“Yes, you do.”
Michael managed to push himself up to a semi-sitting position. “Someone forgot to close the drapes.”
“I opened them earlier.”
He glared. “Do you mean to punish me?”
Tarik raised an eyebrow. “Your pounding head is not punishment enough?”
“I find your insubordination tiring.”
“Excuse my insubordination. But you did know I was not a subservient servant. I recall that you were pleased with that in the beginning.”
“Enough, Tarik.” He slid off the bed and stood on shaking legs.
Tarik’s nose wrinkled. “I will call for that bath.”
Before Tarik could get out the door, Michael called to him. “The countess?”
Tarik looked at him for a long while. “She’s gone, my lord. Left last evening.”
—
Grace’s absence was felt keenly throughout the entire household. And if Michael was not aware whose fault it was, then the servants had no problem reminding him. They were polite, as always, and efficient, as always. But they were cool toward him, and the smiles were absent. It was as if Grace had taken the joy from everyone when she left.
Michael closed himself off in his study to compose a letter to his London solicitor. He was unsure how to begin. “Good day, I am writing to procure a divorce” did not seem to be the right way to go about it, and Michael found he couldn’t actually write those words. Besides, a divorce might not be the right approach. Divorces were extremely rare and extremely difficult to procure. And if Grace became a divorced woman, it would devastate her socially.
What he really wanted to do was set Grace up so she could live a comfortable life without him. He would purchase a house in town. Something she could decorate to her liking. With a big enough garden that she could build one of her glass houses. She would never want for anything, and the best part was that she would not have to worry about him anymore.
He began writing.
The problem was that he wasn’t certain he was writing the words he needed to write. Grace would always look over his correspondence for him, and when Henderson was hired, Michael dictated his letters to him. He couldn’t ask Henderson to transcribe this particular letter, and Grace…Well, that would not work, either.
So he started and stopped and crumpled up so many letters that balls of paper surrounded him and still he had nothing to show for his efforts. He stared morosely into the cold fireplace.
His vision blurred and he swiped at his wet eyes, but the tears stubbornly remained. He didn’t want to live without Grace. He didn’t want to walk through this silent house knowing she wasn’t present. He wanted her next to him, but that was not to be. Even if he changed his mind, his actions from last night were irreversible. He had humiliated her in the most public way, and she would never forgive him.
He’d wanted to push her away and he had succeeded.
With heavy steps, he walked out of the study and out of the house. Alfred watched him go with sad, accusing eyes. They all blamed him. He was sure that word of his exploits had already spread, and they all despised him for hurting their beloved countess.
He didn’t blame them. He despised himself.
He wandered to the back of the house and through the woods that covered most of the property. He had no destination, no thoughts other than the image of Grace’s face when he’d told her to leave and then when she’d found him in the tavern.
He stopped when he could walk no more because Blackbourne Lake blocked his path. It was not a large lake, but it was deep, and it had proved entertaining on summer days when he and his brothers were overheated and wanted to swim.
Those were shining moments in his memory. Brothers’ good-natured bickering and horseplay. The rowboat was still hidden among the bushes lining the lake. Normally, the servants would pull it in for the winter, but Nigel must have forgotten about it.
Michael dragged the boat out and dug through the underbrush to find the oars. He pushed the boat into the lake and splashed through the water, ruining his boots and his trousers in the process. The boat appeared sound. No water leaked into the bottom. He hopped in and began to row. Though it was midspring, the water wouldn’t warm for another few weeks. His toes were numb and his trousers clung to his legs, causing him to shiver.
He hadn’t dressed for a walk, let alone a boat trip, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore. There was nothing for him to care about. Nothing, really, for him to live for.
Grace was gone. Tarik despised him. The entire village and his household loathed him. If he were gone, Nigel would gladly take over as earl again, and things would go back to the way they were before Michael surfaced from the dead.
Grace could wed Timmons, and she would be happy with a husband who could read and write and possibly give her the children she so desperately wanted.
Michael rowed until his arms ached and his breath caught in his throat and tears blurred his vision. He rowed until he was sobbing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. Only then did he pull the oars in and let the boat drift. He was far from shore. He knew from when he was a lad that it was deep here. Deeper than any other part of the lake. He hadn’t been able to touch bottom even when he’d dived deep to try.
He stared into the dark water as images of his life rushed through his mind. He smiled at some of them, chuckled at a few, and frowned at more than a few. For the most part, he’d led a good life. He’d been born into privilege and had more than his fair share of good things happen to him. Joining the army had opened his eyes to poverty and sickness and suffering, and he hoped the experience had made him a better man.
But the good times were gone, erased by a single strike from a horse’s hoof to his head. He should have died an honorable death on that battlefield. He never should have been saved by Tarik to live half a life.
—
Walking into Blackbourne Manor was painful, but Grace had no choice. The next day was the picnic she and Michael were hosting for the townspeople, and she refused to cancel it.
This morning when she’d walked through town, she’d seen a few veiled glances in her direction, but she held her chin high and soldiered on. It seemed the past year had been all about shoring up her courage and pressing forward no matter what life threw at her.
A body did what a body had to do. That would be her new motto in life.
And what she needed to do at the moment was direct the servants of Blackbourne Manor in placing the tables. Cook had things well in hand with the food. This wasn’t her first town-wide picnic, and Grace had learned to stay out of Cook’s way.
Sara was beside Grace, which helped and didn’t help. Sara was furious with Michael and showed it by quietly fuming. Even Tarik was angry at Michael.
However, everyone’s support mattered little to Grace. It didn’t assuage the hurt that Michael had caused with both his words and his actions. The woman on his lap was merely icing on the cake.
And yet, through her anger and hurt and humiliation, Grace understood. She was probably the only one within town limits who understood her husband’s actions.
He, too, was hurting and angry. Angry at life for handing him such a silent, yet no less debilitating, injury. An injury that people wouldn’t understand unless they were close to him. She’d seen firsthand what it was like to live with such deficiencies and know to the outside world that you looked hale and hearty while inside, your brain was not working correctly.
His words and actions stemmed from the feeling of helplessness, which had to be crushing to a man who was accustomed to leading other men. Not that what he’d done was right, but she understood.
She wished he were here so she could tell him she understood and that she wasn’t giving up. She would fight until her last breath to save their marriage. And she would do whatever it took to bring dignity back to her husband.
“Where do you think he’s gone off to?” she wondered out loud.
Sara snorted. “Have
you checked the tavern?”
Grace winced and smoothed the cloth over the table, keeping her eyes averted.
“Oh, Grace. I’m so sorry. That was horrid of me to say.”
“No need to apologize. I’m sure that’s what everyone else is saying.”
“No. Truly, they’re not. They haven’t said much. At least that I have heard.”
Grace straightened and looked up at the large house. Was he inside? Was he avoiding her? Should she storm in and demand that he speak to her? Or should she leave him be for a bit?
“He’s not a bad man, Sara. He’s just…lost right now.”
Sara drew in a deep breath. “I know. I understand, Grace. You two love each other so much, and it’s difficult for me to watch him hurt you like this. I’m sure with time, things will settle down.” Sara gathered up the stack of tablecloths. “He was gone a year. It takes time.”
“What if time doesn’t heal all wounds, Sara? What then?”
Sara put down the stack of cloths and faced Grace. “Then you will find a way, Grace. Your love for him and his for you will overcome. I have no doubt.”
“Is love enough?”
“Always. Love is always enough.”
Sara was pulled away by someone who had a question about where the cricket match would take place. Grace stared up at her home. She shouldn’t have left last night. She should have stayed and fought, but she’d let her emotions get the best of her. Tonight she would fight for her husband with every weapon she had at her command.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Grace found Tarik in the kitchen, pilfering a large chunk of cheese.
“Cook will have your head if she sees you.”
“Then I cannot let her see me, can I?” he said with a full mouth.
When Tarik first arrived, she had been afraid of him. He was like no one she had ever experienced. So tall and dark and fierce-looking, with the saber at his side and the frown on his face. Then she had been angry at him for standing between her and her husband, until she realized he had the same objective she did—Michael’s well-being and happiness. Now she considered Tarik less a servant and more a friend.
“Where is he, Tarik?”
She waited until he swallowed and brushed the crumbs from his hands. “Truly I do not know, my lady. He is not…happy with me at the moment.”
“And why is that?”
“Because he was acting like a…” He cleared his throat. “He was not acting appropriately, and I told him so.”
“And that did not sit well with him?”
“No, my lady.”
“So where do you think he went?”
“Not to the tavern, if that’s what you’re thinking. He regrets that action.”
“As well he should.”
“It was not what it seemed,” he said softly.
“That doesn’t make it hurt any less.” She drew in a deep breath and pushed those negative emotions away. “If you see him, tell him I asked about him.”
“I will, my lady.”
She paused. Considered. “Tarik, if I may ask one more thing?”
“Of course, my lady.”
She outlined her plan. At first Tarik nodded solemnly, and then he grinned broadly.
“Don’t worry, my lady. I will make certain everything is as you want.”
“Thank you, Tarik.”
After their conversation, Grace surveyed the tables and confirmed a few things with the servants. She looked in on Cook, who was furiously rolling out dough for one of her excellent pastries. Grace wisely chose to duck out of the kitchen without interrupting.
With little to do until the festivities began the next day, and not wanting to return to the dark dower house, Grace strolled through the grounds. Her plants were doing well, the seedlings having grown much over the past week. She noted that someone had watered them.
She kept walking down the path that she and Michael had walked so many times before, as young lovers, then a married couple. They would walk and talk until their feet hurt and their voices were hoarse.
Spring was in the air, and she breathed deep of it, pulling in the scent of earth and plants. She rounded the bend and came upon the lake where she and Michael had taken many a ride.
She looked out over the placid water. It was always so peaceful here, so calm. Someday she would request that a bench be erected on this spot so she could come here to sit and enjoy the view.
Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed movement and was surprised to see the rowboat bobbing at the edge of the lake.
“What in the world?” She looked around, but no one was about. She had thought the old boat was put away in the winter and taken back out at the start of the summer. Why would it be in the lake now?
The oars were inside, along with splatters of water, as if something had splashed it.
She reached forward to grab the pointed bow and bring it up on the sandy shore, but it proved heavier than she’d thought, and it took quite a bit of tugging. She must be a sight, all bent over, trying not to get the hem of her gown soaked, tugging on a rowboat.
“You’ll fall in if you’re not careful.”
With a squeak, she straightened and spun around. Michael was standing in the shadows of the trees, watching her with one of the most intense expressions she’d ever seen.
“I didn’t want it to drift away,” she said.
He strode forward, waded into the water, and dragged the boat back with him.
“You’re getting wet.” What an inane thing to say, but it was the first thing that came to her mind.
“I’m already wet.”
She watched as he dragged the boat farther up the shore until it was concealed in the bushes. “Did you go out on the lake?” she asked.
He brushed his hands together before turning to face her. “Why are you here, Grace?”
“The picnic is tomorrow, and I had to help set it up.”
“Why are you at the lake?”
“I…” Why was she at the lake? It wasn’t as if she had nothing to do, with the festival winding down and the big picnic tomorrow. What had driven her here, of all places? “I walked down our path to clear my head, and my feet brought me here. It’s always been one of my favorite places on Blackbourne land.”
Michael looked over the lake. There was a stillness about him that was disconcerting.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “Tarik was looking for you.”
“Tarik is always looking for me.”
That didn’t answer her question, and a funny feeling in her stomach told her the answer was imperative. “Do you like coming here as well?”
He shrugged. “It’s as good as any other place to think.”
“Is that what you needed? To think?”
“There were too many people around. I like quiet.”
Why would he not look at her?
“You should probably go back to change your trousers before you get chilled.”
He finally turned his gaze to her. Such intensity in those eyes. “I’m already chilled.”
“Are you all right, Michael?”
The corners of his lips lifted in an ironic smile. “No.” He fell silent for a moment, then seemed to shake himself of whatever had captured his thoughts. “I’m surprised you didn’t run when you saw me here.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Come now, Grace, must we play these word games? I was with another woman last night, in a very public setting.”
“Yes, you were. And yes, you hurt me terribly. As you are trying to do now by reminding me of it. But that is not going to work.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “What is not going to work?”
“Pushing me away.”
“Is that what I’m doing?”
“Now who’s playing word games?”
His lips thinned, and she smiled inside that she had scored a point in whatever game he was playing.
“I’m not going away that easily, Michael. I know you too
well to believe that you and that woman were together.”
“I’m a changed man.”
“I don’t believe that. You are a different man, but the inner core is the same honorable man I married.”
“You are lying to yourself.”
“I think you are lying to yourself.”
“Word games.”
“Not this time.”
He braced his feet and crossed his arms to contemplate her. “I wrote to my London solicitor today.”
“And?” Her heart began to pound in dread.
“I asked him to help set you up in a house in London. You will be well taken care of.”
The words fell between them as if dropped from the heavens. Silence stretched; even the birds seemed to stop singing. All she heard was the gentle lap of the water against the shore and the fierce pounding of her heart.
“I don’t believe you.”
“You will when you receive a letter from him.”
For a small moment she hated him. Hated him for what he was doing to them, for what he was attempting to throw away. For not believing in himself or her enough to fight for their marriage. But that was what he wanted. He wanted her hatred because it would validate his feelings toward himself and open an irreparable chasm between them. She refused to give him that satisfaction.
“Very well. I will write to the solicitor with my specifications on what type of house and in what area of town.” She turned and walked away, her fury following, her heart beating so hard that she feared he heard it.
Oh, no. This was not over by a long shot.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Grace smoothed her skirts with nervous hands. She hadn’t seen Michael since their encounter by the lake earlier in the day, but she was still seething with anger. She kept it bottled, used it as energy to fuel her purpose. And she was filled with purpose.
The scene by the lake bothered her in ways she didn’t understand. There was something not right about the entire thing. Why had Michael been by the lake? This wasn’t the time of year to go boating. There had been something in his eyes that alerted her to something more.
The object of her thoughts opened the door to the dower house and stepped in, stopping short when he saw her standing there. Her heart fluttered in apprehension. She was taking a big risk being here. She knew he would be angry, but she had to work past that and convince him they were worth fighting for.
His Saving Grace Page 23
