At the bottom of the stairs, Grace waited in the shadows until Mr. Bradshaw reentered the kitchen before she surreptitiously made her way along the entrance hall and emerged into the chilly morning. Despite the dampness clinging to the trees and the grass, she inhaled deeply and tilted her head back to permit the weak sun to touch her face. She had missed the feel of nature’s finest on her cheeks.
“Must I wait on you all day?” Geoffrey said sharply.
Grace opened her eyes to see her brother waiting impatiently beside a flashy red carriage. Immediately, she wondered how her wastrel brother could afford such a conveyance. Her eyes settled on where he stood. Inside the inn, she had not noticed the fine cut of Geoffrey’s clothes. Her brother had likely spent more on his boots than she made in a year. Picking up her shabby luggage, she made herself walk proudly toward where a boy held the horse’s head. She may be a lowly governess, but the most magnificent man of her acquaintance had thought her pretty.
“What puts that smile upon your lips?” Geoffrey demanded as he supported her to the seat.
Grace glanced tentatively to the inn. “I was just considering how pleasant it should be to see Mercy again.”
Her brother snorted contemptuously. “I should never have permitted you to drive our bargain. It would have been more economical to have sent Mercy away and kept you.” He handed her the portmanteau upon which she would rest her feet. “I must manage a dowry for our sister. If you had remained, I would not have known the expense.”
Grace bit her tongue to keep from announcing the Marquis of Godown thought her handsome enough to consider proposing. “Then it is your ill fortune I am the first born.”
Geoffrey swung up beside her. “Truer words were never spoken,” he grumbled. He flicked the reins and sat the horse in motion. Grace’s heart ached with her leaving, but it was for the best. Gabriel Crowden deserved a woman of beauty and quality. She was neither.
Settling uncomfortably on the bench, Grace braced her position against the bumpy road. She would hold herself proud. Lord Godown had taught her as much. She glanced once more toward the inn. A graying structure where she had spent the most extraordinary days of her existence.
Then she saw it. Saw him. From her eye’s corner, she saw Geoffrey nod to a man lurking beside the building. A man wearing a sling. The same man whose sketch she had drawn. Lord Godown was in danger. “Stop!” she screeched. “Please stop!” She considered jumping from the coach as her brother flicked the whip to set the horse to a cantor. Grace swung around to see the man reenter the inn. “Oh, God!” she clawed at Geoffrey’s arm. “You must stop!” She half stood and prepared to jump, but Geoffrey jerked into the seat.
“Sit still!” he ordered roughly.
Grace jerked away from him and launched herself toward the opening in the carriage’s side, but once again, her brother’s reflexes caught her. “You do not understand,” she pleaded as she attempted to escape.
But that was one of the last things she recalled. Geoffrey yanked her to a partially seated position, and then with a growl of irritation, he cuffed her hard on the chin. For a moment–the beat of two heartbeats, Grace clung to consciousness before everything faded to black. Grace fought the darkness. Her mind told her if she did not open her eyes Gabriel Crowden could lose his life, but the urge to succumb to the sleep was too strong. Her eyes fluttered open one last time to see a satisfied smirk on Geoffrey’s lips, as well as a flash of black when a coach traveling in the opposite direction passed them. The fine coach was her last sensation as she slumped heavily against her brother’s shoulder.
Chapter Six
“Are you certain this is the correct establishment?” the lady asked as the footman assisted her to the ground.
The man reached into the carriage to support her traveling companions. “Yes, Your Grace. I asked inside upon our arrival.”
“Then my nephew is here?” The woman involuntarily snarled her nose as she glanced up at the simple building.
“According to the innkeeper, His Lordship has taken a room, Ma’am.” The footman lifted the last of the three ladies to the ground before restoring her cane to her gloved hand. The lady offered a nod of gratitude.
The Duchess shook her head in disbelief. “Come, Roses,” she said as she led the way. “We must understand the meaning of this missive.” She waved a note in a commanding gesture.
The other two aristocratic ladies followed their self-assured sister into the darkened entranceway. The innkeeper hustled forward to greet them. He bowed lower than necessary and nearly lost his balance, and Rosabel Murdoch, the Dowager Duchess of Granville, fought the urge to roll her eyes. Those not of the nobility knew nothing of comportment. “My good man,” she began before the stocky proprietor could commence his fawning, “It is my understanding my nephew has taken rooms in this establishment.” The smells of grease and stale smoke irritated her senses.
The innkeeper bowed again. “The Hawk and Gun has known the honor of His Lordship’s patronage,” the man toadied.
“I would see Lord Godown immediately,” the Duchess intoned authoritatively.
“Of course, Yer Grace.” A third bow followed. “This way, Ma’am.”
Rosabel turned to her waiting sisters. “Can you maneuver the steps, Lía?”
“I shall support her,” Lyn whispered.
Bel nodded her agreement. “Tell Mr. Sanders and the physician their assistance is certainly required,” she instructed softly.
“I understand,” Lyn replied. “As always, Lía and I know our parts.”
Bel’s eyebrow rose in concern. “You may take the lead if you wish. It is never my intention to slight either you or Lía.”
Lyn’s fingers stroked the back of Bel’s gloved hand. “You are the eldest and the natural leader. Lía and I hold different roles. Be off with you now. If the note proves true, Gabriel requires our assistance.”
Bel nodded again. They were the Three Roses: Rosabel, Rosalía, and Rosalyn. She was three years her sisters’ senior. Their brother, Renard, Gabriel’s father had made his worldly appearance after her and before the twins, Lía and Lyn. “Follow as quickly as possible,” she said with a soft smile. Turning on her heels, Bel followed the heavily winded man up the flight of stairs and along the dark corridor to a room at the passage’s end.
“His Lordship has rarely left the room,” the innkeeper explained as he wiped his brow with a handkerchief. “Lady Godown finally made an appearance below stairs a bit earlier. Her first time to dine in the main room.”
Bel stumbled to a halt. “Her Ladyship?” she asked tersely.
Even in the dim light, she saw the innkeeper’s smile fade. “Lord Godown’s bride,” he said with a touch of curiosity.
Bel had tamed the infamous Duke of Granville. There was not a man alive who could out maneuver her. “I was unaware Lady Godown was in Scotland,” she said with a tilt of her chin.
“The marquis came looking for his bride,” the proprietor explained.
Bel bit back her response. “Lord Godown is most solicitous of his wife. Now, may I know which room my nephew occupies?”
The innkeeper led the way to the last door along the hall. “This one belongs…” It was Mr. Bradshaw’s turn to stop suddenly. “Hey, you there!” he sang out. “What be ye doing?” Bel could see a man standing in the open door of the room the innkeeper had indicated belonged to Gabriel.
“Nothing!” the stranger said emphatically. “Saw the door standing open is all.”
Mr. Bradshaw wedged his girth past the intruder. “I told ye before. Yer to stay away from His Lordship’s room.”
The stranger studied Bel up and down before he strode away toward the stairs. “Who was that man?” she asked as she stared at the retreating form.
“Some drifter who meant to make Lord Godown’s acquaintance.” The innkeeper glanced to where the stranger disappeared below. “Me wife did him a good turn. I suspect it be best if I run him off. I don’t approve of those who take advantage.�
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For some reason, a shiver ran down Bel’s spine. “Why did my nephew not know the man was in his room?” Bel possessed more information regarding her kin’s time with the government than her nephew wished her to know. In reality, she had assisted him in securing his position with the Realm. Neither Gabriel, nor her brother Renard, had realized the one Gabriel called “Shepherd” had once been Bel’s beau. What worried her now was the fact that if Gabriel had his faculties, no stranger would have entered his room uninvited. With real concern, Bel said, “Perhaps, Sir, you might ask the two gentlemen who traveled in our second coach to join me.”
“Immediately, Your Grace.” The innkeeper exited quickly, and Bel stepped tentatively into the room. Nothing appeared amiss. Someone had rearranged the furniture, but everything else appeared normal. Bel had not often stayed at a public inn, but those she had seen had rooms sporting unpretentious furniture. This room proved her theory: a small table, two straight-backed chairs, a dresser with a mirror, a four-poster bed and stand, and a screen for privacy. Surveying the area, her eyes lit on the mirror. Then she saw him. In the reflection. The air rushed from her lungs as she scurried to his side.
Her beloved Gabriel, the spiting image of his father, lay propped against the bed’s pillows–eyes closed. Gingerly, Bel reached for him. Her eyes searched the tell tale rise and fall of his chest and was relieved to see he lived. Gently, she touched his shoulder. When Mr. Thomas had shone her the letter announcing her nephew was near death, Bel had wasted no time in rectifying such an odious prank; she had meant to prove it false. Yet, observing Gabriel’s pale skin, she regretted not having departed immediately. At least, he presents no fever, she thought as she stroked his bare shoulder.
“You have returned,” Gabriel said, as his eyes remained closed. Bel assumed he spoke in his dreams.
She gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Gabriel. I am here, mon cher.”
“Grace?” His eyes fluttered open and closed.
“No, my love. It is Bel. We have come to take you home.”
Finally, his gaze fell on hr, and Bel knew when recognition arrived. “Tantine Bel?” he said in disbelief. “The tantes?”
“Downstairs, waiting for Mr. Sanders and the physician,” she assured. Bel lovingly brushed a stray lock of hair from his face. “You did not expect me to leave Lía or Lyn behind for such an important rescue?” She leaned forward to kiss his forehead. “Oh, my darling, I am thankful you are not to leave us. The twins and I would be lost without you.”
Gabriel opened his mouth for a response, but the family physician entered the room on a rush. “You have found him,” the doctor said as he placed his bag on the small bedside table. Bel stood immediately to allow the man access.
“His Lordship has just awakened,” Bel explained as she joined her sisters, who lingered in the open doorway. She caught one of the chairs and assisted Lía to a seat.
Gabriel said as he pushed himself higher in the bed. “I assure you I am fit now.”
Doctor Thatcher busied himself with batting away his patient’s hands. “I will be the judge of that,” he insisted. “Let me see…” But the room went still when the man expelled a noticeable gasp.
“Thatcher?” Lyn demanded as she stepped forward for a better view.
The physician quickly recovered. “Everything is well, my Lady,” he said in an impassionate voice.
Lyn’s shoulders stiffened. “What do you observe?”
Gabriel answered for the man. “When he accompanied you to Scotland, I suspect Doctor Thatcher had not expected to tend a gunshot wound.”
“I am not a surgeon,” Thatcher said in his defense. A gentleman does not…”
Gabriel wished desperately to plant the good doctor a facer. Thankfully, Grace Nelson had fewer qualms about treating his wound or Gabriel would have died in this bed. His Grace had the same type of mettle as what he had observed in the Three Roses. An unconquerable spirit. He wanted to tell Thatcher so, but Gabriel would not mention he had spent the last week with Grace. He would propose to her as soon as he could rid his room of his aunts and the physician. He would not permit the Three Roses to insist on their joining. Gabriel preferred to have Grace willingly choose him.
Mr. Sanders pressed forward. “I am no gentleman, my Lord, but I have seen my fair share of gun wounds. I will tend His Lordship.” Gabriel’s valet elbowed the physician from where the man stood looking down upon Gabriel’s bandaged shoulder. “Allow me to see what damage you sport, Sir.”
Gabriel had liked Frances Sanders from the first day he had met the man. Sanders had served as Carter Lowery’s batman when Sir Carter had been an integral part of Wellington’s forces. When Lowery left the British army behind to join the Realm, he had also parted ways with Sanders. Yet, on a journey deep into the Russian territory, Gabriel and James Kerrington had discovered Sanders and several other former British soldiers being held captive. Kerrington had quickly drafted a plan to extricate their country’s citizens from the militants who held them. Sanders had been in Gabriel’s employ since. He was not the most efficient valet, but Gabriel would never part with the man. Sanders’ loyalty had proven invaluable.
“The ladies should wait outside,” Thatcher cautioned as Sanders peeled away the cloth strips Grace had used as part of Lord Godown’s bandage.
“Do not be ridiculous, Doctor Thatcher,” Lía said from her seat near the door. “We French are accustomed to blood. God only knows we have known enough of wars. I assure you, none of us are likely to swoon from seeing…” She glanced to her nephew. “How many days prior did this happen?”
Gabriel loved her feistiness. Tantine Lía was a woman as lithe and petite as any woman he had ever met, but Heaven help any man who defied her. Even hobbled by a bad hip, she would take a man larger than Gabriel to task. He smiled at her from where he rested on the bed. “Some eight days, now,” he said with a smirk.
“Exactly,” she began again. “I assure you, none of us are likely to swoon from a seeing a wound inflicted over a week prior.” She sniffed her disdain. “Perhaps it is you who should wait below.”
Thatcher colored in embarrassment. “If my services are not required…” He reached for his instruments.
“Leave them,” Sanders ordered without looking up. “I will return them to you when I finish.”
Thatcher paused for a moment before thinking better of going against the man. “I will speak to the proprietor regarding our meals. Should I also arrange for quarters?”
Lyn touched the man’s arm as he started past them. “We meant no disrespect, Doctor Thatcher. Thank you for your kindness.”
The man nodded curtly before passing through the door.
“Now, Mr. Sanders, provide us your learned opinion of our nephew’s wound,” Lía instructed.
“Yes, Ma’am,” the valet answered without looking up. He removed the last of the cloths. “In the tender muscle below the collar bone,” he announced. “Looks clean. Did the bullet shatter before hitting the bone?” He touched the open wound.
“Several pieces,” Gabriel confessed.
Distractedly, Sanders asked, “How many?”
“Four of which I am aware.” Gabriel gritted his teeth as his valet’s rough fingers probed the area. He found he preferred Grace’s tender touch. “Three when it first happen. Another on the second day.”
“Any fever?” Sanders had left off with his examination.
Gabriel sighed in relief. “Five. Maybe six days.” He prayed Sanders would not ask about who tended him.
His valet’s eyes assessed the situation and judiciously avoided the obvious. “You appear well on your way to recovery, my Lord.”
“When may my nephew travel?” the Duchess asked from behind him.
Sanders turned to face the Three Roses. “Perhaps tomorrow. If we take our time in our return journey,” he cautioned.
Aunt Lyn retrieved her reticule and gloves from the nearby table. “I shall go below and make certain Doctor Thatcher has seen t
o the rooms.”
Gabriel said contritely, “I am honored each of you has rushed to my bedside, but I do not understand how you knew where to find me.”
“The letter, Mon Cher,” Bel said as if it was apparent.
It may have been obvious to his aunt, but not to Gabriel. He turned toward where she held court. It was his Rosabel’s way. She dominated any room she occupied. No matter how many other people resided with her, Bel Murdoch, the Dowager Duchess of Granville, commanded every eye. It always made Gabriel quite proud to know, even at age eight and forty, his aunt was given her proper due. She was an exceedingly handsome woman. Of course, Gabriel thought so because everyone said he favored her. “I have no knowledge of a letter.”
“Someone sent a post to Gossling Hill.” She fished in her reticule to retrieve the missive before handing it to Gabriel.
Without thinking he allowed his fingers to dwell upon the handwriting. Instinctively, he knew Grace had written the note. However, he did not know exactly what had happened to Grace. Had she been in the room when his aunts arrived? Had she taken refuge in the common room below? Would she leave before he could speak to her? Tentatively, he opened the single page. He should not have had qualms over what the letter contained. It was straightforward and businesslike. Grace had explained his condition, where he had taken refuge, and the urgency of the situation. Not one word indicating the intense connection they had made. Had she not felt what he had?
Of course, it contains nothing to give his family notice of what was to come, he reasoned. I had not declared my intentions. Likely, Grace had sent it some three, maybe four, days prior. His fever still raged at the time. Without realizing it, Gabriel breathed easier.
Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace Page 9
