone, all of the doubts and fears were far worse than when he was with Grace. Grace pushed it all away. She made them seem inconsequential.

  So why did he close himself off from her? Why did he push her away?

  Because he was afraid. Afraid she would see the real Michael Ashworth.

  Knowing that locking himself alone in this room would only give life to his fears, he made his way downstairs. Tarik was sitting in the kitchen listening to Ida prattle. Ida, apparently, had recovered from her fear of Tarik, who smiled as Michael walked through on his way to the conservatory. Grace wasn’t there. He found her on her knees in the outside garden, pulling dead plants from the ground. She was still in the gown she’d worn earlier, but she’d donned an apron. She was yanking on the dead plants with a ferocity that made him want to smile.

  “What did those plants ever do to deserve such rough treatment?”

  She paused in her pulling and yanking for only a moment.

  “Soon it will be time to plant new,” he said.

  “I won’t be here then. We’ll be up at the manor house. I’m not sure why I’m doing this now.”

  “Because you’re obviously angry about something, if those plants are any indication.”

  She continued pulling and yanking, not looking up at him.

  “You had a beautiful garden at the manor house.”

  “I’m sure Nigel and Clara didn’t keep it up. It’s probably a mess.”

  “You will make it beautiful again.”

  With no more plants to wrench from the ground, she sat up and stretched her back. Not for the first time, Michael admired his wife. She was still vibrant and beautiful. There were things he didn’t remember, but one thing he did was that they’d always had a very satisfying physical relationship.

  The kiss they’d shared yesterday by the roadside had awakened in him a hunger he’d feared he would never feel again. Last night he’d thought of nothing but Grace in the next room over, sleeping all alone. Since they’d married, they had never followed the protocol of sle
eping in different rooms. He’d liked to wake up to her in the morning and go to sleep next to her at night.

  He feared those days were gone, along with a lot of other things. His recurring headaches kept him awake many nights, and if he didn’t have a headache, he didn’t sleep well. He’d become an expert at roaming the halls at night. No, sleeping next to Grace had become a thing of the past. Something else that was lost to him forever.

  He pulled his gaze and his thoughts away from her body to look at the loose dirt at her knees. “I frightened you at the manor when I couldn’t remember Alfred’s name.”

  She looked down at her hands.

  “I was angry.” He’d actually been furious. Nigel’s comments, his caustic tone, the way he had treated Grace over the past year, all were despicable. Coupled with the fear of not remembering Alfred, it had lit a fire under an anger that was always there, mostly contained, but never far.

  He had seen the fear in her eyes, the surprise and shock.

  He dropped to his knees, laying his cane on the ground next to them. “I hope you know I would never hurt you, Grace. Please tell me that you know I would never hurt you.”

  “I know.”

  He put his finger under her chin and tipped her head up until she was forced to look at him. “I love you, and I would never, ever hurt you.”

  Those beautiful blue eyes stared at him for a long moment, and then she leaned forward and pressed her lips against his, and he was helpless to remain indifferent. Hell, he didn’t want to remain indifferent. He wanted to kiss his wife, damn it, and so he did. He pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. Anyone could come upon them, but he didn’t care. It seemed their kisses were relegated to public places like the side of the road and the garden.

  He liked kissing his wife. He enjoyed being this close to her. It was one of the few joys in his life.

  She pulled away and looked down at his chest as she pressed dirty hands to his coat. He didn’t mind that she was getting him dirty, and she didn’t seem to notice. Her lips were rosy and swollen and her color was high. She was simply beautiful to him.

  “I know you wouldn’t intentionally hurt me, Michael. But there are many different ways to cause someone pain. You close me out of your life. You only let Tarik take care of you when you’re not feeling well. You keep secrets from me. I so desperately want to help you, but how can I help if you won’t let me?”

  He pulled back, the warmth of their kiss cooling. She’d said so many times that she wanted to help him, but he didn’t know how she could; besides, as a man and her husband, he should be the one offering. It stung his pride that he should even need her help. “You don’t want to see me like that. It’s not pretty.”

  “I don’t care about pretty. I only care about you.”

  “But I do.”

  “So that is what marriage is to you? I’m only allowed around you when you’re feeling your best? When you want me around?”

  She stood and brushed the dirt from her apron. Her motions were jerky, angry. He wanted to yank her back down and kiss her again both to silence her and to feel her body pressed against his.

  “That’s not what marriage is about, Michael, and I’m going to prove it to you.”

  There was a light in her eye when she looked down on him, and he was suddenly uneasy. When his wife was determined to do something, not much could stop her, and she was definitely determined right now.

  Chapter Nine

  Grace fluffed out the skirts of her lavender gown with trembling hands. Since Michael had returned, there was no need for her to wear mourning, but she had no suitable gowns left from before. She would have to rectify that situation soon, but not today.

  Today was for other things, such as attending church for the first time as the earl and countess of Blackbourne.

  After their visit to Nigel, word had spread that Michael was not only alive but living in the dower house, ready to take over the earldom. It seemed silly to hide when everyone knew Michael was alive, and so, a bit reluctantly, they decided to make their first public appearance at church.

  Neither was ready. Grace wished they’d had more time to prepare; then again, she wasn’t certain she would ever be prepared. Though she’d been the countess before, this was an entirely different situation. This time there would be obstacles to navigate that she wasn’t certain how to face.

  But there was no time for regrets, else they would be late for church. She snatched up her gloves and was pulling one on when she heard a commotion downstairs and the frantic voice of her husband. “Oh, dear.” She hurried out of her room and down the steps.

  Michael passed in a flurry, not even seeing her, as he was mumbling to himself.

  “Michael.” She had to repeat his name twice before he stopped and looked at her blankly. “Whatever are you doing?”

  He blinked, then stared at her for a long moment. “Searching.”

  The absent look in his eyes worried her. “What are you searching for?”

  He blinked again. “I can’t remember.”

  Grace took a deep breath. She had witnessed his lapse of memory before, but this was different. She had never seen an utter lack of comprehension in his eyes. “We will be late to services if we don’t hurry. I’m sure whatever you’re searching for can wait until we return.”

  “No. I need it now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes,” he snapped. “Of course now.”

  Wonderful. They were going to be late to services because they were searching for something, although neither of them knew what.

  “Very well,” she said as calmly as she could. “Where were you when you realized you were missing this item?”

  He scowled at her. “I don’t know.”

  Where was Tarik? He would know how to help. She debated whether to send Alfred in search of Tarik but didn’t want to alert the entire household and, in doing so, overly agitate Michael.

  Michael held up his hands and looked at them. “My gloves. I’ve been searching for my gloves.”

  Grace blew out a relieved breath. Gloves she could handle. “We will send for Tarik to bring another pair down.”

  “But I had a pair.” He looked at her with tortured eyes, and her heart hurt for him.

  “We’ll simply get another pair. Eventually, the others will show up.”

  Grace summoned Alfred to fetch Tarik and another pair of gloves. While they waited in pained silence, Grace noticed that Michael was without his cane. Was it where his misplaced gloves were? He couldn’t possibly go out without his cane. Oh, dear.

  “I feel a lock of hair falling out of its pins,” she said. “I’ll be right back.” She hurried out of the entryway and into the drawing room, but there were no gloves or cane there. A quick search of the study revealed that the gloves were on top of the mantel and the cane was lying on the floor by the settee. She quickly snatched them up and hurried back to the entryway. “Look what I found,” she said, holding up the items just as Tarik came down with another pair of gloves.

  With his lips pressed together and his face white with either anger or embarrassment, Michael snatched the gloves out of Grace’s hands and put them on.

  When she silently held out the cane, he merely looked at it before carefully taking it from her and heading out the door to the carriage.

  Grace and Tarik exchanged a relieved and yet guarded look. Tarik smiled slightly. “He will have his days,” he said.

  Grace was exhausted before she even entered the carriage, and the worst of the day had not even occurred. For the first time, she saw the extent of his injury, and it was frightening. If it continued like this, everyone would know something was not right with the earl of Blackbourne. She wasn’t certain she could hide this from society. Their mission seemed impossible.

  They were silent on the ride to the church. Michael sat with his eyes closed, and Grace watched him, replaying the scene in her mind of him frantically searching. Though it saddened her to see her once indep
endent husband brought so low, she had to remember that things could be far worse. If she had to spend the rest of her life following him around and handing him the things he misplaced, that was far better than rattling alone in the dower house, miserable with grief.

  The carriage pulled up to the front doors of the church. Townspeople stopped to stare, anxious to get a look at Michael. He took a deep breath and their gazes locked.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Do you want George to turn the carriage around and return home?”

  “No. It must be done sooner than later, and we’re here. They’ve seen us.”

  In a moment George would open the door and their life would become chaotic. These were the last minutes they would have alone before the world descended on them.

  Grace leaned across the expanse separating them and placed a kiss on Michael’s cheek. She drew back to see his surprised look, and she smiled. “I love you,” she said.

  Before Michael could respond, George opened the carriage door and helped Grace exit. She fluffed her skirts so she didn’t have to look at everyone staring at her. Michael exited and offered her his arm with a strained smile. She smiled back, her heart hurting that none of it was real, that it was all a show for the townspeople. Apparently, Michael wanted to give the impression that all was well with the earl and countess. She understood. That had been the plan. Make everything seem normal. Make it seem as if they were happy.

  The front of the church was more crowded than usual as people formed lines on either side of the door, creating a path for Michael and Grace to walk down.

  With her arm looped through Michael’s, she could feel the tension in his muscles, the quivers of anxiety that raced through him. She could also feel the excitement of the crowd. The expectation. She nodded to them as she passed, her lips stretched in what she hoped was a look of happiness, but her feet felt like they were mired in mud, and the walk to the front door seemed never-ending.

  They made their way into the church only to be confronted with the congregation already seated. Everyone turned to watch the earl and countess stop just inside the doors. Grace could have sworn she heard Michael groan, and she wasn’t certain that she didn’t also groan. Their pew was in the front. All the way up the aisle.