His Saving Grace

by Sharon Cullen

  Part of that was true. Michael had returned, and they were moving back into the house. But the rest? Well, the rest was a bit muddled. She heard Michael prowling the house at night, could feel his nervous energy, and daily she dealt with the confusion that had become his life. She was constantly searching for misplaced items, on edge that he would get angry when he couldn’t find them.

  Her hope now was that this move, taking over their life and getting back on track, would be the start of something great. A new beginning. Their life would never be what it used to be, but maybe they could make something better, something stronger.

  She walked into the room that had been the bedchamber of every earl before Michael. Tarik was unpacking Michael’s clothes and moving them into the wardrobe while Michael looked out the window.

  “May I speak with you, my lord?” she asked. In the connecting room, the same room where many other countesses had resided, Jenny, her maid, was unpacking her clothes and putting them away.

  Michael turned from the window. She searched for a smile of greeting, but as always, there was none. He smiled rarely and not since their walk in the woods. She kept that memory close to her heart because it was the closest she’d been to Michael since his return and the closest they’d been as the couple they used to be. It was also the first time that he’d approached her for any sort of physical comfort. It was a step in the right direction. A tiny step, but she would take what she could get.

  “Of course, my lady. What can I do for you?”

  She looked at Tarik. “Can I speak to you alone?”

  Michael frowned. “Of course.”

  Tarik quietly slipped out of the room and shut the door behind him.

  Suddenly nervous, Grace clutched her hands in front of her and twisted her fingers.

  “What’s wrong, Grace?”

  “Now that we’re not in the dower house and there are more servants about, we must keep up appearances.”

  “I agree.” His expression was wary, as if he was afraid she was going to ask for something he could not give her. Or maybe was not willing to give her.

  “Tarik sleeping on your floor every night is highly irregular, and the servants will talk. While I understand why he is here, no one else will.”

  “You would like Tarik to have his own room.”

  “Yes,” she said on a relieved breath. “I think it would be best.”

  “I understand and I will tell him when he returns.”

  “Thank you, Michael.” But there was more to her query than keeping up appearances and the fear of the servants taking tales back to the townspeople. Grace was ready to reclaim her husband, and she couldn’t do that if Tarik was sleeping on the floor of his bedchamber.

  —

  Samuel Roberts, the steward of the estate, arrived early the next morning. Grace watched Michael fidget through breakfast, barely touching his food. Since his return, he’d gained a few pounds, and the gauntness in his face wasn’t as pronounced as when he first arrived, but he still had a few more pounds to gain. Grace got the impression that he ate because he had to and not because he wanted to.

  When Alfred announced Roberts’s arrival, Michael placed his napkin on the table and pushed his chair away.

  “Roberts can wait a bit if you’d like to finish your breakfast,” Grace said.

  “I’m not hungry, and we have a long morning ahead of us.”

  Grace watched him in worry as he rounded the table to kiss the top of her head. When they’d reconstructed his letter to Roberts, she’d witnessed Michael’s exhaustion as they worked; his attention had waned and his eyes had grown weary. She feared he was taking on too much too quickly. But what was he supposed to do? He was the earl, newly returned. People expected him to take over his duties forthwith. To wait would have caused questions and raised eyebrows, and Michael didn’t want that.

  “I have my festival committee meeting this afternoon at Mrs. Davison’s house,” she said.

  “Have a good time with your friends,” he said absently.

  She snagged his arm. “Promise me that you’ll take a break for lunch.”

  His brows furrowed, and there was a spark of irritation in his eyes. “Whatever for?”

  “Just promise me.”

  “You worry too much.”

  “Of course I worry. You’re my husband.”

  “I don’t need a mother hen, Grace. I can take care of myself.”

  —

  He shouldn’t have snapped at Grace, but he was irked that she was treating him as a child, and he was nervous about his meeting with Roberts. At one time such meetings had been common and even monotonous. But that was when numbers didn’t swim before his eyes and he could actually remember the topic he was conversing about.

  Roberts was waiting for him in the study with the papers and ledgers spread out. He stood and smiled when Michael walked in. “My lord, it’s good to see you hale and hearty.”

  “Thank you, Roberts. And thank you for delivering the ledgers so I may study them before our meeting,” Michael said as he sat at his desk.

  “Not at all, my lord. I would expect no less. I’ve enjoyed working with you in the past. Your quick mind and willingness to try new things were always refreshing.”

  “Yes. Well.” Bloody hell. And what was he supposed to say to that? My mind isn’t quick anymore? Beware, Roberts, things aren’t what they seem? Instead, he moved on. “Shall we begin?”

  They began by discussing the ledgers—money in and money out. They talked of sheep and crops, of rents and taxes, of irrigation and exportation and so many other things. At one time Michael had been adept at juggling it all effortlessly. He and Roberts had always had the same vision for the estate, and they got along well. But now his mind was taxed and his thoughts were scattered.

  He had known this would be a difficult meeting, but he hadn’t realized how difficult. It was disheartening to realize that his lapses of memory were far worse than he had originally thought. Conversing with only Tarik day after day and then holing up in the house with just Grace and a few servants had given him a false sense of security.

  “So what you’re saying is that Nigel raised the rents?” He was confused and felt he was missing part of the conversation that would make it all clear to him. On top of that, his head was beginning to ache.

  Roberts hesitated. “Yes, my lord. As we discussed, he had claimed to raise the rents so he could improve the land for grazing and such, but he never got around to it.”

  As we discussed. So they had already discussed this? Bloody, bloody hell.

  “Never got around to it or conveniently forgot?” Just keep going. Push through. Fake it if you have to. Don’t let him see that you’re agitated or confused.

  Roberts refused to meet Michael’s eyes. “I can’t rightly say, my lord. The former earl and I did not meet frequently, and when we did, we did not agree on certain aspects of running the estate.”

  “I seem to remember, the last we spoke before I left for the Crimea, that we were going to diversify.” It wasn’t odd for Michael to remember the tiniest details from months, even years, before his injury, and he clearly remembered the endless discussions he and Samuel had about diversifying. It was a monumental decision that needed the approval of William. To Michael’s surprise, William had agreed. “Was that done?” he asked.

  “No, my lord. The former earl did not feel the need.”

  “Of course not.” Michael sighed. “I may have been gone for a year, and I have not been fully apprised of all that has happened in my absence, but I still believe that the future lies less in agriculture and more in industry.” It was the wave of the future, and he knew Roberts agreed with him. Agriculture was dying, replaced by industry, and those estates that did not keep up with the changing times would soon find themselves in financial straits. Michael had not wanted to see that happen to Blackbourne Manor before he left for war, and now that he was earl, he did not want to be the one responsible for losing the family seat that had
been in the Ashworth family for centuries.

  “I completely agree, my lord. I still have my notes from our meeting over a year ago. Would you like to go over them?”

  Michael rubbed his aching head. What he wanted was to lock himself in a quiet room so his mind could settle. “We will leave that for our next meeting. Tell me, what did Nigel do regarding the rents?” They had a few long-standing tenants for whom Michael felt a deep responsibility.

  Roberts hesitated a long moment, his brow furrowed. “We’ve discussed the rents, my lord. Twice now.”

  Michael stared at Roberts. He had no recollection of discussing rents, but he remembered that he’d wanted to ask Roberts about numbers in the ledger that indicated rents had been raised. “We have?” he asked.

  Roberts appeared ill at ease. He shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, and tapped his papers together. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Ah.” Michael stared at the numbers in the ledger. He had no idea what had been discussed. Had Nigel raised the rents? If so, why? “Lower them,” he said, hoping he was making the right decision. Nigel hadn’t already lowered them, had he? The estate relied on them enough that he couldn’t afford to lower them too much. But what if Nigel already had? Had Michael made the right decision?

  “Yes, my lord.”

  Michael stood, too agitated to sit, his head pounding so hard that he was having difficulty seeing. “I apologize, Roberts. It’s coming on teatime, and I fear hunger is getting the best of me. Perhaps we can finish this tomorrow?”

  “Certainly.” Roberts stood and began gathering his papers.

  “You can leave them. I would like to go over them again before tomorrow.”

  “Of course.” Roberts bowed his way out of the room, and Michael had the impression that the man was beating a hasty retreat, taking his confusion with him. How many times had Michael asked about the rent? Twice? Thrice? Had they been raised or lowered?

  Damnation. He rubbed his aching head and closed his eyes. The quiet was such an enormous relief. He dropped back in his chair and kept his eyes closed. He sat there, listening to his own breathing, letting his thoughts float away. But the uncertainty remained. He knew Roberts was aware that something was not quite right with the new earl of Blackbourne.

  Chapter Twelve

  Before leaving for her festival committee meeting, Grace pressed her ear to the study door. It was unseemly, to be sure, but there weren’t servants around to witness it. She hoped.

  It was probably a good thing she had her meeting, else she would pace and fret, and Michael had made it clear that he didn’t want her worrying about him. He also had made it clear that he wasn’t stopping for lunch. The insufferable man.

  There wasn’t anything to hear on the other side of the door other than the low rumble of men’s voices. That was good, wasn’t it? She would take that as a good sign. And so she left to attend her meeting.

  Of course the talk was of Michael’s return. What a different meeting this was from the last. Clara was not there to stir up trouble, and Violet seemed inordinately happy that Grace was no longer betrothed to Sir Timmons. Silently, Grace wished the girl well and hoped that Sir Timmons would eventually see what was right in front of him. She hadn’t seen Clayton since the awful confrontation in the drawing room of the dower house, but she had thought of him often and wondered how he was doing and if he was still angry.

  “And how are you faring, my lady?” Prudence asked.

  Grace smiled, although it took effort to constantly pretend everything was well. “Very well, thank you.” Inside, she was a jumble of raw emotions, anxiety being the prevalent one. She worried about everything these days. How Michael’s meeting was going with Roberts. How he was going to run the earldom if he couldn’t write a simple letter. How in the world they were going to hide his condition from society when it was obvious there was something wrong.

  It seemed that lately, she walked around with a constant ball of dread in her stomach. She found herself watching Michael closely, wondering what she would discover of her husband next. But to the outside world, she needed to put a smile on her face and pretend that everything was well indeed. Thank you very much.

  Only Sara seemed to suspect that not all was as it seemed, for she kept shooting Grace curious looks.

  “You must have been so excited when you discovered his lordship was alive,” Violet said with a dreamy look.

  Oh, dear. The girl positively had stars in her eyes. It seemed she thought Grace and Michael’s story very romantic. Or maybe the stars were for Sir Timmons, back on her list of potential husbands.

  “Excited. Yes,” Grace said. “It was a bit of a surprise.”

  “Did you swoon?” Violet asked, her hand on her heart.

  Her mother shushed her, but Grace smiled. “No, not quite. I believe I was too shocked to swoon.”

  Margaret, the reverend’s wife, leaned forward. “Did he simply walk up to the door? How did it happen?”

  Grace drew in a deep breath. She had not anticipated all of these questions. “He arrived in a carriage, and yes, he simply walked up to the door.”

  “Oh.” Violet’s hand moved from her heart to her mouth. Did Grace detect tears in the girl’s eyes?

  “While we all want to hear his lord and her lady’s story,” Sara said, “we should begin the meeting. We have much to discuss.”

  The women settled back, some looking disgruntled that they’d been deprived of a juicy bit of gossip. Grace was thankful. She wasn’t certain how long she would be able to keep up with the inquisition and make it sound romantic and glorious, like these women expected.

  “Now that her ladyship is back at the big house, we can hold the annual picnic on the manor’s grounds,” Prudence said, full of excitement.

  Grace wanted to groan, while the other ladies exclaimed what a great idea that was. In the past, Blackbourne Manor always hosted the last day of the festival. The earl and countess would provide a picnic, along with games to play throughout the day. Last year, Nigel and Clara had not hosted the picnic, and the townspeople had not been happy.

  Grace couldn’t say no in the face of their excitement. But remembering Michael’s behavior at church, she wasn’t sure how he would react to hosting this event. It seemed that they were caught in a large snowball careening downhill at a speed that took her breath away. Nothing was in her control, and that only added to her anxiety.

  After the meeting, Sara met up with Grace outside the house and fell into step beside her. Her constant bodyguard followed at a discreet distance. “Do you have time for tea?”

  “We just had tea at the meeting.”

  “Do you need to go home right away?”

  Grace thought about Michael and his meeting with Roberts. She desperately wanted to know how it was going, but those two would likely be locked in the study still, discussing sheep and tenants. Grace looked at the watch attached to her brooch. She had a little time left. “Not right away,” she said.

  Sara wound her arm through Grace’s and propelled her toward town. “Lovely. Let’s have tea at Victoria’s Tearoom.”

  “How do you do it?” Grace asked, tilting her head to indicate the bodyguard. “Having a bodyguard follow you everywhere?”

  “I’m used to it, and it makes my father worry less. It’s no different from your footman following you.” Sara’s father had gone into almost total seclusion since the death of his oldest daughter, Meredith.

  They entered the teahouse, ordered their tea and biscuits, and took their seats. After their tea was brought, Sara took a sip and pointedly looked at Grace. “Now tell me how things really are.”

  Grace’s hands shook as she put her teacup down without taking a sip. “Things are well.”

  “No. They’re not. I know you, Grace. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

  Grace looked around the teahouse. Since it wasn’t teatime, the place was nearly empty; the closest person was by the windows, a few tables away, and he was reading a book.


  “I can’t…” Grace cleared her throat. “I can’t betray Michael’s confidence, Sara.”

  “I would never ask you to do such a thing.” Sara paused and considered Grace. “Who is taking care of you?”

  “I don’t need taking care of.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Grace glanced away and took a fortifying breath. Beneath the table, her hands were clenched. “Michael was gone a long time. We have to relearn how to live together.”

  “What happened to him while he was away?”

  Grace pressed her lips together.

  “I would never betray your trust, Grace.” Sara leaned forward and put her gloved hand on Grace’s arm. “But I feel that you need someone to talk to.” She sat back. “Only a close friend can say that you look awful.”

  Grace let out a surprised laugh. “Should I be offended or pleased with that observation?”

  “You put on a good show. I don’t believe that anyone but I can see it. You’ve lost weight. You’re pale, and your smile is strained.”

  Good breeding didn’t allow Grace to slump in her chair, though she wanted to. She hadn’t realized how heavy the weight was on her shoulders or how much she was holding everything in.

  The need to tell Sara everything was so great. She desperately wanted to discuss the situation with someone. Sara wouldn’t go telling tales or spreading gossip.

  “He was injured,” Grace began haltingly, still not convinced she was doing the right thing and feeling like she was betraying Michael in some horrible fashion. She fluttered her fingers in the air. “His head…was…hurt. He didn’t return for so long because he couldn’t. There were repercussions from the injury. He’s very forgetful. He has headaches.” The words were inadequate to describe what Michael was like and what their lives were like.

  Sara watched her solemnly, not offering condolences or false words of wisdom or hope. She simply waited for Grace to continue, and now that the words had started, they were impossible to stop.

  “He’s different. We used to…” Grace cleared her throat and smoothed the tablecloth. “It’s like the caring part of him is missing. He’s back. We’re living together. But it’s as if he’s only going through the motions because he’s expected to. I can’t seem to break through the wall that’s separating us, and the worst part is that I’m not certain the wall is due to his injury. I think he put it there on purpose.”