“You are fortunate,” Mercy said after Grace had announced she would be departing soon. “You shall escape again.” They gathered autumn flowers for the drawing rooms’ arrangements.
Grace said testily, “It is not much of an escape to be at another’s beck and call.”
Mercy sat heavily on a stone bench. “I cannot stay here,” she confessed. She took Grace’s hand and tugged her older sister down beside her. “I do not mean to sound resentful. Truly I do not. Yet, I cannot help but to feel your desertion. I wish you could stay always, or we could go away together.” Tears misted Mercy’s eyes. “Sometimes I fear for my life.”
“Geoffrey will not hurt you,” Grace assured. Although Mercy had described several of their brother’s escapades, Grace had not witnessed their brother doing anything more than drinking too heavily and playing cards with several of the locals until late into the evening.
Mercy pointedly turned from Grace. “You doubt me.” She stood and walked away several steps. “It is pure debauchery, Grace,” she declared. “And often Geoffrey is so deep in his cups he recalls nothing of what his companions do to the house. Often we wake to find another of papa’s treasures ripped from the walls. If his friends can rob us blind while Geoffrey sleeps away his indulgences, how would he protect any of us from the worst of the mischief practiced in this house?”
Grace’s heart lurched with guilt. “I do not know what I can do to save you,” she confessed. “Even if I could send for you or if you found a position of your own, I doubt Geoffrey would permit you to leave.”
“Certainly not. I am worth a tidy settlement with Sir Lesley. Sometimes, I believe that fact is the only thing that protects me from Geoffrey’s companions. Our brother requires Sir Lesley’s agreement to repay his debts, and, obviously, Sir Lesley is paying for my innocence,” Mercy said with the earnestness that peppered much of her sister’s speech. Grace cursed her father for his foolishness. His decision to ride break neck in a Society hunt had sent Grace into a life of perpetual spinsterhood and had robbed Mercy of the “wonder” that had once marked the girl.
“We shall find a means,” Grace said softly.
Mercy responded defiantly, “I shall not be a pawn in Geoffrey’s games. When the best life has to offer me is Sir Lesley Trent, then I reject life’s plan. I shall make my own way. If that day comes, Grace, I shall find a means to contact you, but you must promise never to divulge my whereabouts to Geoffrey.”
“I promise.”
“Excuse me, Miss Mercy,” a footman had appeared framed by the arbor. “Sir Lesley has arrived, and Baron Nelson says you are to entertain him.”
Grace noted Mercy’s determination falter, but her sister said, “My sister and I shall attend Sir Lesley in the garden.”
“Yes, Miss.”
To Grace, Mercy confided, “As Geoffrey wishes, I shall entertain Sir Lesley for now, but I shall never be the baronet’s bride.”
*
From the top of a rise, he watched her through the spyglass. Gabriel had hidden Balder behind a cluster of trees and had scaled the lower branches of a sturdy chestnut to secure a better view of the house. It was small, but had real potential; however, the manor house and grounds had, obviously, seen better days. When he had climbed onto his perch, Gabriel had not expected to actually see her, but shortly after his arrival, Grace and a younger woman had exited the patio doors and began to gather late blooms from the garden.
Although he felt absolutely foolish for spying on Grace from the branches of a tree, Gabriel was quite content to look upon her. It had been some three weeks since he had laid eyes upon her, and if he had permitted himself to acknowledge the loneliness he had felt, Gabriel would have realized how desperate he had been to see her. Without the hair pomade and with a softer style, he enjoyed the way the golden wisps framed her face. Her hair was lighter than what he first thought., but it still contained those reddish brown strands. He could see her countenance magnified by the glass, and he marveled at the creamy texture, with a hint of sun kissed cheeks. She stared off in his direction, as if she looked directly into his eyes, and Gabriel felt his groin thicken.
She and the girl abandoned their tasks and set together in an arbor. Their discussion appeared intense, and he wished he could protect Grace from anything unkind. Although she had rejected him by leaving before he could speak his piece, Gabriel still owed her a debt of gratefulness. Without her care, he would have died.
He sat back against the tree’s trunk to watch Grace more closely. The other female was quite attractive, but she was of no interest to him. Obviously, he had known women who possessed more comely features than Miss Nelson, but none who had held his attention. “You were from your head with fever,” he had chastised himself every time her image invaded his thoughts. “But it had taken only one look,” he corrected. One look into her countenance. In the middle of a busy inn yard. He had touched Grace’s lips with his thumb while he assessed her truthfulness, and Gabriel had believed he had seen into her soul. He had come to believe he knew her better than he did anyone else. In that moment, they had shared their loneliness and their desires.
A servant appeared, but the ladies did not retire. A few minutes later, a rotund, elderly gentleman made his bow. “Sir Lesley?” Gabriel wondered aloud. “God, I hope not. Grace deserves better than a settled marriage.” He felt even more awkward than he had previously. Obviously, in this matter, he had acted like a lovesick schoolboy. A fact which rubbed against his normally reticent nature. He had once had a friend at university who would walk up and down the street outside the London townhouse of Lady Joanna Saxby. So besotted with the girl, the fellow wore out several pairs of boots with his determination to be near Lady Joanna. Gabriel felt nearly as foolish as had that school chum when the lad learned Lady Joanna had been betrothed at birth to another. Now, as Gabriel looked upon the man who could claim Grace, Gabriel realized how much he despised the idea. He would like to storm the gardens and ride off with Grace Nelson.
Yet, the man gave Grace only a perfunctory greeting. The stranger’s attention fell upon the girl. “Interesting,” Gabriel noted. “Perhaps, Mr. Sanders erred in his investigation.” Gabriel looked closer at the other female. Through the glass, he saw nothing of a familiar look about the young woman other than her eyes. In that manner, she resembled Grace. “A relative?” he continued to analyze aloud what he observed.
Grace stepped behind the couple as if her role was to serve as a chaperone. Some part of Gabriel breathed easier, but another part wished to throttle the man for not seeing Grace as the superior choice. “What a total bumbler you are,” he chastised as he took one last look at her. “You cannot have her, so wish Grace Nelson well,” he told himself. He slowly lowered the glass. “You told yourself you simply wished to know for certain she had returned to her home, and she was content.” Placing the cylinder in the hook on his inside jacket pocket, Gabriel began to climb down from the tree. “Go on with your life. Grace Nelson is not for you.”
*
Grace had taken no more than a half dozen steps before her brother appeared on the patio to greet Sir Lesley. Over the past few weeks, she had observed Geoffrey repeatedly fawning over the baronet. Her brother must truly be short of funds if he courted a man he had once called a “lecherous simpleton.”
“Ah, Sir Lesley,” Geoffrey called as he joined the baronet and Mercy some ten feet separate from where Grace stood. “What a glorious day for a walk in the gardens.” Geoffrey offered the obligatory bow.
Grace watched closely. She had attempted to reason with her brother regarding Sir Lesley’s pursuit of Mercy. The man was nearing his fiftieth birthday, and Sir Lesley’s health had to be in question. If Mercy went through with the arrangement, her sister would likely be saddled with the man’s children from the baronet’s second marriage. And where would Mercy find herself then? The baronet’s eldest son, Mathias Trent, would not likely welcome his father’s third wife and his half brothers and sisters when he accepted his
tenure as the baronet. Yet, despite the multitude of reasons Grace had presented, Geoffrey had refused to change his mind.
Lost in her thoughts, it had taken Grace a moment to realize Geoffrey introduced his companion to Sir Lesley. As her brother stepped to the side, her vision line cleared, and Grace looked upon the countenance of a man she had last seen a month prior at Mr. Bradshaw’s inn. The place where she had left her heart.
“And this is my eldest sister,” Geoffrey was saying as she schooled her reaction.
“Miss Nelson,” the man bowed. “It is a pleasure to have your acquaintance.”
What should she do? The man’s countenance was the one she had sketched as she hid from sight behind the room’s draperies. Did he recognize her? And what connection did the stranger, known to her as Jonah Wright, have to Geoffrey? Stumbling through the words, she said, “Please accept…accept my apology, Sir. With the distance…I did not catch your name.” She offered a belated curtsy.
The man’s lips twitched in amusement. “I have been called many names, Miss Nelson, but my intimates call me Lord Spectre.”
Although she had not offered it, the man reached for her hand and brought the back of it to his lips. Grace swallowed the dread that coursed through her veins. The stranger upon whom she had spied outside Lord Godown’s quarters was certainly not a gentleman, but Lord Spectre spoke with a cultured tongue and a slight accent, and although a bit presumptuous, his manners were acceptable. “I fear my brother has not previously acknowledged the acquaintance, my Lord. You must forgive my awkward greeting.”
Lord Spectre had not released her hand. Gently, he tugged on it to coax Grace to his side. He placed her hand on his arm. Grace’s memory flashed with the nod of familiarity exchanged between Lord Spectre and Geoffrey at the inn and the urgency she had felt to protect Lord Godown. Reluctantly, she permitted his forwardness. “Yet, I feel a more long standing association, Miss Nelson. As if we have been nodding acquaintances.” He set a course along one of the adjoining paths. Grace glanced to her sister and Sir Lesley to encourage them to follow. “Your brother tells me you have been living in Scotland for the past six years. Do you not find the land dangerous? Uncivilized?”
Grace swallowed hard before responding. She meant to control the panic streaming through her veins. Was the man offering her a warning? Or was Lord Spectre looking for information on Lord Godown? Did he know she had posed as Gabriel Crowden’s marquise? “On the contrary, my Lord. Scotland is an ancient land that reflects all that is beautiful in the world.”
“Really?” he said as if he had not anticipated her response, but Grace had noted how his lips mockingly turned up at the corners. “I must make a holiday in our sister nation. Based on your glowing recommendation, I fear I have slighted my education in not doing so.”
Grace pressed for information. If she ever met Lord Godown or any of his close companions again, she would share what little she had learned. “You have never visited Scotland, my Lord?”
“Upon occasion, I have accidentally strayed across the border; yet, I have never partaken of Scottish hospitality. Perhaps,” he paused for emphasis, “I might persuade you to serve as my guide.” He tugged her closer.
Grace bit the inside of her jaw to hide her revulsion. “As I served in an English viscount’s household, my Lord, I am far from being a Scottish expert. Above and beyond, as a governess, I have no standing in society.” Before he could say more, Grace pulled her hand from where it rested on his arm and made a quick curtsy. “If you will excuse me, my Lord, I have duties within the household.” She scurried away, leaving Mercy to her own devices.
Heart racing, she rushed through the passageways to reach the relative safety of her quarters. Lord Spectre’s presence would mean she should leave Foresthill before the fortnight transpired, but where could she stay while she waited to begin her new position? As she collapsed across her bed, Grace knew the kind of fear Mercy had described earlier when her sister had said, “Sometimes I fear for my life.”
“Evidently, Geoffrey has some sort of connection to the attack on Lord Godown, but how could my brother profit from His Lordship’s demise?” she questioned the room’s stillness. For Grace knew absolutely Geoffrey would only act if it benefited him.
*
Like the fool he had become since that fateful day he had encountered Grace Nelson at a Scottish coaching inn, as soon as his feet hit the ground, Gabriel turned his head for one last glimpse of the lady. Later, he would wish he had left well enough alone. That he had kept his memories of Grace Nelson unsoiled. But he had not acted wisely. He looked to her for his sanity. For his completion. And he lost it all.
Two men had joined the trio, and, instinctively, Gabriel reached for the glass once more. His curiosity where Miss Nelson was concerned overruled his reason. The first gentleman held similar features to Miss Nelson. To his Grace. And she was his. He had marked her as his own. The chestnut hair. The high cheekbones. Features Gabriel admired in Miss Nelson took on a soft femininity in the man. Her defiant chin appeared weak on the man who bowed low to the blonde’s elderly suitor. A familial connection, Gabriel thought. A brother, perhaps. Or a cousin.
Then her family stepped aside, and Gabriel’s world tilted. There had to be some mistake. Gabriel pulled the glass from his eye and wiped the lens with a handkerchief. But that action had only confirmed his first assumption. As he held his breath, Gabriel watched with morbid fascination as the man he immediately recognized as his assailant–the man who had nearly killed him–the man from Grace’s sketch–brought Grace’s hand to his lips before drawing her to his side.
“It cannot be,” Gabriel’s denial came immediately. Yet, his eyes knew otherwise. Dressed as a fine gentleman, Gabriel’s attacker poured his attention on Miss Nelson. Had Grace drawn a rendering of her amour? “Did I not once question whether the lady spoke to someone besides Mr. Bradshaw while I lay helpless on the other side of the screen?” Gabriel mulled aloud as he closed the glass and strode purposely toward where Balder waited for him. “I hate mysteries,” he grumbled as he mounted and turned Balder away from the offending image.
Yet, even the miles did nothing to ease Gabriel’s heart. He had placed his complete trust in a woman, and once again, he had been betrayed. A hole opened in his chest, and all the anguish–all the disappointment he had known–all the misery of failing his family–rushed in to fill the space.
Racing from the scene of yet another’s deception, Gabriel rode like a mad man until he realized how he punished his mount. Pulling up gently on the reins, he brought Balder to a halt. “My apologies, Old Boy,” he said as he patted the horse’s neck. “You deserve better.” Gabriel involuntarily glanced in the direction he had come. “And so do I.”
Chapter Nine
As he had made his way to Gossling Hill, Gabriel reluctantly came to the conclusion he must involve both Shepherd and the Realm in this latest development. He would have to explain to his governmental contact why he had kept information regarding Grace Nelson from the unit, and that particular fact irritated him more than he could say. With the stinging pain that struck his heart every time he thought of the lady’s duplicity, Gabriel did not want to speak to anyone of his Grace. Despite his anger at being made a fool, late into the night, he had stared at the candle’s flame as a draft had caused it to bend and dance to a silent tune, and he had decided to keep the memories of his Grace separate from those of the woman who had flayed his trust open for the world’s scorn.
He would prefer simply to forget the woman existed, but there was the distinct possibility Miss Nelson knew too much about him and his fellow Realm members. In fact, they had inadvertently introduced her to their country’s monarch. Grace Nelson had used her disguise as a simple governess well. She was invisible–the perfect cover for a spy.
“You are deep in thought,” his Aunt Bel’s voice invaded Gabriel’s musings. Arriving on Tuesday, Lía and Lyn would follow them to London. Bel had agreed to accompany Gabriel to Town to assi
st him in opening the townhouse. Often when he came to London, he would make himself comfortable in a suite of rooms at a hotel or temporary rooms in a bachelor’s establishment. If worst came to worst, he could take rooms at his club, but the Roses had insisted a gentleman, who was seriously considering marriage, should be known by his address. The townhouse would play an essential part in his eventual courtship.
“Just estate matters,” he lied as he unwillingly withdrew his eyes from the passing countryside. He placed a smile to his lips. “I do not know whether I properly thanked you for uprooting your schedule to serve as my hostess at Fugol Hall.”
Bel’s frown lines deepened. “I shall bank your gratitude until I do something horrendous and am in need of forgiveness,” she said evenly. “However, you did not answer my question, Gabriel,” Bel accused.
He smiled easily. His father’s oldest sister was a magnificent woman. If he were able to find someone with Bel’s spirit, God would have given him a second chance at life. “What question would that be?” he said with a smirk.
“The silent one following my comment regarding your musings,” she said with a snit. “Do not play your games with me, Godown. I am the one who taught you the fine art of verbal swordplay.”
He reached across to pat the back of her gloved hand. “That you did, my Dear.”
“Then we shall begin again.” Pause. “Speak to me of what troubles you so.”
The smile faded quickly. “There is nothing to tell. I had dealings with someone who earned my trust, but I erred in my judgment.”
Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace Page 13