Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace

by Regina Jeffers

  Her words stayed with him. A bit later, and totally out of sorts, Gabriel had returned to Fugol Hall. The whole idea of discovering how others saw him had set his nerves on edge, and when the Roses presented him with a list of potential brides, it took all his willpower not to rip it in small pieces and toss it in the fire.

  “Miss Haverty appears the most logical choice. Her stepfather is an earl and her mother can trace her line back to the early Saxons,” Bel said triumphantly as they handed him the list. “This is her second Season so she is not just from the schoolroom.”

  Gabriel glanced at the other names on the list. Suddenly, he felt very old. He did not recognize any of those his aunts had chosen for his wife. For a man still two years short of his thirtieth birthday, should he not still be sowing fresh grass? “Meaning Miss Haverty may not find my lusty advances repugnant?” he said sarcastically.

  Bel sat daintily on the edge of a straight-backed chair. “I have been considering how we might preface the need for an heir with the girl’s mother prior to your proposal.”

  “Should I not, at least, have the pleasure of a proper introduction before I pronounce my plight? It might prove prudent if I could pick my wife from a crowd,” he said tersely.

  “None of us enjoy this situation,” she reprimanded. “Your aunts are simply attempting to smooth the transitions.”

  Gabriel felt a guilty twinge. His aunts had always placed him above their own families, but his irritation won out. The way he viewed it, he was the one making the sacrifice–although if he accepted Deborah Winslow’s opinion, his future wife was the sacrificial lamb.

  Before he could respond, a light knock at the door brought his attention to his butler, Mr. Zachary. “Pardon me, Sir. This just arrived for you.”

  *

  Grace had spent her first three days in London enjoying all the things she would never experience as a governess: She had her first lemon ice at Gunters. Although it had not been during the social hour, she had walked twice in Hyde Park. And she had explored every level of the Royal Academy.

  But this morning, she had read the Society pages and had found Lord Godown’s name among those in attendance at Lord and Lady Robeson’s musicale. It had taken all her willpower to read the entire entry. She was not certain she wanted to know who had accompanied him for the evening. “So, he has come to London to find a wife,” she said as she sipped her morning tea in the one-room bedchamber she had let in a private home. The Gleesons appeared pleased to have the extra funds, and she had even tended the youngest of the Gleeson children twice while Mrs. Gleeson had run her errands. “Lady Hyatt. I wonder if she is pretty? More likely, the lady is beautiful,” she chastised herself. “I am happy to know His Lordship has returned safely to his friends,” she said bravely.

  Then Grace thought of Lord Spectre. “Will His Lordship every be truly safe with Lord Spectre lurking about?” Unconsciously, she shivered. Death’s hand loomed in the near distance. “I vowed if I had the opportunity I would share Lord Spectre’s existence with Lord Godown.”

  Accepting the fact she must do the honest thing, Grace retrieved her sketchbook and began to draw her brother’s companion. She chose the last of the paper Mr. Bradshaw had provided her. She made two renderings–one close appraisal of the man’s countenance and a second showing Lord Spectre dressed as a gentleman. “Dressed thusly, will Lord Godown understand this is the man who attacked him in Scotland?” To be certain, she wrote a quick note, indicating Jonah Wright and Lord Spectre were one and the same.

  Satisfied with her efforts, Grace dressed in her best gown and cloak. She did not expect to see Lord Godown, but if she encountered His Lordship, she did not wish to appear dowdy. Well, more dowdy than necessary. Using a bit of candle wax to convert the drawing into a letter, she placed Lord Godown’s name on the outside. Then she set out for Mayfair.

  The walk had taken longer than Grace had anticipated, and with each step, she had to convince herself this was what she wanted. To warn Lord Godown of possible danger and then disappear from his life. But fools will be fools. And her heart leapt with the appearance of each gentleman to step to the sidewalk. She had dreamed of seeing him again and of Lord Godown’s sweeping her into his arms and declaring his love. “A dream,” she chastised herself as she stood across the busy street staring up at his majestic townhouse.

  Grace had had to stop half dozen strangers to ask for directions, but now she stood mesmerized by the possibilities. Although it was still early, the street had grown crowded, and she wondered if His Lordship stood at one of the many windows staring out at her. “What if he is?” she murmured. “Even if His Lordship wanted you, his title and his position would forbid it. He will never come for you.”

  Swallowing her tears, Grace shifted her shoulders to show her determination. Crossing between two riders and a sporty carriage, she made her way up the front entrance steps of his home and released the knocker.

  Within a minute, a handsomely livered butler opened the door. “Yes, may I be of service, Miss?”

  Grace noted the slight snarl of the man’s nose. Instinctively, she glanced down at her cloak. Its plainness announced her station in life, and this upper servant thought himself above her. Reluctantly, she removed the folded page from her reticule. “My mistress sent Lord Godown a message,” she lied. He certainly would not accept a message for his master from the likes of her.

  “Why did your mistress not send a footman?” the man accused.

  Grace’s eyes dropped in a subservient manner, reminiscent of how she responded to Geoffrey. She shrugged noncommittally. “My mistress does not tell me her secrets.”

  His Lordship’s servant eyed her carefully before extending his hand to accept her message. “Be off with you,” he said gruffly. “If Lord Godown deems a response appropriate, he will send one of his men to your mistress’s home.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Grace said in disappointment. She would have liked a glimpse of Gabriel Crowden, but she had known from the beginning she would not see him again. Turning on her heels, she walked away. Into a cold autumn sun. Across the street and through the park. If she had come all this way, she may as well enjoy the sights of Mayfair.

  *

  “Pardon me, Sir. This just arrived for you.” Mr. Zachary presented a folded letter on a silver salver.

  Gabriel reached for the single page. “Could this not have waited, Mr. Zachary?”

  His butler, a man who had served the previous marquis for as long as Gabriel could recall, did not even flinch when Gabriel’s tone betrayed his exasperation. “I considered it, my Lord, but the young lady who delivered the message caused me to think it important.”

  Gabriel broke the wax seal that held no symbol. “A young lady?”

  “Yes, Sir.” Zachary remained stone faced.

  “Did the young woman have a name?” Bel asked suspiciously.

  “None that she appeared willing to share, Your Grace.” Zachary made his bow to exit.

  Gabriel unfolded the page. Immediately, he knew the woman’s identity. “Mr. Zachary, where did this woman go?”

  “I cannot say, my Lord.” His butler stumbled to a halt. “I suppose toward the park, Sir.”

  Gabriel was on the move. “What did she wear?” he demanded as he rushed toward the main door.

  “Something nondescript, my Lord.” Zachary scurried to keep up with Gabriel.

  A footman pulled the door open just as Gabriel reached it. He spun on his servant. “Tell me something to help identify the woman.”

  “Black cloak. A simple bonnet with black ribbons.” His butler appeared bewildered.

  Gabriel bit back his first retort. Instead, he said, “Does no one else see this woman except me?” He rushed from his home. Sending one footman to the east and the other to the west, Gabriel darted between several riders to race toward the park.

  “Where in the bloody hell is she?” he grumbled as he stood on the rise of one of the rolling hills to survey the area. Turning slowly in a circl
e, Gabriel finally spotted her. At least, he thought it was Grace. A woman in a dark cloak striding purposely toward the tree line. He set off at a run. It did not matter what his neighbors or the park goers thought. All that mattered was he catch up with Grace. That he discover why she had done the unspeakable: Why she had wanted him dead?

  She must have heard his approach because Grace glanced over her shoulder before quickening her pace. Practically running, she rushed toward the safety of the parallel streets.

  Instinctively, Gabriel called to her. “Grace! Miss Nelson, please wait!”

  For a moment, he thought she might comply, but another glance in his direction told Gabriel Grace would make a run for safety.

  Spotting his footman’s return to the area, Gabriel motioned Jasper toward an intersecting path. However, Grace did the unthinkable: She hitched her skirt’s hem and sprinted toward a hedgerow.

  *

  Grace cursed her need to see Gabriel Crowden. Her need to know his nearness, even for the briefest of moments. As she strode toward the parallel streets, she counted her steps. Counted the distance she required to restore the societal chasm between her and Lord Godown. Then she heard him. Knew before turning to look that he was there.

  Although she attempted to leave him behind, his long strides gobbled up the landscape. “Grace! Miss Nelson, please wait!” he called, and for a second–maybe two–she considered actually stopping. Then from her eye’s corner, she observed a stranger. Hiding behind the nearby hedgerow. A stranger with a gun. A gun pointed at the quickly approaching Lord Godown. She thought to turn and wave him away, but Grace knew that action would only spur him forward. Determined to reach her, Lord Godown strode into danger, and she must save him.

  Without considering her choice, Grace rushed forward. Pushing her way into the hedgerow, she made it her mission to prevent the stranger from killing the man she loved. It was a terrible time to realize the full impact of her feelings for Lord Godown, but just the same, she knew full well she loved the man. She jumped into the line of fire, and gun smoke exploded. A puff of gray hung in the air.

  *

  Instinctively, he dived for the ground. The sound of gunfire had sent the park patrons scurrying for cover, but Gabriel simply rolled to his side and came up on all fours.

  “Your Lordship?” Jasper called in concern as the footman reached Gabriel’s side. “My Lord, are you wounded?”

  “I am well,” Gabriel growled, as he stood tall. “Follow the woman,” he ordered as he reached for the small pistol he had purchased to replace the one Miss Nelson had taken from his room in Scotland. “I will trail the man. If you catch her, escort the lady to Fugol Hall and keep her there until I return.”

  *

  The skin along her upper arm burned from the gunshot wound, but Grace did not stop. At first, she had chased after the man who had dared to fire upon Lord Godown, and then she had run as far away from the scene as she could achieve. If the assailant had killed His Lordship, she might be next. Had Lord Spectre somehow followed her to London? And if Lord Godown had escaped harm, he would offer her his protection, and her presence could bring more strife to his doorstep. It would be better if she became “lost” in London until it was time for her to report to her new position. It would be better for His Lordship, but being far away from him would never be good for Grace.

  *

  As Gabriel trailed the man along the side streets and deeper into the seedier side of London, his mind attempted to make sense of what had happened at the park. Miss Nelson had left a drawing for him. A warning or a trap? If a warning, why not simply ask to speak to him? It was not as if they had parted on bad terms. If a trap, it was expertly executed. She would realize such a drawing would set him in motion. Would have him seeking her on the street. Would allow his assailant the opportunity to fire on Gabriel.

  “God, I hate her!” he groaned as he ducked into a storefront to keep from being seen. In this part of London, the fine cut of his coat marked him as an outsider, and he watched his own back, as well as the one of the man he had followed.

  He had decided not to overtake his attacker in hopes that the man would lead him to whoever had arranged the attack. Hiding in the building’s shadows, Gabriel paused to watch the man check the way he had come, before the unbelievable happened. Another stranger. A man stepped from behind a broken wagon tongue. One swimming in garbage and filth. At close range, the second stranger had fired a single bullet into the back of the neck of Gabriel’s assailant. His attacker was dead before he pitched face forward into the debris. “No!” Gabriel screamed, but he was too late.

  *

  He had spent more than an hour explaining to the authorities his role in the stranger’s death. The sound of the gunshot had brought the locals onto the street, and the murderer had escaped into the madness that followed. Gabriel had returned to Fugol Hall with the hope Jasper had been successful. However, his footman had greeted him with “The young lady flagged down a hack before I could overtake her, Sir.”

  Angrier than he could ever remember being, Gabriel forestalled his aunts many questions, before he had reluctantly sent for Shepherd and the Realm. It was time to ask for assistance.

  “Everyone is present,” Kerrington announced as Lord Shannon’s carriage stopped before Fugol Hall. “Shannon will be with us in a moment.” Worthing slid into a chair as Mr. Zachary escorted John Swenton into the room.

  As soon as the door closed behind the baron, Shepherd opened the informal gathering. “We shan’t spend time with the usual niceties. As you are aware, someone attacked Lord Godown upon his return from Scotland. What you may not know is two additional attacks have occurred in the past week. The most recent one earlier today.”

  Gabriel could feel all their gazes fall upon him. Their additional scrutiny did nothing to ease the turmoil he had felt from the moment he had unfolded Miss Nelson’s message.

  As the unofficial leader of the group, Kerrington responded first, “What role do we play in this scenario?” Somehow, it eased the panic encompassing Gabriel’s chest to know his friends did not question the “why” of his situation. Instead, they would focus on finding his enemy.

  With Gabriel’s permission, Shepherd continued to moderate the conversation. “First, we must determine who exactly is involved. Who wants Godown dead?”

  Wellston spoke the obvious, “Jamot?”

  Shepherd shook his head in denial. “None of this business holds Jamot’s mark. I believe this is something more personal.”

  Swenton added, “I would say death was as personal as it comes.”

  Fowler asked, “What do we know for certain?”

  The concern expressed by his friends gave Gabriel the first glimmer of hope he had experienced since waking to find Aunt Bel hovering over him. His friends would assist him in proving Miss Nelson’s guilt or innocence. Over the next few minutes, Gabriel explained how he had trailed his assailant to the Scottish inn and how he had come into possession of the first sketch, how recently the stranger had struck him outside of Minerva’s Parlor Room, and how, today, he had chased the messenger who delivered a second drawing. He avoided Grace’s identity in his retelling until Lowery asked, “Do you personally know the artist?” He handed off both sketches to Marcus Wellston, who studied them carefully.

  Gabriel swallowed hard. It was time to admit his connection to Grace. “As Shepherd’s assistant, I am certain you hold prior knowledge of the answer to that question,” he said tersely. “Actually, we are all familiar with the lady who drew the sketches. It is Viscount Averette’s former governess, Miss Nelson.”

  The silence spoke volumes. Gabriel could almost hear how quickly each of his friends placed the facts to the obvious. “As I said previously, when I arrived at Mr. Bradshaw’s establishment, I could barely stand. Luckily, I met a benevolent angel, who agreed to share my room and tend my injury. That angel came in the form of Miss Nelson. She was returning to England after Lord Averette’s abandonment of his family.”

/>   “Miss Nelson was the one who removed the bullet? The one who tended your fever?” Kerrington clarified.

  Gabriel said evenly, “Without the lady’s tender mercies, I would have died. I actually planned to die. Miss Nelson did not leave my bedside for a week.”

  He realized what he had admitted. Not only did he owe Miss Nelson his gratitude, but Gabriel also owed the woman his name. Even if he had not touched her intimately, they had spent a week together at an inn–sleeping in the same room. Posing as husband and wife.

  “When I awoke after my fever had dissipated,” he explained. “The lady had departed the inn and Scotland. The Roses had arrived with Doctor Thatcher and Mr. Sanders in tow. Worried for my recovery, Miss Nelson had sent word to my estate to inform them of my condition.”

  “Is the lady not a baron’s daughter?” Fowler asked.

  Gabriel said tersely, “I know my duty, Your Grace. From the moment I asked the lady to break all of Society’s rules, I planned to do right by the woman. I thought to ask her to marry me.” He leveled a steady gaze on each man–daring any to say one negative word against Grace, but censure did not come. Only a sense of understanding. Of realizing how much turmoil this situation had created for Gabriel. “As the lady had departed before I could offer her my hand, I thought it best to keep Miss Nelson’s reputation intact by omitting her presence from my tale.”

  All the men nodded their agreements. “How did you come into possession of the drawings?” Lexford inquired.

  “The one in which my attacker wears a sling was found on my bed when Aunt Bel came looking for me. The other, a lady delivered to my door this morning.”

  “Then Miss Nelson sends you some sort of warning,” Baron Swenton summarized.

  Gabriel said matter-of-factly. “Does she? Or did the lady lure me to the park to permit her accomplice to have a clear shot? I assure you the woman has nerves of granite. She barely flinched as she cut into my flesh to tend my injury.”