Grace stared at her husband nervously. “What’s happened Nicholas?” she asked in a whisper, the sick feeling turning the punch she’d consumed earlier to acid in her stomach.
For a few seconds she feared he would not respond at all. Then she truly wished he hadn’t as the Duke of Blackmore opened his eyes and silently raked his wife with a look of undiluted contempt.
Chapter Eighteen
Grace woke to the sound of her maid bustling about her bedchamber. For a few seconds she wondered why her eyes felt swollen and sore, then it all came crashing back.
The ball, their ignominious departure and worst of all, her husband’s glacial expression as he’d tersely informed her they would talk on the morrow, before turning on his heels and disappearing into his study without even bidding her good night.
She’d laid in her bed the tears pouring unchecked down her cheeks for what seemed like hours.
Her deepest fear had come to pass. And now as a result, her husband despised her. In the darkest hours before dawn, she’d heard his desperate cries as the nightmares gripped him, but now more than ever he would not accept her comfort. She didn’t think he would accept anything from her ever again.
Wearily Grace climbed out of bed, finally dismissing Dorcas who, unaware of her mistress’s despair, was prattling merrily on about last night’s ball. The maid had dropped a puzzled curtsy and exited the room with a murmured, “Yes your grace.”
Donning her clothes with difficulty, Grace couldn’t help but wonder when it had become such a struggle to dress herself. After all, it was a task she’d undertaken without thought for over twenty years. She grimaced at her slightly dishevelled image in the mirror. Mayhap she’d have to get used to it all over again. After all, this was how she’d always looked until her husband had elevated her to a duchess.
How ridiculous that sounded now.
Fighting back yet more tears, Grace opened her bedchamber door and headed downstairs. The thought of breakfast made her feel ill, but she knew she needed to eat something. Out of habit she glanced at the silver tray in the entrance hall. As always, it was empty. How foolish she’d been to hope it would be full of calling cards.
She had no friends in London. Nor through her own stupidity would she ever. Not now.
Forcing down some toast, Grace wondered where Nicholas was. She did not dare approach him. She would simply have to wait until he called for her. Her stomach was in knots and the toasted bread tasted like sawdust.
“You have a visitor your grace.” She turned to Bailey in surprise. “I have placed Miss Beaumont in the small drawing room,” he continued with a slight bend of his head, “and hope it pleases your grace, but I’ve taken the liberty of ordering some tea.”
Grace jumped hurriedly to her feet. “Yes, yes… of course Bailey, thank you.”
Felicity was here. Grace hoped it wasn’t simply to berate her, or worse, to gloat. But revelling in another’s misfortunes was something Felicity Beaumont had never been wont to do. Perhaps she was here to request payment for her services. If that were the case, she would need to speak to the Duke.
Opening the drawing room door, Grace hesitantly walked in, spying her companion standing by the window gazing sombrely out over the square. At her charge’s entrance, she turned and composed her face into a welcoming smile.
“They will forget eventually.” The words were blunt but nevertheless edged with a calm compassion which had Grace swallowing convulsively lest she disgrace herself again.
“I… I… I am not entirely sure what words were spoken last night after our departure, but I am well able to hazard a guess.” Taking a deep breath, Grace shook her head. “I am not concerned with my own disgrace, but that of my husband. He does not deserve the ridicule of his peers."
Felicity Beaumont seated herself before responding. “I am quite sure he will weather the storm my dear, he is a duke after all. Unfortunately, you are simply a vicar’s daughter so will not fare so well.”
Grace squeezed her eyes shut in shame. “What exactly were they saying?” she whispered after a few seconds.
“Oh, much about frolicking around in hay bales and embarrassing your father to such an extent, he attempted to abduct you to prevent you bringing further shame to the Blackmore name.” Felicity waved her hand nonchalantly in the air as if the gossip were of no import.
“Dear Lord,” Grace murmured faintly. She subsided onto the sofa, just as Mrs Jenks brought in the tea. Once they were alone again, she poured with a shaking hand and only just managed to avoid spilling the liquid all over her mentor’s morning dress.
“My husband will never forgive me.” Grace stifled a sob as she attempted a sip of the lukewarm tea. “I care not about society, but rather the embarrassment I’ve undoubtedly brought to the Sinclair name. All through my own stubbornness and stupidity.”
“I doubt that very much,” responded Felicity with a snort. “I dare say you had due provocation to act as you did.” She replaced her cup decisively on the occasional table in front of her. “Before you throw yourself on the altar of martyrdom my dear, consider this. Sinclair had a reputation for, well, to put it bluntly, being a brooding ill-tempered bore. Now, he has a beautiful wife who is admittedly leading him a merry dance and he will be all the more popular for it.”
Rising from her chair, she slid on her gloves before continuing briskly. “You looked magnificent last night my dear. Never forget that. The ton will never forget it either.”
∞∞∞
Standing at the window of his study Nicholas stared distractedly at the early autumn leaves drifting across the square while he waited for his wife to answer his summons. He’d put off speaking with her until now, not sure he could trust himself to hold a civil conversation. The overwhelming hurt and betrayal he’d felt when he’d walked into the ballroom to discover that the antics of his wife had become the latest juicy on-dit on the vicious tongues of the ton churned a path in his gut that made him want to run somebody through.
Preferably his father in law.
But his torment didn’t come from the fact Grace had taken part in activities she knew would embarrass him. It was the reason she had sought to do so.
His wife had hoped he would put her aside.
Nicholas closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, forcing back the anguish he’d felt ever since he discovered the lengths Grace was prepared to go to be free of him. Well now she would have her wish.
He turned away at the sound of the door opening, his heart catching in his throat at the sight of his wife looking so broken and lost. He noted her eyes were red rimmed and puffy, her hair and dress back to the simple style she’d favoured at the start of their marriage. It seemed she had already put aside the trappings of a duchess. Perhaps she was not as heartbroken as she looked. There was no doubt in Nicholas’ mind that this had been her intent all along.
“I understand you wish to speak with me,” she murmured, her eyes downcast. Nicholas marvelled at her show of humility, reluctantly recalling the banter they’d shared regarding her persistent observation of the flooring at Blackmore. He waited until she looked up, then nodded curtly towards the chair in the front of his desk, a silent demand for her to sit down.
“I will not waste time discussing possible repercussions of your activities since your exploits have made it abundantly clear that you do not wish for us to reside in the same house as man and wife.” His voice was icy, his expression carefully blank.
“I do not wish that,” Grace protested softly, her heart sinking at his glacial tone.
Nicholas was silent for a second, then continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “We will depart for Devonshire first thing in the morning. There is a cottage on the Blackmore Estate which is suitably distant from the main house to ensure we are unlikely to encounter one another. You will remain there until such time as it becomes apparent whether or not you are with child. Should our… endeavours prove to have been fruitful, you will stay until the child is born.” His lips
twisted in a mirthless smile. “Beyond that, I do not care what you do. You may remain in the house or leave as you wish.”
“You would take my child away from me?” Grace burst out in horror.
“The child will be my heir,” he said between his teeth, “The future Duke of Blackmore will not be brought up without his father.”
“What if it’s a girl,” Grace countered desperately, “Don’t you want a son?”
Nicholas stared at her, his face twisted with a mixture of grief and loathing. “I had a son,” he bit out finally. “He died.”
Grace’s retort died on her lips as she gazed at her husband’s beautiful haunted face.
“The boy who lost his legs. He was your son?” Her whisper was full of compassion, understanding finally shining in her eyes.
“If he were alive now,” Nicholas ground out, his voice raw with anguish, “You may rest assured madam we would never have been married.”
Without another word, he turned on his heels and walked out, as if he couldn’t bear to stay in the room with her for another second.
Thankfully Grace’s intolerable grief gradually turned into tolerable numbness. She insisted on packing her own clothes, much to the dismay of Dorcas who was practically in tears before her mistress finally lost her temper and shooed the young woman out. The last thing Grace needed was a fight with her maid over what was right and proper, especially as she was choosing to leave the majority of her new wardrobe behind. She would have little use for it in Devonshire. She hoped Dorcas would be able to find another position. Unfortunately, a letter of recommendation from the scandalous Duchess of Blackmore would do little to help.
Biting her lip, Grace finally sealed her portmanteau. She had eschewed dinner for a light supper in her bedchamber but had eaten none of it. Her stomach felt as if it contained a large rock, rendering her totally unable to swallow.
She glanced around the gloomy room remembering the ideas for its transformation she’d shyly imparted to Nicholas in the warm aftermath of their lovemaking. He’d approved all her plans without any hesitation, holding her close in his arms until he deemed it time for him to return to his own chamber. More than once she’d had to bite her lip to refrain from begging him to stay.
She realised now how much her husband had indulged her. The cruel man from earlier bore no resemblance to him at all.
Wearily she climbed into her bed. They were departing London early on the morrow, but she very much doubted she would oversleep. Indeed, she knew she would be lucky if she closed her eyes at all.
∞∞∞
Reverend Shackleford failed to recall a time when his life had been this terrible, and he couldn’t help but question the Almighty’s treatment of so loyal a servant.
He may well have made a complete cake of everything, but he’d done it with the best possible motives. Wincing, he remembered the old adage Hell is paved with good intentions. He had no doubt that Percy would be including the proverb in his upcoming sermon.
Sighing, the Reverend sipped on his glass of port. His meals had become a solitary affair with only Freddy for company. He’d been taking them in his study since Agnes had refused to speak to him after her fit of the vapours three days ago. She was now in a high dudgeon having taken to her bed with only her salts for company.
The rest of the household were tiptoeing around and speaking in whispers. It was as if someone had turned over the deuced perch, and for the second time in his long, occasionally less than illustrious interval on this mortal coil, Reverend Shackleford was truly flummoxed.
So far, he’d received no word from the Duke of Blackmore and no indication whether the news of his daughter’s indiscretions had found his son in law’s ears. Quite what the Duke would make of the Reverend’s own admittedly ill-advised activities, was something he couldn’t as yet bring himself to ponder.
Reverend Shackleford was under no illusions that the damned ivory tuner who’d taken advantage of his being a trifle foxed had refrained from hastening up to London to spread the gossip to all and sundry. It was only a matter of time.
Sighing, the Reverend put his head in his hands. He was in the suds and no mistake. Somehow, he had to come up with a plan that would see his son’s future honour restored, and more urgently, given the fact that Anthony was only five, to ensure that his eldest daughter was not consigned to living in a barn.
Along with the rest of them.
∞∞∞
Grace had finally fallen into a light doze in the early hours but was woken again at the sound of a cock crowing just before dawn. She lay there until Dorcas appeared with a cup of chocolate approximately half an hour later. Nodding gratefully at the solemn faced maid, she propped up her pillows, determined not to be rushed. Her husband was unlikely to leave without her after all. When Dorcas finally appeared with a basin of hot water, she reluctantly climbed out of bed. She’d intended to don the same gown as yesterday, but with an unexpected hint of mulishness, she changed her mind, choosing instead an emerald green morning gown from her new wardrobe that brought out the colour of her eyes.
Seating herself at the dressing table, she allowed Dorcas to brush and style her hair. If she was to be banished, then her husband’s last sight of her would not be the forlorn pitiful woman of yesterday. Her heart might well be breaking, but she still had her pride. Which was what got you into this position in the first place, she couldn’t help musing. No matter. She would not have her husband remember her looking as sick as a cushion.
She made a determined effort to smile in the mirror at Dorcas as the maid put the finishing touches to her coiffure which unfortunately resulted in the servant bursting into tears. Hurriedly Grace rose and handed the distraught maid a kerchief. Anyone would think I was going to the scaffold. Luckily a knock at the door brought a swift end to the histrionics, and wiping her eyes, Dorcas went to the door.
Bailey stood on the other side, wheezing slightly from the stairs. “Your grace, his grace is asking whether you have any baggage.”
“Naturally,” Grace responded, slightly irritated that the Duke might expect her to travel without luggage. “I will leave it in my chamber to be collected.”
“If it please you, I will take it downstairs for you now your grace,” Bailey puffed, moving into the room.
“Certainly not.” Grace’s reply was a little sharper than she’d intended, but she had no intention of witnessing the elderly butler suffer an apoplexy as a result of struggling downstairs with her heavy baggage. Softening her next words, she continued. “Please instruct one of the footmen to take care of it. I am sure my husband will be more than happy to wait a few moments more.”
With that, she picked up her reticule and gloves and swept past him to head down the stairs. She stumbled a little as she saw the Duke waiting unsmiling at the bottom, but thankfully managed to descend to the hall without pitching headlong into his arms. Would he even bother to catch me? she couldn’t help questioning ruefully.
Finally standing in front of her husband, she lifted her head before saying in as firm a voice as she could muster, “I will be ready to depart once I have partaken of some breakfast your grace.” She thought she saw him flinch slightly at her use of his title, but he merely nodded his head curtly before turning on his heel and heading towards his study.
“Have the coach brought round in fifteen minutes,” he bit out to Bailey who had just arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
Fighting back yet more tears, Grace walked into the dining room, seating herself for the last time at the end of the table. She had cried enough to fill an ocean, but no more. She was determined to leave with her head held high. Where this sudden surge of courage had come from, she had no idea, but whatever happened in the future, she would not disgrace herself further in the eyes of the servants, particularly as she was unlikely to see any of them again.
She feared her husband was already a lost cause.
∞∞∞
Nicholas strode over to his desk and poured h
imself a large brandy. It was early in the day, but he wasn’t sure he’d survive the next few hours without being slightly foxed. Swallowing the dark liquid in one go, he quickly poured another. He was unable to get the image of his wife’s regal descent of the stairs. He couldn’t help but admire her pluck. Gone was the snivelling wretch from yesterday. Today she looked like a duchess. His Duchess.
The first woman he’d ever fallen in love with. He could admit it to himself now. When it was far, far too late.
Turning, Nicholas raised his glass to the only remaining portrait of his father hidden away in the corner of the study. “I’m sure you’re having a fine time gloating old man,” he murmured bitterly. “Well you’ve certainly had the last laugh. Trapped in a marriage with a woman who abhors me.” He savoured the burning in his throat before pouring a third.
“Still, perhaps you’re not finding it quite so humorous,” he continued collapsing bleakly into his chair. “After all, you know exactly what that feels like don’t you father?”
Chapter Nineteen
This time Malcolm accompanied them on their journey, because Grace realised wretchedly, Nicholas did not wish them to be alone together. Indeed, in his haste to be rid of her, the Duke decided they would return to Blackmore without staying overnight at a hostelry, which demanded a change of horses halfway.
The only time she was allowed to alight the carriage throughout the journey was to see to her ablutions and eat a swift meal. Grace didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry when she was left to dine alone. She suspected she wouldn’t have been able to force anything down had she been subject to her husband’s scowling face during the meal. She supposed Nicholas preferred to eat with Malcolm.
Her husband hardly spoke two words to her throughout the journey. She only briefly tried to engage him in conversation while the Scot was supervising the onward journey of their first team of horses once the beasts had had sufficient time to rest. He listened to her in glacial silence before stating flatly that should she utter one more word, she would find herself left behind along with the horses. She suspected he might actually have been a trifle disguised at the start of their journey and was beyond relieved when he finally fell asleep in the early hours.
Grace (The Shackleford Sisters Book 1) Page 12
