His Saving Grace

By Heather Gray

Published by Astraea Press

www.astraeapress.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

HIS SAVING GRACE

Copyright © 2013 HEAHTER GRAY

ISBN 978-1-62135-192-4

Cover Art Designed by AM DESIGN STUDIOS

Forbearing one another, and forgiving one another, if any man have a quarrel against any: even as Christ forgave you, so also do ye.

Colossians 3:13, Standard King James Version, circa 1769

In other words, show each other a little grace…

Chapter One

February 1815

Stafford Shire, England

Try as she might, Grace couldn't stop the tears flowing down her cheeks. She was hiding in her father's library, hoping no one would be bold enough to seek her out. Her parents were hosting a house party, and the guests were everywhere. Each person, it seemed, wanted to know everybody else's business.

When she heard the door behind her issue a soft squeak, she knew she'd been found. She kept her back to the door, not wanting the person to see how distressed she was. "Gracie, may I come in?"

It was Thomas! Though they hadn't seen each other much in recent years, he was a childhood friend and, the way she saw it, her one true ally here at this gathering. "As long as you close the door and let no one else enter," she said hoarsely.

She heard the door click again, followed by Thomas's movement through the room. He was soon leaning against her father's desk right beside her, his familiar tall frame, shortly clipped brown hair, and intelligent blue eyes a comfort to her.

"What's wrong? Surely Lady Appleton's ghastly morning gown isn’t enough to bring on tears. Temporary blindness, yes, but not tears."

Grace couldn't help the small chuckle that bubbled up and out of her. Thomas had always known just what to say, no matter her mood. Her father, the Earl of Miltmouth, and Thomas's father had been the best of friends. Thomas and Grace had naturally grown up together. She had seen less of Thomas after his father had passed away and he'd had to take over the running of the estates, but they had managed to remain friends.

"I asked Father if I could have a season in London," she said woefully. Grace, wrapping her arms around her midsection, felt nauseated.

"Ah, I take it he said no. Surely he'll bring you to London for a season soon. I assume he'll want you to marry well." When Grace said nothing in return, Thomas asked, "Am I mistaken?"

"You should have heard the awful things he said to me!" Thomas handed a kerchief to Grace, who wiped at the tears she still couldn't quite get under control. "He told me I'll never find a suitable husband. My mouth is too big, and my smile is too wide. I'm too skinny, and my bosom is too flat. No man will ever want to marry me, and going through the pretense of a season in London will be nothing but a costly embarrassment to the family."

Repeating all the terrible things her father had said to her made Grace cry even harder. Feelings of rejection and disbelief swirled through her. Her father, while at times eccentric, had never before said anything so cruel to her. The kerchief, now sodden, did little good.

That was when she felt Thomas's arms wrap around her in a hug. "It'll work out, Gracie. I don't know why your father would have said such things to you, but you can't let his words get you down. They're not even true. You have a perfectly sized mouth, a delightful smile, and… well, I'm sure everything else is fine, too."

Grace soaked in Thomas's warmth. She sighed into his waistcoat and said, "I appreciate the kind words, Thomas, but you shouldn't be in here alone with me. We both know that."

Thomas, his voice light, said, "It was in here with you or out there with the barracudas. I think I'm safer right where I am."

Grace didn't pull out of his comforting hug as she knew she ought to. Instead she said, "I've spent my whole life in Stafford Shire and have never even been to London before. All I'm asking for is one season. If I wait much longer, I'll be completely on the shelf, and no decent man will even consider marrying me. My father has doomed me to the life of being some man's courtesan!"

"You've been reading the newspaper again, haven't you?" She felt the warm rumble of his chuckle against her cheek. "You shouldn't even know words like that. If your parents knew you were reading those rags, they'd have your hide."

Grace's tears had quieted and were slowly being replaced by hiccups. Just as Thomas began to release her from his friendly hold, the library door opened with a loud bang.

"What the devil is going on in here?" demanded Lady Appleton.

Grace jumped out of Thomas's arms and said, "It's not what you th-ink." The hiccups were gaining momentum. "I was up-set. Thomas found me, and I was crying. He was simply be-ing kind."

The skin on Lady Appleton's florid face jiggled as she shouted, "Not only are you in a room with a man unchaperoned, but you were in an embrace!" Her gown truly was the most awful color. It was somewhere between green and brown, like a plant that had withered and died. To make the ensemble worse, she looked as if she were wearing an entire peacock atop her piled hair.

Seeming to thrive on spectacle, Lady Appleton continued to bombast them with accusation, her voice growing toward a crescendo. "You've been ruined, young lady! There will have to be a wedding at once!" If volume were the stick by which such things were measured, Lady Appleton's screeching voice ensured that Grace would feel maximum shame.

"Th-at wasn't an embrace!"

By this time, several people had gathered in the hallway outside the library door. When Grace's father came on the scene, Thomas spoke directly to him, ignoring Lady Appleton. "I apologize for any misunderstanding. Gracie was crying. She was upset, might I add, by the cruel things you said to her. I'm nothing more than a childhood friend offering a bit of encouragement and reassuring her that her father is not the ogre he appears to be at present."

Grace had never heard Thomas's voice quite like this. The sharp edge of strong metal in it was unmistakable. This voice belonged to the Duke of Stafford, not her childhood friend Thomas.

Grace stared at Thomas and saw for the first time, not the boy she'd considered her chum, but rather the man he had become. His stature was impressive, his closely cropped brown hair stylish. It was his eyes that stunned her into silence, though. They had always been such a lively and cheerful blue, but now… now they glinted cold and steely, showing not a glimmer of warmth.

Lord Miltmouth turned from Thomas to Lady Appleton and demanded, "By all that is good and holy, what on earth is going on here? What are you carrying on about, woman?"

The earl was a tall and imposing man whose black hair had begun to silver at the temples and to whom people normally gave deference. Lady Appleton, however, was no mere mortal. As it turned out, she was a scandalmonger who was nourished with the milk of blather and who thrived on the meat of gossip. She was in her element and would not back down. If anything, her voice grew louder.

Peacock feathers bouncing with each word, she said, "I found your daughter and that… that man there… in an embrace here in this room. Without a chaperone, I might add. Obviously they must be wed at once!" Then she turned on her heel and marched away, leaving a trail of whispered conversation behind her.

Grace looked to her father and said, "We did no-thing wrong."

More than a dozen faces stared at them from the doors of the library. Some reflected pity or shock, while others showed salacious delight. Lord Miltmouth looked back and forth between the two of them and finally said, "It's too late to change anything. With Lady Appleton leading the charge, word will soon reach the outermost territories of the kingdom. I'm afraid there's nothing for it. The two of you will have to be wed."

"F-ather, don't be r-idiculous. I'm n-ot ruined." Blast these hiccups! Surely her father didn't actually think she and Thomas had been doing anything untoward in the library? Didn't he trust she had been raised better than that?

Thomas whirled to face her, and Grace stumbled back when she saw the look in his eyes. Humor, irritation, resignation — she could have handled any of those. The withering arctic look he gave instead chilled her to the core. "You planned this whole thing, didn't you, Grace? All to land yourself a duke. I don't know what happened to you, but you're not the girl I used to know, and you are no one I want for a wife."

"Now listen here, Thomas—" the Earl began but was cut off by the young duke's words.

"You will address me as Your Grace or not at all, is that clear?" Grace's father stared at the younger man, his face flushing. "Do whatever you need to do. I will return in three Sundays, and we will get this farce over with."

Grace watched as Thomas stormed from the room. Her tears of earlier were forgotten and her hiccups finally cured. Gawking at her father, whose face had taken on an ashen pallor, she asked, "What have you done?"

Chapter Two

Thomas fetched his ebony stallion from the stable and took off for home, riding hard. His horse, Hero, was lathered by the time he reached his head groomsman. He handed the horse off and said, "Sorry, Smythe. I rode him hard. See he's treated well. I also need a carriage ready to go within the hour."

"Of course, Your Grace." Smythe, stoop-shouldered with grey hair and an easy smile, had known Thomas since he'd been a young lad. "Might I ask if everything is all right, Your Grace?"

Thomas shook his head and said, "Everything is far from all right. Someone I thought I knew and could trust has trapped me in a tangled mess of betrayal, and now the rest of my life is decided for me."

Anger punctuating each step, Thomas strode toward the house. As soon as he crossed over the entrance, he yelled, "Rupert! In my rooms now!" Then he bounded up the mahogany stairs, not doubting for a moment his valet would quickly present himself.

Within seconds of slamming into his room, he began to peel off that morning's clothes. He could not rid himself of Grace's image — black hair in an elegant chignon, green eyes sparkling with tears. Her voice had been marred by hiccups as she tried to defend herself. Life, however, had taught him better. All women, it seemed, wanted to marry a duke, and he'd been the one thick enough to finally get caught. Curse the whole lot of them!

He was yanking fresh clothing out of his wardrobe when his valet, Douglas Rupert, entered. "Your Grace, what can I do for you?" Rupert wasn't an average valet. Twice the size of the typical manservant, he was keenly intelligent and had none of the fastidious tendencies people in his position usually had. His jet-black hair, tanned skin, and dark brown eyes gave him an exotic look. Thomas had more than once heard the female servants speculating about his valet. The current consensus had him tagged as an eastern prince disguising himself as a humble valet to escape his would-be assassins.

"Grace was crying. I tried to comfort her. Now I'm to be wed." Thomas's voice shook with anger at the treachery. He clenched and released his fists a half-dozen times before he realized what he was doing and stopped.

"Pardon me, Your Grace?" Rupert's voice was void of emotion, as though they were discussing the weather or a change chef wished to make to the evening menu.

"You heard me. I shall return in three Sundays to get it over with. The banns have to be read first, of course. Presently I am leaving for London to take care of some business. I'm planning to get myself assigned, consigned, or conscripted. Whatever it takes, I'm going to wed that woman, then join Wellington. I assume he's gotten word of Napoleon's escape and is returning from Vienna. As soon as Grace and I are wed, I'm taking her to the estate in Northumberland."

Not one to get easily ruffled, Rupert remained where he stood and asked, "Will I be joining you on the continent, then?" Rupert had served in the British Army. An injury had landed him back in London, where Thomas had come across him. They'd struck up an unorthodox relationship, more friends than lord and servant. In fact, when Rupert's injury had finally healed, he'd chosen to remain in Thomas's employ.

Thomas, now dressed in fresh clothes, sat on the bed and gaped at Rupert, stunned. "I'm to be married."

"So you said," his valet said drily.

"She lied and trapped me. Lady Appleton made a huge scene declaring to everyone within hearing that I'd ruined the chit. Then her father came on the scene and said I'd have to marry her."

"Sounds horrid," Rupert said as he collected the clothing Thomas had thrown about the room.

"I won't have her here at Stafford, you know."

"I'm sure you know what you're doing."

"She would be a poison to this household." Thomas spat the words out.

"We are still talking about Lady Grace, correct?"

Thomas gave his valet an exasperated look as his fingers drummed a steady beat on his thigh and said, "Don't you dare try to defend her. You weren't there."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Your Grace. I was doing nothing more than seeking clarification. You've always spoken so highly of her before now."

"Ship her off to Northumberland, that's what I'm going to do." Thomas's voice sounded tired even to his own ears. The prickling sensation at the base of his neck told him he was missing something important, but his anger overrode his common sense.

"Sending Lady Grace into exile at the far corner of the country for something Lady Appleton did ought to give you enough distance. Why put yourself in harm's way on the continent?"

Thomas's temper flared again, and he jumped up, refusing to acknowledge Rupert's words. "Pack whatever we need. Smythe is readying the wagon. We leave for London within the hour." When Rupert did not immediately take action, Thomas raised an eyebrow and clasped his hands behind his back in a viselike grip of barely restrained irritation.

"Am I to accompany you to the continent, Your Grace?"

Thomas, who fully intended to say yes, was shocked by the words coming from his own mouth. "No. You will stay with Grace. She may be a liar of the worst sort, but if she's my wife I need to keep her safe, and you're the only one I trust to do that while still remaining loyal to me."

His expression giving nothing away, Rupert said, "Of course."

****

The next three weeks went by in a never-ending series of meetings as Thomas tied up the many obligations to which he had committed himself before the disastrous affair at Grace's house. When he inherited his father's title, he'd become the youngest duke active in the House of Lords. His voice and opinions had been much the same as his father's, but his age had garnered him a generous portion of disrespect. The old guard had only recently begun to let him into some of the more serious discussions. They were going to feel he was throwing it back in their faces when he left for an extended term on the continent. He spent many a long meeting trying to convince people he was making a legitimate choice to serve king and country in a different manner.

"Your Grace," Thomas said to Duke Mugsby, an elderly gentleman of small stature, wispy white hair, noxious breath, and, unfortunately, much sway, "I urge you to reconsider your position on the Importation Act."

"You, Stanbury," the old duke said, using Thomas's surname, "are far too young to understand the implications of this Act. Why, you're barely out of the nursery. How could you possibly comprehend what we are trying to do here?"

The two were sitting at White's, a gentleman's club in London, having an unofficial meeting to discuss some political matters. Beyond irritated with Mugsby and his shortsightedness, Thomas wanted to stand to his full height and command the ancient man to listen. Instead, he kept his voice even and said, "If the Act becomes law, the importation of grain into England will cease. We will have no choice but to rely on our own farmers to produce all we need." Mugsby was well past his prime, but he would not relinquish the two-fisted hold he had on power and influence with the other members of the House of Lords.

"That's the point, my boy." Duke Mugsby, voice condescending, said, "The market won't get flooded with cheap imports, and our laborers won't be undercut in pricing." The old duke smirked, his lips thin and pale. Thomas could easily picture the old man using that voice to harangue a servant for putting too much wood in the fireplace or too much pepper in his soup.

"With nothing to help keep prices in check, landowners will be able to charge astronomically high rents, and the farmers will be forced to sell their product for greater profit so they can afford to pay. In turn, the cost of everything is this country will increase. Everyone will be forced to raise their prices to be able to feed their families. Then what happens if there's a famine? What happens if we have a single year without enough rain to produce the crops needed? The price of grain will rise until the ability to purchase it will belong exclusively to the wealthy. Would you see all of England starve over your greed? I believe an import tax is necessary, but the one proposed in this Act is preposterous. No reasonable person could possibly see this as a good move, politically or ethically."

The elder duke stood with the aid of his cane and said, "I will excuse your impertinence this once. Perhaps getting shot at in defense of your country will help turn you from a child into a man. We don't need your new ideas. What we need is for you to back us up in the lawmaking for this great country, to preserve a way of life that has served us well for centuries. If you can't do that, then get out of our way."

Thomas, no longer able to contain his ire, also stood. "You speak rightly. What you are doing will serve you well. Even if it means crushing everybody else under your heels."

Before Duke Mugsby could make the grand exit he was so obviously planning, Thomas spun on his heel and left the club. Too angry to sit in a carriage, he instructed the driver to return without him and began the walk home.

As his long legs and wrath-fueled pace quickly propelled him, Thomas played the scene with Grace over in his head dozens of times, and each time he came back to one simple fact: Women will do anything to wed a high-ranking member of society, and a duke is almost as high as it gets. Every woman wants to marry a duke. Which one matters not. If a different duke had stumbled upon Grace in the library, she would have done the same thing. Her father had likely never said any of those terrible things to her. It had all been a ruse to get Thomas to hold her so they could be caught together with her reputation compromised beyond repair.

Thomas was too angry to listen when his conscience nagged at him. You treated Grace no better than Mugsby behaved toward you. His fury, in fact, grew with each step he took.

When Thomas arrived at his townhome, he found his valet packing for a trip. "Rupert, what are you doing?" he snapped.

"You're to be wed in three days' time, Your Grace," Rupert answered. "We need to leave today if you have any hope of making it to your wedding."

Stunned, Thomas sat on the edge of his bed. "Has it already been three weeks?"

"You are forgetting it took us three days to get to London from Stafford, and it will take us three days to get back. That left you with two weeks here in London." Rupert's voice gave nothing away, but Thomas saw the barest hint of sympathy in his dark eyes. He had a nagging feeling the sympathy he saw was more for his intended bride than for him.

"I'm to be wed." Dazed, Thomas considered his valet and friend. "I'm not ready to be a husband."

"Which, I believe, is why you are fleeing to the continent and facing possible death at enemy hands, Your Grace." His voice dry, he said, "Because you'd rather that than look your wife in the face on a daily basis."

Thomas's eyes snapped to Rupert's face, but the valet's expression was dispassionate. "You think I'm wrong to leave?"

"I think perhaps you judge Lady Grace too harshly. You have known her for many years, and I don't believe you've ever found her to be deceptive."

"Impulsive, nosy, opinionated, far too educated for a woman…" Then, shaking his head to rid himself of any tender thoughts he might have toward Grace, he said, "You weren't there, Rupert. You didn't see what happened. She trapped me and betrayed me."

Thomas would have never considered her capable of such deceit, and that cut more deeply than all the rest. Perhaps if he'd seen it coming, if he'd suspected her of such duplicitous intentions from the start, he wouldn't feel as if his heart were bleeding.

Chapter Three

Grace watched from the window of her bedchamber. Today was her wedding day, and her husband-to-be had yet to arrive. She had been too upset this morning to attend church and had instead remained at home, claiming an ailing stomach. Her parents probably thought it was nerves. True, she was nervous. The maelstrom of emotions swirling in the pit of her stomach, though, could much more accurately be described as dread, fear, and… hope.

At twenty-and-one, she'd known Thomas her entire life. He was five years her senior and had always been such an even-tempered person. Until that fiasco of a house party, he had treated her with kindness and patience her whole life. When other young men might have teased her or treated her like a bother, he had allowed her to tag along when fishing or hunting. While some might have told her to comply with her role as an earl's daughter, he had allowed her to speak her mind and discuss the topics of public policy in which she'd been interested.

She had thought of him as a big brother who understood her. Her own brother was much older and had been away at school most of her childhood, and was now married and raising a family of his own at a different estate. Their relationship was cordial, but distant. Thomas had filled the void loneliness had created in her childhood.

Grace didn't know what to make of the Thomas who had spoken so harshly and stalked out of the house. One thing was for certain. Her Thomas was no longer a childhood friend. He was a man now, and she needed to start thinking of him as one. He was classically aristocratic with his slender build that was a touch taller than the average man. And so angry. I wonder if he's gotten over that yet?

A tap at the door caught Grace's attention. Her father poked his head around the edge and asked, "May I come in?" Grace, who had not sought him out in the weeks since the debacle, said nothing. "I need to apologize." Grace heard the words, but instead of responding right away, she studied him. He looked better than he had at the house party. He had the same wavy, greying hair and debonair clothes, but his color was better. His eyes, however, were sad.

"For what?" Her father, too, had acted out of character that day. The cruel things he'd said to her had come as such a surprise. Had she been used to such harshness from him, she might not have been moved to tears. She understood that once Lady Appleton had made that scene, there was no way for the situation to be resolved short of a wedding. She found it hard not to blame him, for it was his fault she'd sought tearful solace in the library to begin with.

Father must have a drinking problem I didn't know about. Being in his cups that day is the only way to explain his cutting words. Grace could find no other reasonable explanation.

"It was hard on all of us when Thomas's father died." Confused by the mention of the late duke, Grace stared. Thomas had been nineteen when his father had died. As the heir, he'd inherited the title and duchy, and all the estates and responsibility that went with it. To make matters worse, Thomas had no brothers or sisters to help him shoulder the burden and grief, and his mother had disappeared into a world of mourning from which she hadn't emerged until at least three years later.

"The duke was my best friend going all the way back to childhood."

Thomas used to be mine. It appears Father and I have something new in common. We've both lost a best friend.

"We spent summers at each other's houses as children. Then, as young men, we attended Eton together. I took it hard when he died."

"I'm sure it was equally hard for Thomas to lose the father he loved so much." Sarcasm danced its way through Grace's words with little effort.

The earl sighed and sat down. "We had always hoped you and Thomas would suit, that you would fall for each other and eventually get married."

What?

"That's why I never let you have a season in London."

What?

"Those terrible things I said to you at the house party — I would understand if you never forgave me. I didn't mean any of that. You are twenty-and-one, and I'd waited too long for Thomas. I was angry at myself and eaten up with guilt."

Me and Thomas? What?

Her father continued, the picture of contrition. "My own selfish plans had doomed my daughter to a life of spinsterhood in the country."

At least he didn't say "courtesan."

"That doesn't excuse what I said, but I want you to understand I was angry with myself and wrongly took it out on you. I failed you in the worst possible way a father can fail his daughter. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."

Grace, taken aback by his words, sat as well. "You wanted Thomas and I to wed?" Shock rattled around inside her mind so loudly she was surprised to get an entire sentence out.

"I was coming to the library to tell you how sorry I was. When I found Lady Appleton carrying on the way she was, my first thought was to silence her. There were so many people already standing around gawking that I was at a loss. There was no graceful way to get you out of the situation. Despite the fact I'd always hoped you and Thomas would someday wed, I never would have forced you into it. All I've ever wanted is for you to be happy, and I believe marriage to Thomas will assure that. He will be a good husband to you."

"He thinks I lied and trapped him, Father. Thomas is anything but happy about this." Anxiety tugged at Grace like a puppy intent on destroying its master's favorite slipper.

"It may take him a little while, but he will get over his anger." The earl sounded far more confident about the situation than Grace felt. "Keep on being who you are, and he will remember all the wonderful things he already knows about you."

"I don't know how to handle his anger. I'm not used to it."

"Grace, I want you to know I would never consider letting you wed him if I thought you would come to any harm. No matter how angry Thomas may be, he will never hurt you. He is a good man, so much like his father, and I am entrusting you into his care because I believe he will treat you well." His eyes twinkled as he added, "Besides, if I'm not mistaken, you have more than enough temper to match him."

Did he have to remind me of that? I suspect that matching Thomas temper for temper will not serve me well at present.

A sound from the courtyard drew Grace to the window. "I hope you're correct, Father. He's here, and I'm getting married."

The absence of any letters from Thomas in the intervening weeks had convinced her that he would be arriving in a mood equally as foul as the one with which he'd departed. She hoped it would not be so, that he would have seen reason, but his silence and the dread pooling in her middle did not bode well for the day.

I want to believe he is the good man I've always known, but what if I was as fooled by him as he claims to have been by me? What will my life be like if he truly is an angry, vengeful husband, if there really is no goodness left in him?

"Grace…" The earl's voice trailed off as he stood. Looking at her father, she could see the conflicting emotions on his face.

She would be leaving this house today a married woman, and she didn’t want to leave a cloud behind her when she did so. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she kissed her father on the cheek and said, "Don't worry about a thing. All is forgiven. I believe this is going to work out wonderfully. After all, Thomas has never once scolded me for reading the newspaper."

Please, Lord, let me be right.

Chapter Four

Once Thomas arrived at the house, the family climbed into their carriage and left for the parish church. Thomas refused to ride with them and instead followed in his own carriage. He thought he had his reaction to Grace's duplicity under control, but the moment he'd seen her climbing into her family's carriage, bitterness again took control. Having festered for weeks now, his anger, like an infection, had spread and grown increasingly dangerous until it took the form of all-out rage boiling just beneath the surface, waiting for an opportunity to show itself.

Thankfully, the ceremony was a brief affair. It was over before Thomas even had a chance to take in his surroundings. Grace, elegant in a dress the deep golden hue of a flaming sunset with matching flowers in her ebony curls, seemed uncertain, but didn't hesitate when it was time to say her vows.

Thomas hoped she would remain tentative around him. After the way she'd ensnared him, he couldn't abide even the thought of having a conversation with her. On the three-day journey back from London, he'd had far too much time to think. Since all his thoughts had revolved around Grace, he'd felt as though she were riding with him the whole way, reminding him with each turn of the carriage wheels how she had managed to entrap him and how he had allowed himself to be ensnared because he had foolishly trusted her.

When the ceremony concluded, the two carriages returned to the earl's estate, the home in which Grace had been reared. The custom was for the married couple to host a meal, referred to as the wedding breakfast. Thomas saw no point, though, and directed his footman to load two of Grace's trunks onto the carriage. "We leave at once," he said briskly, "so say your goodbyes."

"What about the rest of my belongings?"

"Don't you worry about a thing, Grace. I'll send the rest of your things on within a day or two," her father interjected.

Grace gave both of her parents long hugs before following Thomas to the carriage with its ducal crest emblazoned across the side. He did not bother to wait for her or give her a hand up. Instead, he climbed into the carriage and waited while she pulled herself up into the conveyance. By the look on her face, he assumed the slight did not go unnoticed, for which he was glad. She might as well understand the type of life she'd stolen for herself.

The carriage had not been traveling very long at all when Grace said, "Thomas?"

Eyes closed, he refused to look at her. "What?" He told himself it was because he was too angry to look at her. That little voice of conscience that continued to haunt him, however, disagreed. You're afraid you'll see something in those luminescent green eyes that will tell you how wrong you've been.

"I had no part in any kind of plot. What happened in the library was as much a surprise to me as it was to you."

Thomas laughed harshly. "You'll have to be more convincing than that, Your Grace."

After a few more minutes of silence, she spoke again. "Does it not strike you funny?" When he said nothing, she added, "My name, this silly title. I suppose you could call me 'Grace, Your Grace.' Wouldn't that be amusing?"

"Absurd, more likely. I find nothing humorous in jesting about a title that has been in my family for generations, a title you have appropriated for yourself."

****

Grace stared at Thomas, mouth agape. He'd not opened his eyes once. If he'd genuinely look at me, he'd see I hold no guile. Stubborn man! She wanted to tell him how sorry she was for everything that had occurred, that she would do her best to make him proud. The malice in his voice was a shocking setback. Three weeks away had clearly not allowed him to clear his head. Instead, this imaginary wound of his had festered. Taking her father's words to heart, she determined to do her best to show him each day that marrying her had not been a mistake.

The carriage didn't turn into the entrance for Stafford. Surprised, she asked, "Thomas, where are we going?"

"I tire of your familiarity. You may address me as Your Grace or not at all."

The dread from that morning returned full force. Her stomach became a roiling pit of misery as she forced the words out. "Your Grace, where are we going?"

His eyes remained closed, yet he smiled. It was a tight-lipped smile and appeared much more like a grimace of pain than a show of fondness. "Why, I'm taking you to your new home, of course."

"Shall we not reside at Stafford?"

"You, my dear, are going to make your home at an estate of mine north of Newcastle."

Incredulous, she said "B-but that's in Northumberland!"

"So glad to know the tutors you had growing up did not disappoint by providing a subpar instruction in geography. You are correct, of course." There was no mistaking the mockery in his voice as he said, "Newcastle is in Northumberland."

"That's practically in Scotland!"

The thin-lipped smile returned. This time Thomas opened his eyes, and what Grace saw there did nothing to alleviate the unrest in her midsection. "I trust you will make the most of your new home."

"I don't understand, Thomas." He speared her with his eyes, and she corrected herself. "I don't understand, Your Grace."

"Whether or not you understand is of no concern to me."

Grace wanted to ask why he kept referring to it as her home and not their home. Northumberland was so far away. It had to be at least a three-day journey to get there.

She was going to be cut off from the world and at the mercy of a man who despised her.

****

Night approached, and the carriage pulled off the road at an inn. Because they'd left immediately after the wedding ceremony, she'd had nothing to eat since breaking her fast that morn. Grace had been afraid to ask about a meal while traveling. Thomas remained cold toward her, and she was still trying to figure out how best to handle that side of him. He was wildly different from everything she'd ever thought she knew about her friend and neighbor.

Perhaps he needs to be loved rather than handled?

Grace was shaking her head at her own fanciful thoughts when the footman opened the door of the carriage and gave her a hand out. Thomas neither offered her an arm nor allowed her to precede him. She arrived at the counter of the downstairs tavern directly as Thomas left it to follow someone up the stairs. Trying not to be left behind, she bustled after them, her amber gown rustling in her haste.

No, please, don't wait for me. I'll be fine down here in the tavern full of drunken men with not another woman in sight anywhere. Go on ahead to our room, Your Grace. Don't spare a thought for your wife.

She arrived at the top of the stairs as Thomas went through a door into a bedchamber. Not sure if she should follow, she hesitated in the hallway. A woman exited the room Thomas was in and said to her, "Are you the duchess, then?" When Grace nodded, the woman said, "Follow me, Your Grace. Your chamber is this way."

Separate rooms. He'd booked them into separate rooms. She didn't know whether to be relieved she would not be spending her wedding night with a bitterly angry Thomas or vexed she would be spending it alone. He's trying to hurt me on purpose, and it's working.

The woman, no doubt the proprietor's wife, showed Grace her room, then excused herself. Looking around the small chamber, Grace realized she'd not thought to ask about dinner or a bath or even her belongings. A hard knock at the chamber door drew her attention. "Who is it?" she asked.

"Your husband." The voice was stark and commanding.

She opened the door, a smile pasted on her face. The smile died within seconds. Thomas's appearance matched his voice. His eyes remained glacial, and his mouth was drawn tight, lips thinned. He wouldn't even look at her. "You are to remain in your chamber until someone fetches you in the morning to leave. It's not safe for you below." He didn't even wait for her to acknowledge his words. As soon as he was done speaking, he shut the door on her. His steps quickly receded down the hallway. Grace was left with nothing but a sinking feeling. The longer she stood there at the closed door, the more that feeling grew, urging her to let it transform into blistering anger.

It was safe enough below that you had no qualms about deserting me there when you went to your chamber. Now that you're going to be below stairs, I'm confined to my room. It's not about safety. This is about you wanting nothing to do with me! At least be honest about it.

Hunger gnawed at her, but she decided to lie down and try to forget about it. Surely Thomas would order a tray sent up to her. He's not a cruel man. He's behaving this way because he's angry. He's not cruel…

****

Grace woke to the muffled sounds from below. Things seemed quieter now than when she'd first lay down. Glancing at the window, she could see night was fully upon them. There was no clock in the room to tell her the time, but waiting till morning for food was not an option. Thomas won't care that I'm famished. All he'll care about is that I broke his rules. She stepped over to the chamber door and quietly opened it. I should stay in my room and let it go this time. Peeking out into the hallway, she saw no one. I'll just shut the door and return to my bed.

Biting her bottom lip in uncertainty, she knew she simply had to eat, no matter what Thomas had told her. Grace stepped out into the hall and closed the door behind her. She was tiptoeing toward the stairs when a large form appeared out of the shadows. "Can I help you, Your Grace?"

A squeak escaped her lips as she jumped in surprise. The man moved closer, and she recognized Thomas's valet. Good gracious! It should be illegal for people that large to lurk in hallways! "I was hoping to request a meal sent up. I'm so hungry I think I could eat an ox." Maybe two oxen.

"Perhaps no more than a leg of mutton, Your Grace?" The valet's dark brown eyes sparkled with humor, and she couldn’t help but smile at him. "Return to your room, and I will see what I can fetch for you."

"Thank you, Rupert. I'm ravenous. I thought Thomas would have a tray sent up, but…" Her words trailed off. Grace knew she shouldn't complain about her husband to his valet. Whatever she said would certainly make its way back to Thomas. Which — admit it — is precisely what you want. She bit the inside of her cheek to restrain herself from completing the rest of the sentence still hanging between them.

Nodding toward her room, Rupert indicated she should return, which she did without further argument. Closing the door behind her, she waited for Thomas's valet to return with a repast. I hope Thomas didn't tell them to refuse me food. I'd even settle for moldy cheese at this point. Maybe.

A soft knock came at her door not ten minutes later. She opened it to find Rupert standing there, a tray in his hands. "The kitchen had closed for the night, Your Grace, but the cook gave me what she had. I'm afraid it's not much."

Grace's eyes roamed over the tray. There was bread and cheese, some cold roast beef, and a tankard of lemonade. It might not be much on most days, but to her it looked like the sweetest ambrosia. And there's no mold! "Thank you, Rupert, and be sure to thank the cook for me as well." Grace took the tray from him, allowing him to close her door. I learned my lesson the last time. Never again will I be found in a room alone with a man!

Sitting down at a small table in the bedchamber, Grace bowed her head and said, "Thank you Lord for providing for my needs. Please soften Thomas's heart. Show me how best to be the wife he needs." Then she devoured the food on the tray, knowing no one could dare accuse her of being ladylike.

As she finished off the meal and drank her lemonade, she wondered what tomorrow would bring. It was bound to be another long day in the carriage with Thomas. If I'd known we weren't going to his estate in Stafford, I'd have brought a book. At least then I could have had something to occupy my hands while pretending to ignore him all day. With a sigh, Grace climbed into bed. Perhaps a good night's sleep will be enough to fuel my patience on the morrow.

She would have loved to remove her dress and sleep in nothing more than her chemise, but she could not reach the buttons, and she didn't dare risk tearing it. Thomas had allowed the footman to bring no more than two trunks, and she had no idea what was in those trunks. Heaven help her if she got all the way to Northumberland only to discover she had the dress on her back and two trunks full of household goods her mother had insisted she'd want.

It might serve him right if I traipsed around the house in nothing more than my chemise and slippers. Or a dress fashioned from candlesticks and embroidered pillows.

Chapter Five

Grace woke to banging on her bedchamber door. "Who is it?" she croaked, her throat parched.

"We leave in ten minutes. Be downstairs, or we go without you!"

So much for hoping he'd wake in a better mood. Grace did the best she could to wash away the night's sleep before rushing down the stairs to meet her husband.

Rather than Thomas, she found Rupert. "This way, Your Grace," he said, allowing her to precede him to the carriage. He gave her a hand up, then indicated a small basket by her feet. "I took the liberty of having the kitchen prepare something to eat in case we don't stop until night again."

I think I may have found an ally in the midst of this fiasco.

"That's so kind, Rupert. Thank you. His Grace and I appreciate it."

Rupert's brown eyes flitted away before coming back to meet hers. "His Grace decided to ride his horse today. He's already left."

Oh. The food basket is about pity, not camaraderie.

"I see." Fighting the feeling of rejection, Grace said, "I didn't realize we had his horse with us."

"Someone fetched Hero for him yesterday when we passed by Stafford."

Grace put a smile on her face and hoped Rupert wouldn't be able to see how hurt she was by Thomas's actions. "I suppose I shall have all the food to myself then!"

Admit it. Pity food is still better than no food.

****

"Blasted woman!" Hero, Thomas's horse, twitched his ears in response. "She is not entitled to make me feel guilty for not providing her with a change of clothes!" He took Hero's snort as agreement. "And how dare my valet make me feel shamed for not seeing to her needs? How was I supposed to know she was hungry?"

Thomas did not allow the nagging sense of wrongdoing to win. He had gone back below stairs the night before and eaten a wonderful supper. Then he'd ordered a bath to his room, cleaned up, gotten a good night's sleep, and put on fresh clothes that morning before going back down to break his fast. "All she had to do was speak up rather than cower in her room and wait until dark to try sneaking below!"

Hero sidestepped, and Thomas patted his shiny midnight neck. "Sorry, old boy. I shouldn't take my frustration out on you. Let's enjoy this ride today. I'll try to remember she needs food when I order her room tonight." Knowing she would no doubt appreciate a bath as well, he decided giving in on one point was more than enough. She'd simply get dirty the following day when they traveled again anyway.

"And for the record," he said to his horse, his voice forceful enough to convince even himself, "I am not being unreasonable."

****

Night again began to close in on them as they pulled into the yard of an inn. Rupert, who had been riding above with the driver, opened the door and briefly told her she needed to remain in the carriage while he checked to make sure Thomas had arrived. Maybe the long ride put him in a better frame of mind. Or he got thrown from his horse and struck mute. A silent Thomas… now that's a thought worth smiling about.

In another couple of minutes, the coach door opened wide. This time it was Thomas standing there. Startled, she stared for a moment before finding her voice and saying, "I'm so glad to see you arrived safely, Your Grace."

"Get out."

Make a note. Riding his horse does not improve Thomas's disposition.

Climbing out of the coach was awkward without someone to assist her, but Grace managed to get her feet down onto the ground. She was straightening her dress as best she could when Thomas said, "We have a problem."

"Oh?" she asked, looking up into his belligerent blue eyes. I really do miss the days of twinkling eyes.

"The inn is booked. I was able to procure but one room." His voice dripped resentment the way a hunting dog drips water after a bath — she felt covered head to toe in it.

"I suppose I'll be sleeping in the coach, then?" she asked, making only the smallest effort to rein in her own hostility. So much for my decision to return his anger with kindness and his ill manner with my own polite one.

Ignoring her question, he said, "As distasteful as I find it, we shall be forced to share a room."

Trying to swallow the self-doubt assailing her at his words, she nodded briskly and said, "Then we shall make the best of it, assuming you don't snore too loudly. Lead the way." It hurt last night because he didn't want to share a room. It hurts tonight because… he still doesn't want to share a room.

Thomas led her through the tavern and to the stairs. The room they'd been given was larger than the one she'd had the night before. The bed, though wider than the one she'd slept in at the previous inn, seemed to shrink before her very eyes when she thought of sharing it with Thomas, until it appeared barely fit for a small child. Certainly two adults could not fit at all! Putting on the same smile she'd worn that morning for Rupert, she said, "This will do nicely."

She didn't know what to make of it when Thomas glared at her with his piercing blue eyes before leaving the room. Grace stood there staring at the closed door and wondered if there would be a meal tonight. She was again grateful for the basket Rupert had provided that morning. Not a morsel remained.

When a soft knock came at the door, she asked, "Who is it?"

"I've got yer bath water," a rusty voice said from the other side.

Hurrying to the door, Grace swung it wide, allowing a short, rotund woman with fading blonde hair to carry a tub into the room. A man was behind her with buckets of steaming water. He was as tall as she was short and had a pock-marked face and kind smile. "That looks heavenly!" Grace exclaimed, her smile genuine this time. Maybe he's softening after all.

"We've got more buckets acomin'. Don't go getting into it yet."

"Of course not," Grace replied while hiding her smile at the mild scolding. "I'll wait for you to tell me you're done."

Bucket after bucket came in until the tub was three-quarters full. Then everyone began to back out of the room. Grace stood there, panic setting in. I can't get out of this blasted dress without help! Surely the woman realizes that. Thomas hadn't allowed her to bring a lady's maid. "Pardon me," she said to the woman who had done the talking. When she got a gap-toothed smile in return, she said, "I — I don't have anyone to help me out of my dress. Could you possibly help me with the buttons in the back?"

"Oh, Your Grace, you're not goin' t' want the likes o' me touching yer fine clothes. I'll let His Grace know 'e's needed. I'm sure 'e won't mind a bit."

Will he even come?

Grace swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. What else could she do? Should she order the woman to unbutton her dress? That hardly seemed fair. Having spent little time around members of the ton, Grace felt wholly inadequate in her role as duchess. She dared not do anything that might embarrass Thomas. He was already holding so much against her.

Only minutes had passed when a knock came at the door. Expecting it to be Thomas, she opened it wide. When she saw Rupert standing there, she blushed. Thomas didn't send his valet up here to undress me! Did he?

"The proprietor's wife said you needed Thomas, but he is otherwise occupied. Is there something I can help you with? Do you need anything from below?"

Thank heaven! I'd have succumbed to a fit of the vapors if Thomas had told Rupert to…

Mortified, Grace said, "No. I need nothing from below. Are you sure Thomas is unable to lend me a hand?"

"I'm afraid he is not available," the valet answered.

Pulling that official smile back out and pasting it on her face, Grace said, "I see. Thank you for checking to see if I needed anything."

"Are you sure everything is all right?"

Of course it's not all right!

"Everything is about as grand as it shall get, I imagine," she said before closing the door.

Maybe the bath isn't even for me. Would Thomas have ordered himself a bath while ignoring my needs? I wish I thought the answer was no.

Grace longingly admired the tub of water before throwing herself on the bed and crying herself to sleep, a pillow hugged tightly against her chest. Even she couldn't tell if her tears were from self-pity, sadness, or anger.

****

Thomas had allowed Grace enough time to bathe. He was bringing a tray of food for her as well. When he opened the door to their room, he found the room quite dark. Giving his eyes a moment to adjust, he finally saw Grace lying on the bed, presumably asleep. Locating the table, he set the tray down. Then he lit some candles and stoked the waning fire so he could see his way around. The truth was, he'd ordered a bath for her only because he'd also wanted one and couldn't very well force her to skip it if the tub and water were right there in the room.

Looking more closely, he saw the cake of soap appeared untouched. The water was crisp and fresh as if the tub had scarcely been filled. Dipping his finger in, he felt how cool it was and knew it must have been sitting there for a time. The towels were also untouched. Had Grace fallen asleep before she could bathe? Rupert had said something about her needing assistance, but he'd been too busy ignoring his wife's existence to pay any attention.

Thomas marched over to the bed and shook Grace's shoulder. "Wh-at is it? Is it time to l-eave already?" Grace was hiccupping, which meant she'd more than likely been crying. Despite her theatrics that day in her father's library, she was not the type of girl to waste a lot of time on tears, at least not in Thomas's experience prior to that fateful house party.

Fighting the urge to feel like a cur for every unkind word he'd said to her over the past days, Thomas kept his words brief, saying, "I brought something to eat. I thought you would have taken your bath by now."

"I asked the lady to f-etch you, but Rupert c-ame instead."

"What did you need that Rupert couldn't assist you?" The last thing he needed was a clingy and demanding wife.

Looking at Grace closely for the first time since they'd said their vows, he saw a drawn face. Her black hair served only to emphasize the shadows under her eyes, as well as in them. She was wearing the same dress she'd worn to their wedding. Blast it all, now what's wrong? In less time than it would have taken him to ring a bell for tea, she'd gone from an ashen complexion to a flaming one.

"I asked the lady who br-ought the bath for help, but she said she c-ouldn't and that she'd get you, but then your va-let came instead, and I couldn't as-k him."

"Grace, if you don't tell me what you need, I can't do anything about it." Frustrated, Thomas ran a hand through his mocha hair. He'd secretly hoped she'd be asleep when he arrived, but he hadn't expected the unused tub. If it weren't for that, he'd have left her to her slumber.

The words tripped out of her mouth as if she wasn't quite sure how to say them. Her voice wavered between chagrin and bravado as she said, "I can't get out o-f my dress."

Understanding dawned as he gazed from Grace to the bathwater and back to Grace again. Sighing, he stood up. "Hold on a moment," he said.

Thomas tugged the filled tub over to a corner of the room and moved the screen to afford a measure of privacy. Then he commanded her, "Stand up." When she did, he gently spun her so her back was to him, and he deftly unbuttoned the buttons along the back of her dress. He tried not to notice the soft skin peeking out above her chemise, the way her raven hair was falling out of its pins, or the delicate complexion of the skin along her neck and shoulders where the shimmering dress dipped. Once he got the gown unbuttoned, he untied the stays of her corset. Then he gave her his back and said, "Go ahead and take a bath. I'll see if we can find a gown for you to wear tomorrow, or if we can get this one cleaned in time for our departure."

He heard Grace moving around behind him and tried not to picture what she would look like climbing out of her voluminous dress. It had been her wedding dress, and she'd been stuck in it for two days. He refused to let himself imagine the look of pleasure on her face as she was finally freed from it. He tried to avoid it, but he nonetheless noticed the dress was beautifully crafted and adorned with flowers for her special day. The burnished gold was a lovely color that became nothing less than alluring when worn by Grace.

When he heard the water sloshing, he turned to see she'd laid her dress on the bed. Without a word to her, he grabbed it and went in search of Rupert.

Reality was setting in. He had a wife. And she was in his room. Naked.

****

Grace sat in the tub and relished the feeling of the cool water against her skin. She was having difficulty processing the change in Thomas's behavior. Was her Thomas back for good, or would the acerbic Thomas make another showing? Trying not to let her hope grow too much, she concentrated on washing herself. Getting the grime of two days' travel off her body and out of her hair felt wonderful. Even in the long-since cooled water, the simple action of bathing was a boon to her soul, a soothing reminder that not everything in her world had been turned upside down.

Inspiration struck, and, unable to resist, she hastily scrubbed her chemise with soap and rinsed it before wringing it out and draping it over a chair in front of the fireplace, then settling back into the tub. Here's hoping it dries quickly! Even if the water wasn't the cleanest by then, at least the soap would wash away the smell of carriage and sweat.

While she'd liked this Thomas more, with his caring blue eyes as he'd told her to stand and the gentle touch with which he'd undone the back of her gown for her, she hoped he didn't hurry back.

I'm not sure I'm ready to face him with nothing but a wet chemise and false bravado.

****

Thomas stayed downstairs as long as he dared. It had already been late when he'd gone up the first time. Now the place had emptied of all but him and the gangly proprietor. The man's wife had told him she could try to clean the gown, but would likely ruin it as she wasn't used to such exquisite material and delicate stitching. Thomas had instead dispatched the faithful Rupert into the village to wake the local seamstress and see if she had anything on hand that was suitably sized. A quick search of Grace's trunks had revealed a plethora of undergarments, books, and other household items, but no outer garments for the duchess to wear.

The young duke took pity on the proprietor, who would stay up as long as he remained downstairs. He stood from his table, nodded to the man, threw down ample coins to pay the man for putting up with his unusual requests and bizarre behavior this evening, then made his way up the stairs. Taking a deep breath, he paused outside the door to their shared chamber. He hoped she was in bed, covered up and fast asleep.

Thomas had spent far too much time in the presence of the peerage these last years. He hadn't realized until this evening how the attitude of entitlement and self-worship had soaked into his skin and pervaded his soul. He'd had his anger as an excuse, sure. The way he'd been treating Grace, though, by ignoring her very basic needs, had been abominable. It had been no better than how Duke Mugsby treated his tenants.

A part of him wanted to believe Grace truly had been in on a ploy to entrap him in marriage. If he knew she couldn't be trusted, then he would never doubt where he stood with her. If it turned out that she'd been innocent of duplicity… Despite the fact that he tried to wrestle it back into silence, hope burned deep inside him.

A man would have to be a fool not to want a loving wife. His father had always told him no dukedom was meant to be run alone. Thomas wanted a wife who would help shoulder the burden, someone with whom he could share his concerns on those days when the weight of responsibility felt like it might crush him.

Thomas would have never thought of Grace in terms of marriage. He'd always considered her as a child. Tonight, however, as he'd unbuttoned her gown and untied the stays of her corset, he'd realized something. Grace was most definitely not a child. Confound it all, why didn't her father give her a season and get her married off before now? His gut clenched in primal protest at the thought.

Still not sure he could trust her, Thomas turned the knob and entered their chamber, one thought on his mind.

She's mine now.

When he stepped across the threshold, he saw Grace sitting at the table in nothing but her chemise, eating ravenously. She cast her eyes at him while in mid-chew, one hand holding bread wrapped around cheese, and the other holding a piece of ham.

Swallowing her food down, she said, "I wasn't sure when you'd be back, and I couldn’t wait anymore. I was starving."

In that moment, she was the Gracie he'd always known, the feisty neighbor kid who had new ideas far too big for the daughter of an earl. She'd never quite fit into the role society declared she'd been born into, and that was one of the things he'd always loved about her.

Loved. Shaking his head, Thomas tried to clear the thought from his mind. Like a sister. Loved like a sister. Then she betrayed me.

No matter how vehemently he repeated the phrase to himself, he couldn't see duplicity in her eyes. She looked fresh and unblemished by the world, artless and unaffected.

Moving into the room, Thomas removed his jacket and untied his cravat. "Did you enjoy your bath?" he asked conversationally.

"It was wonderful. Thank you for helping me with my dress." Grace took another bite, and Thomas watched her chew. Raven hair fell down her back in enticing waves. Then she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand much as she'd done since she was old enough to eat at the table. Her mother had always been on her about proper comportment. He rather liked this Grace, despite the doubts he still harbored about her.

Stepping behind the screen, Thomas considered the tub. He would have liked a bath, but wasn't sure he'd be comfortable sitting naked in the water with Grace on the other side of the screen in nothing but a chemise. Sighing, he splashed some fresh water from the basin onto his face and patted it dry with a towel. Coming back around the screen, he was surprised to see concern in Grace's eyes. "The water's awfully dirty because of me. I'm sorry it's not fit for your bath."

"Don't worry about it. I bathed last night. I'm sure I'll survive. Besides, I'll just get dirty again tomorrow anyway." The irony of his words was not lost on Thomas.

Waving her bread in the air, she asked, "Are you hungry? I saved some for you."

Thomas shook his head and answered, "I ate below, so help yourself."

She nodded and took another bite of bread and cheese. Then, artlessly, she said, "I'd rather hoped to be done and in bed before you returned. I feel quite immodest sitting here like this."

With a chuckle, Thomas asked, "Would you prefer I undress as well so you aren’t alone in your immodesty?"

Grace's eyes widened with surprise and a blush scorched across her ivory skin. "Thank you, but no. I think you're fine the way you are."

Thomas smiled. He could feel the haze of anger lifting, clearing his vision so he could again see Grace for who he'd always believed her to be prior to the weekend of the house party. "I've been a heel."

"You can say that again."

"Will you forgive me?"

"Did that ages ago," she said pertly.

"I was angry about what happened."

"You? Angry? Could have fooled me."

The teasing tone of her banter swirled through the room like a rare perfume. Tempting. Tantalizing. Alluring.

He'd been a clod these last weeks, and Grace was treating him much better than he deserved. Sitting down in a chair he said, "When my father died, I thought everything would be pretty straightforward. Go to London, take his place in the government, manage the estates. I was, unfortunately, wholly unprepared for the ton and its schemes."

"You were different after you came back from London that first time, but you never said what happened. I thought it was grief for your father, and I didn't want to make you sad by asking."

"Everywhere I went, there were women throwing themselves into my path. I was a duke."

"Of course you were a duke," she said, puzzled. "How does that have anything to do with women?"

Thinking back to his first weeks in London, Thomas said, "All parents want their daughters to marry well. Some parents are desperate. Because they are financially ruined, their daughter is unmarriageable, or maybe they are social climbers of the worst sort. It was like being at the butcher with everyone bidding on a prime side of beef. I was the side, and everybody wanted the best cut. I subsequently stopped going to social functions altogether. Being able to walk down a hallway without a woman trying to accost me and lure me into a room became nothing but a distant memory."

"So," Grace asked, "problem solved?"

Thomas shook his head. "The business of government takes place all over London. It's not exclusive to the House of Lords. A lot of policy took place at those social functions."

"Please tell me you at least learned your lesson" she said, her green eyes glittering with humor, "and stopped walking down abandoned hallways?"

With a derisive smile, Thomas said, "I eventually got the hang of it, but the better I got at avoiding difficult situations, the more aggressive women became about trying to entrap me. It would have been easier if I'd already been wed, but I was too young, and there was so much work that went into learning everything I needed to know. I couldn't let my father down. He'd groomed me to take over from the time I was little."

"He was gone far too soon," Grace said. "You had a huge burden dumped on your shoulders for which you'd been no more than partially prepared. I prayed for you often during that time."

"I'm fairly certain prayer and God's intervention are the only things that got me through." Shrugging dismissively, he said, "It was certainly nothing I did."

"I'm sorry for not reaching out to you more after your father died. I should have been a better friend, but I was young. I thought that because I didn't know what to say, nothing I said could possibly be of any value."

Thomas looked at Grace somberly and said, "Let's do each other a favor and leave the past in the past. What do you say?"

"It sounds like a splendid idea," she replied with an emphatic nod.

Thomas smiled and, changing the subject, asked, "Did I ever tell you about the time I got kidnapped?"

Grace sat up straight at his words. "No. What on earth happened?"

"A young lady well past the age of marriage and not quite attractive enough to draw male attention was in need of a husband. Her mother had become quite desperate. The mother paid a footman to kidnap me and take me to their townhome, where I was to be bound and gagged until the mother could arrange for the girl to be in the room with me so we would be forced to wed."

"People actually do things like that?"

"The footman, it turns out, had a conscience. He pulled the carriage over on the way to the family's home, unbound me, told me what was going on, and asked me to punch him hard enough to make it look like he put up a good fight so he wouldn't lose his job. You want to know his parting words to me?"

"Naturally," Grace said with the hint of a smile.

"He said, 'I wouldn't wish being a part of that family on anyone.'"

"What did you do afterward?"

Thomas relaxed and grinned at her. "I hired myself some protection."

Grace tilted her head and regarded him inquisitively. "I've never seen you with a guard."

"Of course you have. He fetched you something to eat last night."

"Rupert is your protector?"

Grace giggled, and Thomas said, "When you say it like that, it sounds rather ludicrous." Shaking his head at her continued laughter, he tried to explain. "Technically he's my valet, but we have a gentleman's understanding. He keeps women away from me at all costs, and he keeps his ear to the ground to look out for my best interests. In return, he is paid well and has my undying loyalty."

"The two of you are friends," she said, tilting her head to the side and studying him like one might a new butterfly species just discovered.

Thomas shrugged. "I am not altogether certain it would be proper for a duke and his valet to be friends."

Grace laughed then. This was no small, ladylike chortle. It was fully developed laughter that rose up from deep down inside her soul. The sound was musical, and Thomas knew in that moment that he would spend the rest of his life trying to give his wife reasons to laugh.

Once her laughter died down, she said, "Of course not, Your Grace. It is, though, perfectly acceptable for a duke and his guard to be friends." After a moment of silence, Grace said, "I understand now why you reacted the way you did."

She took a bite of the ham as Thomas said, "What comes next is considerably more abhorrent." His words weren't alarming enough to cause such a reaction, but before he could continue, Grace was flailing about. He stared at her in stunned silence until she inadvertently slapped her hand against the table. The sound shocked him out of his stupor. He rushed to her aid, pulling her out of her seat and vigorously patting her on the back. Eventually he hit her back with enough force that a piece of ham was dislodged. The meat went flying across the room, landing in a half-chewed lump on the floor.

As Grace struggled to catch her breath, Thomas said, "The dramatics might delay the news, Gracie, but they won't change what it is I have to say."

"That was not for your benefit," she said between gasping breaths. "And did you have to hit me so hard?"

Thomas helped her back to her seat and kneeled down in front of her. "Are you quite recovered?" he asked. When she nodded, he stood and returned to his own seat. "You're not going to like what I have to say."

"Get on with it then," she said. "No good comes from dancing around the topic, whatever it is."

"After I left your father's estate, I traveled to London and made some arrangements. I'm expected on the continent within the week."

"Surely you can change your plans? Or… do you still believe I…?"

Thomas shook his head. "Remember? We're leaving that in the past. I gave my word, and I need to honor it. My duty as a peer of this realm is to protect King and Country. Working with Wellington to battle Napoleon will be entirely worth it if it means we recapture that overstepping madman."

"Oh." Grace's words were hesitant as she asked, "For how long?"

Thomas cast his eyes around the room, not wanting to see the hurt in her eyes when he answered. "I'm legally bound for a year."

"And I'm to stay in Northumberland the entire time?" There was no accusation in her voice, which only served to make Thomas feel worse about what he'd done during those three weeks of anger.

"I made arrangements for you there, and, hard as it may be to believe, I do think you'll like the area."

"It's quite far from my family."

"I know. If things with Napoleon don't go as we expect, you'll be safer in Northumberland than you will be in Stafford." When she said nothing, he added, "I'm leaving Rupert with you."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"Are you daft? If you're ever going to need someone to protect you, it'll be if you're anywhere near Wellington."

Thomas was warmed by her concern. It made him feel… possessive. "He was hired to keep me safe from marriage-minded women. Now that I'm married, I don't expect that to be a problem anymore." With a shrug, Thomas said, "I trust him to protect you in my absence, and so he's staying with you. He'll take on the role of butler for the duration." She glowered at him mutinously. "That's final," he added.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow."

Thomas hid a smile at her words. Gracie had never been one to back down from a fight. "You are correct," he replied. "It's late, and we should both get some sleep." When Grace's eyes shot to his, he saw fear there. Raising his hands he said, "Being angry all the time is exhausting. I want to get some sleep." Grace nodded and moved toward the bed, quickly climbing under the covers and turning so her back was to the middle.

Thomas turned down the lantern and removed his shoes. Leaving his shirt and breeches on, he climbed in beside her and lay there on his back. Folding his hands beneath his head, he stared up at the shadows on the ceiling. The moon was bright enough tonight to make itself known, but not so bright as to give the shadows distinct shapes. Much as a child trying to find the creatures in the clouds, he studied the moving forms on the ceiling to look for anything remotely identifiable.

As long as she lay there awake beside him, there was no hope of him getting any sleep.

Chapter Six

Grace woke slowly, stretched luxuriously, and snuggled further into her pillow. Wait a second. She opened her eyes and peeked. Sure enough, her head was not resting on a pillow. It was nestled on Thomas's shoulder. She wasn't sure what to do. Waking him was out of the question, and honestly, it felt so nice to lie there beside him. He can't yell at me when he's asleep.

"It's fine, Gracie. I’m awake."

Then again, maybe he won't yell at me at all today.

His clear blue eyes were open and twinkling at her. "Well, maybe I’m not," she said before closing her eyes and faking a loud snore.

"You didn't tell me you were going to be a bed hog."

Grace glanced behind to her side of the bed. Sure enough, she'd scooted more than halfway across the bed. It was a wonder she hadn't shoved poor Thomas onto the floor. "In my defense," she said, "I'm not used to having a man in my bed."

Thomas made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a growl. He sat up and said, looking at her, "I hope you don't talk to all the men like that."

"Of course not, you simkin," she said. "Only the ones who sleep in my bed." Then, realizing how her words must have sounded, Grace clapped her hand over her mouth and said, "I didn't mean…" Oh bother! I think that was actually worse than saying I was doomed to life as a courtesan. When will I learn to think before I speak?

Thomas laughed as he got out of bed. "How about, 'Only the ones I'm married to.' I think that might sound better."

"Of course," Gracie said with an enthusiastic nod.

Thomas stepped behind the screen and began changing into fresh clothes for the day. He washed his face and shaved his morning whiskers. Calling out to Grace, he said, "It's time to get ready for the day. We already slept in more than we should have."

"How much longer until we get there?"

"We'll have at least one more night at an inn, but if we push hard, we should make it there before the next night."

"What's the name of your estate there?"

"Castle Felton."

"Is it really a castle?" Her voice was filled with curiosity and wonder.

"Indeed it is. It didn't come into our family until my grandfather's lifetime. Still, it dates back over five hundred years."

"Has anyone in your family ever lived there?"

Thomas came back around the screen fully dressed and ready for the day. "My grandfather had a sister who never married. She became eccentric in her later years, and I believe she was sent to live out her life there."

"In exile," Grace said flatly. "Because everyone thought she'd gone mad." So I'm being exiled to an asylum. Why does this not surprise me? He's been telling me I'm cracked for at least the past fifteen years.

"It's a beautiful place," Thomas said with a wry grin. "I wouldn't mind spending summers there if it weren't so far from London." He glanced up and saw Grace sitting in the middle of the bed, her chemise on and a sheet gathered around her. He cleared his throat and abruptly said, "I'll go find Rupert and see if he's managed to find you something suitable to wear. Get as ready as you can, and I'll hopefully be back straightaway." Sparing a look at the table that held not much more than bread and some now-dried cheese, Thomas added, "We don't have time to eat before we leave, but I'll make sure we take some food with us."

As he reached for the door, Grace's voice stopped him. "Maybe you could ride in the carriage today. It might be nice to share the space when no one's angry. I'd hate for you to go off to fight Napoleon with more memories of us fighting than of us being friends." I won't let him see my hurt if he says no, but, by all that's good and holy, he'd better say yes.

Without turning to look at her, Thomas said, "I have a lifetime of good memories with you, Gracie. A few weeks of my bad humor won't tarnish that. If it will make you feel better about things, though, I'll ride with you."

Once Thomas exited the room, Grace saw to her morning ablutions and did her best to prepare for the day. She pinned her hair into place and was slipping her feet into slippers when Thomas came back in, carrying a blue day dress. "I know it's not a color you normally wear, but it'll have to do for now," he said.

"It's wonderful! It looks light and refreshing."

"The air will continue getting colder as we move further north," Thomas said. "There's a pelisse waiting for you in the carriage and another dress packed away in one of your trunks. Unfortunately, there are no other… suitable… clothes in the trunks."

With a smile, Grace took the dress from him and stepped behind the screen. "Since it's entirely your fault I do not have my trousseau with me, I assume you will be paying for a seamstress to come to Castle Felton and provide me with a wardrobe."

Laughing, Thomas said, "Right you are, you little minx. I suppose I owe you at least that."

"At the very least," she said with a smug chuckle.

From behind the screen, she continued speaking. "We've not discussed money at all. I've no idea what kind of allowance I will have, what the budget for the house is, none of that. I know it's not normally done to talk with one's wife about such things, but do you think you can explain it all to me today?"

Grace came around the edge of the screen, holding the dress in place with her hands as she approached Thomas. Turning her back to him, she asked, "Can you please button me?" She had decided to forego the corset today and hoped Thomas's silence didn't mean he was offended by that.

He still hadn't answered her question by the time he finished the last button. Grace swung around and gave him a questioning look. "Thomas, do you think we can talk about it today during the carriage ride?"

"Talk about what?"

"The estate budget. My allowance. Weren't you listening?" Grace examined him closely to see if anything was wrong. Thomas appeared flushed. "Are you feeling all right?" She reached out to touch his forehead and check his temperature. What is it that makes all the men in my life act so peculiarly without warning?

He dodged her touch, but reached out and cupped her chin in his hand. His voice was slow and deliberate as he said, "I'm fine, Grace." Then he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

Something had changed in Thomas's expression while she'd been behind the screen. She couldn't say what, but the charged look in his cobalt eyes made Grace think perhaps asking him to ride in the carriage with her had been a bad idea. Looking into those eyes all day and remaining unaffected was going to be a trial.

I always did enjoy a good challenge.

****

As they got underway, Grace and Thomas shared a light meal of bread and preserves while he told her more about Castle Felton. He hoped to endear the place to her before they arrived. "I have a couple that stays on as caretakers. They see to the grounds and make sure the castle is kept in good repair."

"Other than them, it sits there empty?" she asked.

"I have tenants who farm much of the land, but that's about it."

"I've heard Northumberland is quite austere."

Nodding his agreement, he said, "It is. It's beautiful in its own way."

"So talk to me about money."

Thomas laughed and said, "Subtlety is not your strong suit, Gracie. You do know that, right?"

Her emerald eyes sparkling, Grace told him, "You'll always know exactly where you stand with me."

His wife was not going to like what he was about to tell her. Knowing he couldn't avoid the conversation forever, he began speaking. "Rupert will officially be your butler at Castle Felton, but he is also going to be acting steward of the castle as well as head steward over my other holdings. He will oversee the running of the household, as well as the budget."

Grace, whose laughter had shone in her eyes just moments ago, sat back. She swallowed and said, "You don't trust me."

Shaking his head, Thomas told her, "I put all of this into place while I was still under the impression you'd trapped me into this marriage. I'll admit my intentions weren't entirely loving, but we've agreed that's all in the past. Try as I might, I can't undo everything I put into place during this short time I have left before I need to leave."

"You wanted to wound me."

He nodded and said, "I wanted to cut you as deeply as I felt you'd cut me."

"We're not doing a very good job of putting the past behind us, are we?" Her voice had a bruised sadness to it, and the lustre in her eyes had dimmed.

"I think," Thomas said contemplatively, "that we've safely put the accusation and anger in the past. That does not require, however, that we forego discussing it altogether. It seems reasonable that we should be able to talk about it when it comes up without feeling guilty or self-conscious."

Grace nodded and said, "Certainly. Tell me the rest of what I'll need to know."

"Rupert's name is the one listed on the bank account. He knows not to hold the purse strings too tightly. He is aware your wardrobe needs replacing. I also sent word back to Stafford that the remainder of your belongings be sent on to you at the castle."

"This all seems rather surreal."

"I suppose it does. Do you much feel like you're married?"

"About the time I get used to it, you shall be leaving." Her voice was beguiling as she said, "I am likely to grow terribly independent in your absence."

Thomas burst into laughter. "Gracie, dear, have you ever been anything but independent?"

"You know I'm going to have Rupert order me a subscription to the newspaper."

"I've already taken care of it."

"Which paper? And when did you have time to do that?"

"At our last stop, while you were upstairs bathing. I sent off the letter to Stafford about forwarding your belongings and one to Castle Felton notifying them of our impending arrival. I ordered a subscription to the Morning Chronicle for you and jotted a note to your parents letting them know where you will be and more or less apologizing for the way I conducted myself at our wedding."

"My, you were busy."

"You gave me a lot to think about."

"I don't recall saying anything thought-provoking."

"Your silence said more than words ever could have." His wife's tilted head and furrowed brow betrayed her consternation. "You could have said all manner of terrible things to me when I insisted you call me 'Your Grace,' but you didn't. You could have ripped your dress to shreds and left it on the floor for me to find when you couldn't get out of it in order to bathe, but you chose not to. I treated you abominably and made you cry, and you never said a thing to me about it."

"How did you know I'd been crying?"

"You were hiccupping when I woke you."

A delicate blush crept up Grace's neck, which served to emphasize her ethereal beauty.

Thomas asked, "How many times as children did our parents force us to attend church on Sunday?"

Looking relieved at the change in subject, she replied, "Nearly every Sunday of my life that I can remember."

"How many times did we hear the vicar discuss the grace of God?"

"More often than I care to count," she answered. "It always made me uncomfortable hearing my name in the same breath as God's. When I was little, I actually thought it was me they were talking about. There was this one Sunday I cried hysterically because the vicar talked about how God would give Grace to anyone who asked. I didn't want to leave my family," she chuckled.

Thomas grinned. "I remember that Sunday. You were what, maybe five or six at the time?" After a momentary pause, he added, "You would have been within your rights to throw things at my head and scream like a shrew. Instead, you extended grace by not returning my anger. If we're going to be equally matched in this marriage, I'm going to have to learn to do the same."

"That's not so bad, is it?"

Self-mockingly, Thomas said, "I happen to dislike change. Leave me alone, and let me do my thing. For pity's sake, don't dare challenge me to become a better man than I already am."

With an impish grin, she said, "So, the Morning Chronicle. I don't suppose you could add the London Gazette?" Thomas shook his head in delight. When he got around to introducing her to London society as his duchess, Gracie was going to set tongues to wagging. The ton would never be the same.

The two sat there in companionable silence for a spell, each lost in their own thoughts. Thomas watched his wife surreptitiously. He could not get the scene from that morning out of his mind: Grace walking toward him with her blue dress held in place with nothing more than her hands. Despite his best efforts, he couldn't shake the image.

How did a man proceed with a wife he'd never wanted nor courted, but now didn't want to consider letting go?

****

Grace looked up and saw a smoldering look on Thomas's face. Her breath hitched in her throat. "Is everything all right?" He nodded but said nothing, instead turning and lifting the curtain over the window to take a look outside. "Are you sure? You seem upset."

"Everything's delightful." His expression didn't at all match his words.

Ever the curious one, she asked, "What were you thinking about?"

"I am fairly certain you don't want to know," he replied.

Drop it. Don't pry. A good wife does not force her husband to speak to her.

"Oh." She knew she should stop asking, but something inside her wanted to keep pulling at him until he gave an answer.

As a child, she'd once skinned her knee. Thomas had repeatedly told her to leave the scab alone for her own good, but she'd ignored him. In the end, unable to resist picking at it, she'd pulled the scab off, and the wound had started bleeding again. Even then she'd known that, given the chance to do it again, she'd likely not have heeded his words of warning. "I'm naturally curious, you know," she said.

Thomas rounded away from the window and let the curtain fall back into place. "You look lovely in that dress," he said.

That's what he was thinking? Then why do I feel like…

"Thank you."

"Did your mother talk to you about the things that happen between husbands and wives in marriage?"

That's what he was thinking!

Grace felt the heat radiating from her skin at his words, but she refused to reach for her reticule. I will not hide behind my fan! I can be adult about this conversation. Maybe. "She did, though I have to admit to not understanding much of what she said. What she explained sounded nothing like what I've seen the horses and sheep do. Or the pigs, for that matter."

Thomas's face flushed as he was overtaken with a fit of coughing.

I grew up in the country. It can't possibly be shocking that I've witnessed animals cavorting.

Once Thomas finally got his coughing under control, he said, "I have no idea what to say to that."

Grace chuckled, tickled that, even if inadvertently, she had discombobulated him so. "Why don't you say whatever you had planned to say before I started talking about the mating habits of animals?"

It took Thomas a moment, but he finally said, his gaze never leaving her face, "I thought perhaps we could share a room again tonight."

"Even if the inn has additional rooms available?" Her voice was not much more than a whisper, but she credited herself that it didn't waver.

Her husband's nod both excited and frightened her. "Only if you are comfortable. I won't force the issue. I've been enough of a clod already in this marriage."

"Would this be a better time for me to be honest or silent?" Mum always did tell me I should think before I speak. I suppose this is as good a time as any to start following her advice.

"I'll always prefer your honesty over your silence, Grace."

He says that now…

She momentarily broke eye contact, looking down at her hands where they lay neatly folded in her lap. When she raised her gaze again, the reassuring look on Thomas's face emboldened her. "I imagine I shall be uncomfortable, but isn't that the way of things we do not entirely understand? I trust you, and I would rather have it done with than allow it time to become something to fret and worry over."

A bark of laughter escaped Thomas before he said, "I have no idea if that was an invitation or a scolding."

I definitely never would have made it as a courtesan. Not that I'd have considered it, of course. Oh bother. How does a woman tell her husband she's willing to…

As if it was the most natural thing in the world, Grace half-stood and leaned across the space separating them. Without a word, she placed her hands on his chest to brace herself against the jostling of the carriage and leaned in to place her lips on his. Public affection was frowned upon, but she'd seen her parents kiss on occasion and understood the basic mechanics of it.

She was, however, unprepared for how sublime it felt when Thomas lifted his arms to wrap around her. He picked her up from where she was and settled her into a position sitting sideways across his lap. The moment she was in place, he returned his lips to hers and kissed her with much more tenderness and passion than she'd ever expected. Oh my.

After a moment, Thomas broke off the kiss and leaned his head back against the carriage. She rested her head against his shoulder and sighed with contentment. A moment later, a small laugh escaped her.

"What, pray tell, is amusing?" her husband asked.

"I thought I knew how to kiss because I'd seen my parents do it."

She could feel the laughter rumbling in his chest. "I hope you never saw your parents kiss like that," he said comically.

"If I had," she responded blithely, "do you think I'd have waited this long to accost you, Your Grace?"

"Hm. I like the sound of that."

"What?"

"I like it when you say 'Your Grace.' Want to know why?

"Most certainly," she said lightly.

His voice a gentle rumble, he said, "Because it reminds me that you are indeed my Grace, perhaps my saving grace."

"I haven't saved you from much."

"Indeed you have," he said. "I think God put you in that library for just such a reason." She tilted her head to look at him. His blue eyes were luminous, speaking more directly to her soul than his words ever could. "You have saved me from all my own selfish interests. We haven’t been able to spend much time together these past few years because I've been in London so much. If we had, you'd know I was becoming quite the cynic. I would have continued down that selfsame path until I was an unbearable human being had you not come along and trapped me into marriage when you did."

"So you're saying I saved you from yourself?"

Thomas nodded, his arms cradling her. "You saved me from myself and from all the marriage-minded ladies out to ensnare me. In my opinion, that alone deserves the highest honor the crown can award."

I think this whole marriage mishap might work out after all.

Chapter Seven

The following day was another long one in the carriage. Thomas's hopes of making it to Castle Felton before nightfall were evaporating as the day wore on, but spending another day with his radiant bride was more than enough compensation.

"You seem worried," Grace said to him as evening approached.

"Not worried," he said. "Thoughtful."

"I shall miss you when you are gone," she said, a shy smile lighting her face.

Thomas, who was far more used to Gracie acting the outspoken hoyden, gave her a gentle look. "I'll write as often as I’m able."

"Are we in danger this close to Scotland's border?"

The change in subject threw him, but he kept pace with her. "Not typically. Raids are mostly a thing of the past. I suppose some of the older generation may continue to stay on alert anyway. Some habits are hard to break, and distrust is one of the hardest."

"If I write you, how will I know where to direct the letters?"

"I've given Rupert all the information."

With an impish grin, she asked, "Because you don't trust me?"

"You're never going to let me live that down, are you?"

"Come back alive, and I might be willing to drop it." Her mouth smiled, but her eyes looked worried.

"I'll do my best."

"Remind me again when you leave."

"Tomorrow morning at first light," he replied. Her sharp intake of breath drew his eyes to her face. She paled at his words, and her shining raven coiffure stood in stark contrast to her now colorless face. "It can't be helped."

"Will you be taking the carriage?" she asked, not saying anything against his planned departure.

Thomas shook his head and answered, "The carriage, footman, and driver will stay with you. Hero will go with me."

"Will you be safe traveling alone?"

Enjoying her concern for his welfare, he said, "I believe so. I'll be meeting up with another gentleman about a day's ride from Castle Felton. From there we'll be traveling on together. Besides, Hero's never let me down when I've been in a tight spot."

"It's not as common as it once was," she said in reply, "but highwaymen do still roam the rural areas."

"I'll be armed, and as I told you, Hero is faster than any highwayman's horse." What he didn't say was that carriages were much more vulnerable to highwaymen. He didn't want to worry Grace since they were presently traveling by carriage.

****

It was close to midnight when they arrived at Castle Felton. Mr. and Mrs. Pembroke greeted the duke, fatigue in their eyes. Thomas sent them both back to bed and told them he'd see them first thing in the morning. He instructed the footmen to unload Grace's trunks and bring them upstairs to her chambers. To Rupert, he gave orders to see to everything else, including the servants.

Thomas then stepped back over to the carriage and opened the door through which he'd recently exited. Grace was sound asleep in what looked to be an uncomfortable position on one of the benches. He called her name, but she didn't move. Climbing into the carriage, he gathered her into his arms. Getting back out of the carriage was awkward, but he managed. Then he carried his Gracie into her new home, up the grand staircase, and into her bedchamber. He laid her down on her bed and smoothed the jet-black hair back from her face.

Withdrawing through the door to his adjoining chamber, he removed his jacket, waistcoat, and cravat before returning to Grace's side to get her settled in for the night. Removing her slippers first, he thought to remove her dress, but wasn't sure how to accomplish the task while she was lying down in it.

"Are we there yet?" came her sleepy voice.

"Indeed we are. I was trying to get you comfortable so you could sleep."

"Will you stay with me tonight?"

"You need your sleep, Gracie."

She leaned up on one elbow and inspected her husband. Her eyes perused every part of him before lingering on his face. "I can't do anything about the fact you're leaving tomorrow. The only thing I have control over is how I spend my remaining time before you go, and I want to spend that time with you. Please give me that gift before you're gone from here."

Feeling he was more blessed than any man should have a right to be, Thomas leaned in and tenderly kissed his wife. Then, standing, he said, "Come here. Let me play lady's maid for you once again."

****

The sun was barely creeping into the bedroom when Grace awoke the next morning. Finding herself alone in her chamber, she called, "Thomas?" When she got no answer, she jumped out of bed, frantically searched through one of her trunks until she found a dressing gown, then raced out the door and down the stairs. If he left without bidding me farewell, I will…

She was met at the bottom of the stairs by Rupert. "Did he leave?" she demanded.

Before Rupert could even answer, Thomas's voice came from her left. "I would never leave without saying goodbye, Gracie. I wanted to let you sleep a bit longer while I took care of some items pertaining to the estate here."

She pivoted toward him, relief coursing through her veins. "How much longer?" she asked, her voice raw with emotion.

"About an hour," he said. "Go back up and get dressed. There's a second dress hanging in your wardrobe. I'll be up in a few minutes to help you. You want to look your best. Later today you and Rupert will be interviewing lady's maids."

I don't care about getting a lady's maid, you toad!

Trying to calm her racing heart and knowing she should be more refined than to race down the stairs in her sleep attire, Grace turned toward the steps that led back to her chamber and put her hand on the banister.

Thomas's voice stopped her. "And, Gracie?" She circled to look at him. He winked and said, "I'm glad to know I'll be missed."

Trying to smile past her sadness, she nodded before making her way back to her chamber. I can't let him see how upset I am. It will serve no good purpose if he leaves here fretting over me.

The dress she found in her wardrobe was a cross between purple and red, but with an earthier hue. It was bold, not the sort of color one normally found in a day dress. She dug through her trunk until she found a clean chemise. After quickly donning it, she washed her face and hands at the basin in her room. She brushed out her hair and pinned it up into place, detached from the action as though witnessing it from afar. That task complete, she began to climb into the new dress.

She heard the door behind her open and glanced over to see Thomas approaching. He gave her a broad smile and said, "I knew that color would suit you. Let's get you buttoned in, then I want to have a proper look at you."

Grace obliged by turning her back to him. "You're getting quite good at this," she said as his fingers deftly took care of the row of buttons.

Putting his hands on her shoulders, he lightly spun her until she faced him. He took a couple steps back and gave her an appraising look. "The color is called puce, you know."

"I wondered," she said. "Being I was unmarried, I've never been allowed to wear such bright colors before." I've always thought that was a senseless rule.

"It's beautiful on you." His loving words were a boon. She wished she could freeze this moment in time and lock it away in her heart for safekeeping.

There were so many things Grace wanted to say, but the ability to pull her chaotic emotions together into cohesive thoughts was beyond her. The pain of Thomas's leaving was already upon her. Instead, she asked, "Why do you keep staring?"

"I want to store up this memory to add to the others I have. I want to carry a picture of you vibrant and colorful and beautiful and mine."

This might be easier if he were still angry. Why'd he have to go and get over his problem and make this parting so painful?

She fought back the tears so close to the surface.

"Ah, Gracie, come here," he said, opening his arms in invitation. She flew into them. "You are a strong, brave, and wonderful woman. You will do fine in your own right. I am honored to call you wife and look forward to when I can return. Don't let my absence take your sparkle away. I shall continue picturing you as feisty, argumentative, and opinionated. I will believe you are here reading the newspaper and getting involved in things other women wouldn't dare. Promise me you will continue being you while I am gone. Don't sit around and pine for me. That will do neither of us any good."

Sniffling, she said, "I shall pine for you until the first newspaper arrives. Then I will put you firmly out of my mind and go about with my life." Liar!

Thomas pulled back and used his finger to tilt her chin up until their eyes met. "We have many years of marriage left ahead of us, Gracie. This separation is for a season, then it will be over." He gave her a lingering kiss before taking his leave.

She watched from her room as he mounted Hero and rode away. Before leaving the courtyard, he sought her out where she stood in the window and waved. Grace returned the wave, her hand remaining on the glass pane long after he was gone from sight.

Lord, please keep him safe. It feels that we've only just found each other.

Chapter Eight

"Your Grace?" Rupert's words broke into her thoughts. "There are six girls from the village coming today."

"Are they all looking to become a lady's maid?"

Rupert, his face impassive, replied, "You need to hire a lady's maid as well as a housemaid and a cleaning maid to help with the laundry and dishes."

"Are there any other positions that need to be filled?"

"I'm sure Mrs. Pembroke would appreciate it if the cleaning maid could also assist her in the kitchen. Other than that, no." Rupert shook his head. "We brought a driver and footman from Stafford. The driver will also act as groomsman while we're in residence." After a short pause, he said, "If you plan to do much entertaining, then perhaps we will need more staff."

Grace shook her head. "I have no need to entertain, but I do wonder if the village has a seamstress. It appears I need a wardrobe."

"Unfortunately, there's no seamstress nearby. There would not be enough business to support one. We have come to a humble place."

"I suppose all these girls are in need of the work, and a job here at the castle will be a lifeline to any one of them." Maybe doing something good for someone else will make this day seem less wretched.

"That is likely so, Your Grace."

She nodded and said, "I'd like to meet each one of them individually. Is there a salon downstairs I can use?"

Rupert nodded and said, "I'll see to it."

****

She was exhausted by the emotion of the day and interviewing the girls, the youngest of which was barely twelve. Later that evening, Grace sat at the kitchen table with Rupert and the Pembrokes. "I can't abide Edith. Don't ask me why, but something about her personality grated. Seeing her in my home on a daily basis would be worse than living downwind from the stable." Rupert, who held a list of the girls, drew a line through Edith's name.

"Elsie is so young. It seems she should be in school."

Mrs. Pembroke spoke up and said, "We don't have one of those fancy schools in the parish, Your Grace."

Intent on her duty to select the household staff, Grace said, "I liked Margaret. She struck me as quite friendly."

Mr. Pembroke muttered something, and Grace watched husband and wife inquiringly. Mrs. Pembroke glared at her husband and said, "What Mr. Pembroke means to say is that Margaret is quite friendly, but sometimes she's friendly to the wrong people. She might be a distraction for the male servants."

Grace glanced back and forth between the Pembrokes before telling Rupert to cross her name off the list.

It's a shame. I liked her, but it wouldn't do to alienate the existing staff.

Suddenly realizing what Mrs. Pembroke had said a short time ago, Grace asked, "There's no school?"

"I didn't mean any harm, Your Grace. There's nowhere for the children to learn their letters and numbers and the like. Most of them will grow up to be farmers or will follow in their parents' trade, or maybe get an apprenticeship, so it's never mattered."

Grace took a moment to process Mrs. Pembroke's words. It was true, schooling for commoners was rare, but there were shires that provided it. She would need to find out whether schooling was the responsibility of the landowner or the shire church. In the meantime, while she sorted that out, she could still take some action.

Glancing over the names on Rupert's list, she said, "Very well. That settles it. Elsie shall be my lady's maid. She's young and will have a lot to learn, but I believe we'll get on famously. Hire Anna to take care of laundry and dishes. I'd like you to hire Sarah and Dorothea as housemaids, but not for every day. Rupert, you'll have to arrange the schedule so they each work part of the week. If someone doesn’t work out, then we'll let that person go, and whoever remains can have the additional work."

"You want me to split the one housemaid job between the two women? Are you sure that will be enough for them?" Rupert questioned.

"I conversed with each at length. Sarah and Dorothea are unmarried and living at home with their parents. Their income will greatly help their families, but neither family is in a desperate situation. Anna lost her parents when she was young and has been moved from family to family within the parish as a charity case. She has no real home. Elsie's father was badly injured and can't walk anymore, and her mother isn't skilled enough to do any work other than caring for her family. She would take in laundry for people, but nobody around these parts can afford to pay. Sarah and Dorothea may want jobs, but both Anna and Elsie need one."

Grace stood to exit the room. As she was leaving, though, she recalled another of her current dilemmas. Turning to the Pembrokes, she said, "I understand there's no seamstress in town. Do you know of anyone handy enough with a needle to make me some dresses? I'm afraid I have but three, including the one I was wed in, until my things arrive from Stafford."

Husband and wife exchanged a look before Mrs. Pembroke said, "Margaret is the best there is around these parts. She doesn't have a shop or material to offer you, but she can sew almost anything and make it look fancier than you'd ever imagine."

That's an interesting turn of events.

Grace mulled that over for a moment before saying, "I aim for this estate to do what it can to help the people of this village for as long as I'm in residence. I appreciate your honesty," she said, nodding to Mr. Pembroke, "and hope you will continue to be honest with me. You know the people here much better than I do." Then, turning to Rupert, she said "Please inform the girls of my decision and work out a schedule. The housemaid can start tomorrow, but I'll need Elsie tonight. Anna can start tonight or tomorrow, whatever is best for her. Give Elsie a chance to let her parents know, but then she needs to return with her belongings and plan to stay on here until further notice."

"In the meantime," she added, "do some checking around town for me, Rupert. Find out if the families would be interested in sending their children up here two days per week. I am most assuredly not a teacher, but I'd like to do what I can to help anyone interested in learning their letters and numbers." She paused momentarily, thinking about how best to handle her next order. When she did finally speak, it was to say, "Inform Margaret I will be employing her services with a needle. One of my trunks upstairs has some material in it. Make sure she understands it is to be temporary. There is no reason to get her hopes up needlessly."

I hope she works out. Perhaps I should speak to her about relations with other staff.

Chapter Nine

May 1815

It had been two months since Thomas's departure. Everyone had settled into a sort of pattern at Castle Felton. Elsie had at first been horrified when told she needed to bathe and wash her hair at least twice weekly. When the subject of clean clothes came up, the poor girl had paled more than the albino shrew Grace had once seen in a field back in Stafford Shire.

After Margaret had completed some dresses for her, Grace set her to sewing uniforms for Elsie and the other staff. Margaret did most of the sewing at home, but she made frequent trips to the castle. As Grace had the opportunity to spend time with her, she came to like the lithe girl with her irrepressible sable curls.

Mr. Pembroke took care of the grounds. Mrs. Pembroke oversaw the work of all the maids except Elsie. Rupert saw to the footman and groomsman, as well as all household-related business that came up. The remainder of Grace's belongings from Stafford arrived, and she felt better having some of her familiar items around her in this new strange land.

Grace insisted on eating her evening meal in the kitchen with the staff. She saw no reason for them to make a formal affair of serving her in the dining room when she was the only one there. Everyone, especially Mr. and Mrs. Pembroke, had been terribly uncomfortable when she'd first joined them in the kitchen. Over time, they became less agog and accepted her presence there.

In compromise, Grace instructed the staff to put on a formal luncheon on those days when the children came to the castle for their studies. She was learning to find a balance between her instinctively rebellious nature and the needs of her staff. While some servants might have rebelled against serving what amounted to a group of peasant children, her staff had embraced the opportunity to demonstrate their skill and knowledge of propriety. One thing Grace's mother had always taught her was that people want to feel needed and need to feel wanted.

In the meantime, she hoped the exposure the children received would benefit them someday if any of them ever wanted to seek employment in service. Depending on one's situation, employment in service could be a step up, possibly the difference between starvation and survival.

As they sat around the dinner table one evening, Grace asked, "Did you hear parliament passed the Importation Act?"

Rupert, nodding, was the only one to respond. "His Grace will not be pleased to hear it."

Curious, Grace asked, "What does Thomas plan to do with his tenants? Is he going to raise their rents?"

Rupert lifted his attention from his plate again and said, "Not yet. The Act is going to cause food prices to go up across the country, which will spill over onto other products, impacting farmers enough already."

"If food prices go up, then the price of everything else will increase. How will the newspaperman be able to afford to feed his family unless he raises the cost of his newspaper? How will the milliner be able to feed her family unless she raises the price of her goods?" Grace frowned as she again considered the full import of the Act.

Rupert glanced from Grace to the others at the table before answering. "It's a concern, and I'll be monitoring things closely. I send weekly reports to His Grace, and if he wants me to make any changes, I'll see to it."

Grace smiled and said, "Thank you," to Mrs. Pembroke as the woman brought a delicate pudding to the table for everyone to enjoy. Turning back to Rupert, she said, "It must be a bit odd for you."

"How so?"

"Soldier turned valet. Valet turned butler and steward of sorts."

Mr. Pembroke declared, "What's a valet without a master, I say. I'm not even sure being butler to this old place is a step up."

I dare say I may never get used to this man! He always says the oddest things at the most peculiar times.

Turning her attention to the youngest diner, Grace asked, "Elsie, how are your parents getting on?"

The girl's hazel eyes lit up, "They're both ever so grateful you let me 'ave this job, Your Grace. My da is still in a bad way, but 'e doesn't have t' worry so much anymore, and the doctor says that's good for 'im. And the kids pester Mum all week askin' when they can next come up t' the castle for learnin'. Mum is so thankful t' 'ave them out from underfoot for a spell." Elsie, who walked her younger brothers and sisters back home on the days they came for lessons, went on to say, "You should 'ave seen the look on Mum's face when Fran told her you make me bathe twice a week. I thought she was going t' faint dead away!"

At least I’m endearing myself to the locals!

Grace chuckled at the thought and said, "Let me guess. Fran wants to be like you?"

Elsie's youthful laughter filled the room. "Fran insists she'll 'eat 'er own water and fill the tub 'erself so she's no extra trouble for Mum. I don't think Mum knows 'ow t' tell 'er no. She can't punish 'er for wantin' t' be clean, now can she?"

"Clean, no," Grace said. "Fran wasn't being impertinent, was she?" With Fran one can never tell what she might say or do next…

"Oh no, Your Grace. Fran wants so much to be a lady like you. She hasn't thrown a fit even once since you told 'er ladies don't behave that way. She hardly even fights with the other kids anymore. I know it's good and all, but it's so funny. Fran used t' be the first one t' dive into a fight fist-first. Mum always said she'd been born into the wrong body. Now suddenly she wants t' be all ladylike, and nobody knows what t' do with 'er."

****

That night, before she retired, she sought out Rupert. He was reading in the library, a room she'd told the staff they could all enjoy anytime they wanted as long as their work was done. Looking up when she came in, he asked, "Did you need something?"

"I'd like to plan a trip to Newcastle."

"Of course, Your Grace. When would you like to go?"

"As soon as possible, but I don't want it to interfere with the days the village children come to the castle."

"Are you planning on spending the night, then?"

Grace nodded. "I think so. I have a surprise in mind for the children, but it will require some shopping and secrecy on my part. Elsie and Margaret will need to accompany me on the trip." She watched as Rupert's eyebrow lifted in question. After a short pause, she asked, "By the way, how is Margaret working out? It didn't seem prudent to ask in front of the others. She hasn't been up here often, but with what I have in mind we will be seeing more of her, at least for a spell. Has there been any trouble with the footman or driver?"

"I haven't had to say a word to them. Whatever you said to Margaret has kept her in line. To my knowledge, nothing untoward has occurred, and the Pembrokes have mentioned nothing to me." Rupert stood and asked, "Do you want to tell me what this surprise is, Your Grace?"

She shook her head. "Not yet."

When she didn't immediately leave the room, Rupert asked if she needed anything else.

With a sigh, Grace inquired, "Have you heard from Thomas? He said he'd write every week, but it's been two weeks since the last letter."

"Your not receiving a letter does not necessarily mean he didn't write one." Rupert's dark eyes offered comfort as he said, "There are many things that can prevent the post from getting to its intended destination. Keep writing to him as you have been. His letters will catch up to you eventually."

At least he didn't hesitate so he could think of the suitable thing to say. Maybe that means he believes his own words.

Almost satisfied with his answer, Grace nodded and said, "Goodnight then."

Chapter Ten

All the children gathered in the great hall the next day. There were twenty of them, twenty-one counting Elsie. Grace had given the villagers two rules. In order to come, the child had to be both out of nappies and willing to follow her directions. The first day with the children had been a circus. They'd all been so excited to see inside the castle they'd not listened to a word she'd said. By necessity, Rupert had stepped in and raised his voice to get the children to settle down.

Seeing an opportunity to capitalize on their curiosity, Grace had promised them a tour of the castle on their next visit, and had then used that opportunity to teach them some of England's history. The lesson had gone splendidly until somebody had toppled over a suit of armor and the children all screamed and scattered. Apparently they all thought the thing had come to life and was going to chase them.

Grace learned a couple of important lessons that week. One, if the children showed an interest in something, capitalize on it. Two, don't keep anything on display that you aren't willing to part with.

Just this last week, she'd mentioned something about prayer, and the children had been so full of questions she'd invited the vicar to come for a visit. If it went well, she might have him back again. During church on Sundays, the children were all expected to sit mutely, and the words of the vicar were directed at the adults. When she'd spoken to the vicar about talking with the children, his eyes had lit up. She had been hopeful his enthusiasm would translate into something the children would find helpful. When the vicar had arrived earlier that morning, she'd become certain they would find the vicar's talk engaging.

"All right everyone, I need you to settle down." Grace refused to raise her voice to gain the children's attention. It had taken a little while, but the village children had learned and now generally listened so they didn't miss what she had to say. Those who sat in front quickly shushed the ones behind them, who then did the same, and so forth. Soon the entire group was quiet. They sat cross-legged on the floor with their hands folded politely in their laps as Grace had taught them.

"I'm pleased you could come today. We have a special treat in store for us. Vicar Renner has agreed to join us and tell you a little bit about what he teaches your parents on Sundays. The vicar will also be in attendance for lunch, and I hope you'll all be on your best behavior."

Some of the children began to squirm. Grace knew they had to be thinking it was going to be like sitting in church, something none of them were particularly interested in doing. They have no idea what a treat they're in for. "Please welcome Vicar Renner."

The children did their obligatory clapping. When the vicar casually strolled in, their clapping stopped as they all stared wide-eyed at him. "Why's 'e dressed like that?" one of the older boys asked.

"Samuel, be respectful." Grace's voice was firm. Shamefaced, the boy dropped his gaze while the boy next to him snickered. She caught that boy's eye, and he, too, glanced down. Mum would be proud. I've learned to give The Look.

"Good morning, boys and girls," Vicar Renner said. "I know most of you by name, but I’m getting rather old, and sometimes I forget things. If I call you the wrong name, you may correct me, but you're absolutely not allowed to laugh at me. Are we clear?"

Twenty-one solemn nods were his reply.

The vicar ambled over to a young girl with curly blonde hair and said, "So tell me, Richard, how are your parents today?" The girl, eyes wide, stared at him. He said, "I used the wrong name, didn't I?" She nodded, her hair bouncing with the movement. "Let me see," he said. "I think I've got it! You're Milford, aren't you?" She shook her head. "William?" Again, she shook her head. "Miles?" This time, the tiniest little smile stretched her lips as she moved her head. "Is it Arthur?" A little bubble of laughter escaped the girl. The other children watched. Some of them were smiling, but others appeared almost afraid, as if the vicar might be setting a trap for them so he could punish them for laughing.

Finally, the vicar asked, "Well, since I'm clearly never going to guess it, can you please tell me what your name is?"

The little girl, her smile gone — no doubt chased away at the thought of having to speak to the vicar — said, "Rosalyn."

"Rosalyn! I was so close! You look exactly like a Rosalyn, too. Don't know how I could have missed that!" Then he gave her an exaggerated wink. A smile again broke across her face, and Grace could see the vicar had made a friend for life. The children sitting near young Rosalyn all grinned, too.

The vicar considered the group as a whole and said, "Somebody asked why I'm dressed like this. Was that you, Evangeline?" He was pointing directly at Samuel, the boy who'd asked the question.

Look away! Avoid all eye contact! Grace knew that if her eyes connected with those of the vicar, she would not be able to contain her mirth.

"It's Samuel, sir," the boy said in return.

"Samuel, that's right. Thank you for not laughing," he said before turning back to Rosalyn and winking at her and the younger kids around her again, who all giggled in unison. "I decided to wear regular clothes today instead of my vestments. Would you like me to tell you why?" The children nodded, and the vicar responded, as he strode back and forth in front of the group. "A long time ago there was a man who walked on the earth. His name was Jesus of Nazareth. Has anyone heard of him?" Some of the kids raised their hands. "He was a holy man sent by God. In fact, He was God's own son."

The vicar had the children in the palm of his hand. With sweeping hand gestures and a dramatic voice, he told the story of how Jesus had been born in a barn, with a feed trough – sometimes called a manger – for his first bed. He told the tale of how Jesus had lived the life of a child whose parents worked hard to provide for and take care of Him.

"Jesus didn't get to wear fancy clothes. He didn't have vestments or robes of silk. He dressed like an ordinary man. Like you are supposed to, Jesus had to obey his parents. When He got older, He began telling people amazing things about God, His Father, but even then, He dressed like and lived with the regular people around Him. So I thought it would be nice today if I came to talk to you and was dressed like you. I'm no different than you. God called me to work in the church and be a vicar, but I'm still a mere mortal like all of you."

The vicar, as it happened, was quite an entertaining fellow, and the children devoured his every word. Grace was about to join him at the front of the group when he said to the children, "Now, I thought we might be able to play a game before lunch. Would anybody like that?" Responding with enthusiasm, some of the children began calling out names of their favorite games. Smiling, the vicar said, "I thought we might divide into groups and play two games. One group will play hunt the slipper, and the other group will play hide and seek."

The children quickly split into voluntary groups. Most of the younger children, especially the girls, opted to play hunt the slipper. Those children gathered close to Grace while the others congregated near Vicar Renner and began asking questions. "Who will be the seeker? Where can we hide?" With the help of Rupert and the footman, the vicar led those children outside for a rousing game of hide and seek.

Turning to the charges in her care, Grace said, "I want everyone to make a circle in the middle of the floor and sit down." She took off her shoes, put one aside, then brought one to the circle with her. "We'll use this for the slipper. Who shall start in the middle?"

She hadn't planned on a game, but after the children had sat so still for the vicar, she couldn’t begrudge them the time for fun. Grace could see why the vicar felt they'd earned it.

****

After lunch, the vicar remained at Castle Felton and helped Grace in overseeing a math lesson. Rather than work on teaching the children how to write their numbers, she had decided today to have them do sums in their heads. She wanted them to be able to calculate how much change they should get from the baker or any other merchant if they ever overpaid for a purchase. Writing their numbers was a tedious and sometimes tiresome task for these children, but calculating totals in their head generally came easy. It was something they'd seen their parents do all their lives and, in some cases, had been doing themselves.

When time came for the children to return to their homes, Vicar Renner asked them to wait for him a moment so he could have a word with the duchess. "I want to thank you, Your Grace, for having me here today. I again want to tell you how sorry I am about the garden statue. I forgot how physical a game of hide and seek could become."

"It was my pleasure, Vicar. You were a delight for the children, and don't give the statue another thought."

Merriment twinkled in his eyes. "I may have enjoyed today more than the children."

"I'd love to have you back again," Grace said. "Maybe we can work out something regular." She knew she'd said the proper thing when the vicar's face lit up. Watching as he walked away to catch up with the children, she saw a newfound bounce in his step. He easily looked fifteen years younger than he had upon arrival.

"Today appears to have been a rousing success," Rupert said from behind her.

"I think you are most definitely correct about that," she said. Then, "I am going to lie down for a spell. I find myself weary. Make sure someone wakes me for the evening meal, please."

"Of course, Your Grace."

****

The shopping trip to Newcastle was an adventure. Elsie had never been away from Felton before and was awed by everything she saw. Margaret, on the other hand, acted as if she'd rather be anywhere else. Rupert accompanied the trio and, though it never showed on his face, Grace was certain that at times he had to find their girlish chatter tiresome.

Together, they found everything she was looking for and returned to Castle Felton with the carriage weighted down with wrapped parcels. It did her heart much good to find a letter from Thomas waiting for her. She tore the envelope open and removed the missive.

30 April 1815

Dearest Grace,

I do not have opportunity to write as often as I would wish or as often as I had promised. My sincerest apology for that. Know that I think of you constantly and am reassured you are well, safe, and being taken care of. I am assisting in a primarily administrative capacity over here, but the role is nonetheless vital, and I am honored to work with Wellington. I believe things here may come to a close within the coming year. I am being sent out with a diplomatic envoy sometime in the next week or two. You may not hear from me for a spell, but don't worry. I will not be unprotected on my journey.

Fondest wishes,

Thomas

Grace clutched the page to her chest and said, "He's well," to no one in particular. Then, turning to Rupert, she asked, "Did you receive any correspondence?"

Rupert nodded, a note in his hand. "He has some directions for me to pass on to the stewards at his different estates." Then he added, "He'd also like me to make sure you see a doctor."

Her gaze flew to Rupert's. "Why would he ask that of you?" What on earth have you been saying about me?

Looking unruffled, Rupert said, "I may have mentioned you've been tired more than is normal of late."

Grace sat unceremoniously on a small bench in the foyer, a hand hovering over lips parted by surprise. "I'm mad at you for saying anything to him." When Rupert remained quiet, she told him, "This is the part where you apologize and ask my forgiveness."

With his usual poise, Rupert said, "I apologize, Your Grace, and beg your forgiveness."

Rolling her eyes, Grace said, "You could at least try to be convincing, Rupert. Why did you feel it necessary to say anything to His Grace?"

"I made an oath to protect you, and that includes your health. I twice suggested you see the doctor, but you refused both times. I felt I had no recourse."

Why does everything I do – or don't do – have to get noticed?

Fluttering her hand in a wayward fashion through the air, Grace said, "All right, all right, you win. Tell the doctor to come whenever it's convenient for him. In the meantime," she said, looking resignedly at the stairs, "I do believe I'm going to go lie down for a spell. The journey from Newcastle, it seems, has worn me out." Don't you dare say it.

To his credit, neither by word not expression did Rupert remark on her apparent fatigue.

Chapter Eleven

The vicar joined Grace and the staff at Castle Felton for dinner that evening. From the start, Grace had informed him she was anything but traditional. When he'd first seemed shocked that she dined with the staff, she had informed him he was welcome to dine in the formal dining room with a footman in attendance but that she'd be remaining in the kitchen with her staff. The vicar had proven to be a kindred spirit and not at all offended.

"I was reading a newspaper this afternoon," the vicar mentioned.

"Was there anything noteworthy in it?" Grace asked.

"I'm not sure this counts as noteworthy, but there's a rumor Lord Byron and his new wife are expecting a child."

"I continue to be shocked Lady Anne ever wed him. The ceremony was near here, wasn't it? It is not so long ago he was cavorting with Lady Caroline — a married woman, for pity's sake — and publicly, too. What her poor husband must have suffered!"

Rupert coughed into his hand and said, "You are correct. Lord Byron and Lady Anne were married in Durham Shire, which we passed through on our way here. As to the other, not that I think a lady ought to be discussing these things, but I would suggest you not feel too badly for Lady Caroline's husband. His personal conduct was not far removed from that of his wife."

Looking in shock from Rupert to the vicar, Grace finally said, "I do believe I've been protected. My parents' devotion to each other is sincere. Is it the norm among the aristocracy in London to be untrue to one's spouse?"

"Not that I condone any such behavior," said the vicar, "but I do believe that fidelity in aristocratic marriages is rare once an heir's been born."

Shaking her head, Grace again said, "I still don't see how Lady Anne ever agreed to wed a man of such well-known immoral behavior. It would be a pleasant surprise if he was to be true to her and theirs turns out to be a love match that blossoms. With so much scandal these past few years, it is hard to believe someone can have so radically changed in such a short time. Lady Caroline wasn't his only liaison, either… What do you think, Vicar? Do you believe Lord Byron has undergone a dramatic conversion of character?"

With a smile, he replied, "I believe, Your Grace, if a person submits their life to the higher authority of God, there is no limit to the change that can be brought about."

"Well said, Vicar," Rupert interjected. Then, steering the conversation to a more seemly topic, he said, "The garden seems to be getting a slow start this spring. Is it normally like that in Northumberland, Mr. Pembroke?"

****

That night, as Elsie was taking down Grace's hair, the young girl said, "I've been thinking about 'ow you've been feeling poorly, Your Grace."

Tired to her core, Grace asked, "And what are your thoughts on the subject?"

"Well, my mum would get t' feelin' that way sometimes. She didn't get t' lie down and rest like you do, because there are always chores t' do and young children that need tending. I recall, sometimes when she was feeling sickly, it would turn out she was in the family way."

How? What? Not possible!

Grace's eyes shot to Elsie's freckled face in the mirror. The girl, oblivious, began brushing out her mistress's hair. "And you think I might be… that I might be..." She couldn't even finish the words.

Not noticing anything amiss, Elsie patiently brushed through Grace's midnight hair and said, "Some of your dresses are getting a bit snug around the middle. They still button, but it's not as easy as it used to be."

I'm getting fat. No crime there!

"But I couldn't be with child. Could I?"

Elsie's eyes finally raised from her work to look at Grace's face in the mirror. Without embarrassment, she said, "You're married."

Within minutes, Elsie had Grace's hair plaited. Already in her nightgown, Grace dismissed her maid and climbed into the large bed. Lord above, could it be? Before she could even give it any real thought, she was sound asleep and dreaming about smiling babies, nappies, and the husband she hadn't seen in more than two months.

****

"But I can't possibly be with child," Grace emphatically told the doctor the next day.

"Your Grace, I beg to differ." Then, blushing slightly, he asked, "Do you understand how children come to be?"

I should tell him no and see what he does!

Too shocked by the news the doctor had given her to be embarrassed, she said, "We were married such a short time before he left. I thought this sort of thing took months."

The doctor, continuing to look uncomfortable with their conversation, said, "I would say it's been some months since you conceived. I am guessing, but I believe you'll be welcoming this little person into the world sometime in the month following Martinmas."

Still not sure what she thought of the doctor's news, she asked he say nothing to the staff on his way out. She wanted some time to think on what he'd told her. What do I do, Lord? What if Thomas doesn't come home? Putting her hand over her belly, she closed her eyes.

Is it truly possible?

****

After the evening meal, Grace sought the sanctuary of the library, but Rupert was not far behind her. "Your Grace, might I have a word?"

Wishing she'd thought to retire early and avoid the conversation, she instead nodded her consent. Rupert entered and stood at attention as always. "Please do sit, Rupert. I know you have an official role here, but you're also Thomas's friend."

His face expressionless as usual, Rupert sat in a chair facing her and asked, "What did the doctor have to say?"

"Are you asking as butler, as a friend, or as someone who's going to report back to Thomas?" I haven't forgotten the way you tattled on me for being tired.

Rupert frowned. Grace, who had never seen any expression other than an occasional glimpse of compassion on his face before, was taken aback. His reply served to further discombobulate her. "I am asking as someone who cares about you and the child you're carrying."

I told the doctor not to say anything!

When she continued to stare at him, he said, "I've surprised you, then."

"How did you know?"

"It's likely been obvious to everyone except you. Did the doctor say you are well?" She nodded. "Do you intend to tell Thomas?"

His words evoked a rush of emotion for her. She clasped her hands tightly in her lap in an attempt to prevent nervous fidgeting. Of course she wanted to tell Thomas. She could imagine how pleased he would be at the news. But…

"I d-don't know," she finally said. "The last letter I have from him is almost a month old. I try not to fret, but it's hard. If he is in a difficult situation, I don't want his attention to waver. I don't want him thinking about me and the child when lack of attention to his own job could cost him his life."

Rupert laced his hands together and said, "While I am not terribly worried by the absence of correspondence, I understand your concerns."

"Do you think I should tell him about the baby?" Please agree with me so I don't have to be confused about what to do.

With a thoughtful expression, Rupert said, "I think at this point it would be wise to keep that news from him. His last letter, though a month old, indicated he felt a turning point was coming. You can certainly reconsider telling him when you get his next letter, but for the present I think your logic is sound and silence may be the best option."

"We're in agreement then. I think that's likely what I'll do." She got the impression Rupert was in no hurry to leave and asked, "So everyone's already guessed?"

For the first time in Grace's memory, Rupert laughed. "Margaret told Mrs. Pembroke she's started sewing nappies and clothes for the little one."

His mirth spilled over, and Grace couldn't help but laugh with him. "I guess I'm more naïve than I'd realized." A comfortable silence settled around them, but something Rupert had said earlier gnawed at her until she had to mention it. "You said you care about me and the babe?" A nervous knot twisted her stomach.

Rupert nodded and maintained eye contact. His voice was warm and open as he said, "Thomas has been good to me. He's the brother I never had, and that makes you and your child family, too."

Thankful for his straightforward answer, Grace gave him a broad smile and said, "Good. I think of you sort of like a brother-in-law. Who also happens to be a valet and a butler and everything else any of us needs." She stood and headed for the door, ready now to retire. Before stepping out of the library, she spun around and impishly asked, "Does my husband pay you enough for all you do around this place?" Rupert's laughter was all the response she needed.

Aha! So there is a way beneath his façade of indifference. Now that I know it's possible, I shall have to dig that laughter out of him more often.

Chapter Twelve

June 1815

June passed into being with no more than the slightest warming of temperatures. Thomas had been gone now for three months, and his continued silence wore on everyone. She continued to tire easily, but Grace did not seem to suffer any of the other ill effects women sometimes report during pregnancy. She was, however, confined to the castle, having been told by the doctor not to venture out. This made her all the happier she'd completed her trip to Newcastle when she'd been able.

"What do you think of this one?" she asked Margaret.

"I think it's quite nice."

Preposterous!

Grace burst into laughter. "It's the most horrible pair of trousers you've ever seen in your life, and you know it. The legs aren't even the same length!" Whenever she was at the castle, Margaret spent most of her time with Grace, and the two had become almost like friends.

"Well, Your Grace," Margaret said, "if it's your desire to clothe a child whose legs are two different lengths, then I think you've done an admirable job."

Laughing, Grace hurled the pants into the pile at Margaret's feet. "I don't know why you allow me to help. I make far more work for you." But I'm glad you do. The boredom would make me fit for Bedlam otherwise.

"Perhaps you would like to sew some kerchiefs or cravats for His Grace?"

I can sew a kerchief… fit for a man with two different-sized nostrils!

"You only want to keep me away from anything you're working on."

"I have no idea what you mean, Your Grace. Surely you couldn't have such a low opinion of me." Margaret's eyes twinkled and her face shone with humor.

Grace, who had embarked on a much more ambitious project than she'd imagined, took in the piles of clothes surrounding them in the sitting room and said, "Do you think we'll get it all done by the time the children are back for their next lesson?"

Margaret looked uncertain as she asked, "Do you think any of the others would like to help? I know Elsie's passable with a needle and thread. Mrs. Pembroke is probably pretty decent, as well."

"What about the housemaids? Sarah's here today. I could check with her and the others, too. If they have any skill, they can come up and help."

Blushing, Margaret said, "Not everyone will want to work with me. I don't have the best reputation in the village."

"Nonsense," Grace said. "If I ask them, they'll come, and if they spend some time with you, they'll see what a delightful person you are." When Margaret still seemed uncertain, she added, "We all make mistakes. Sometimes out of desperation, and sometimes because we don't know any better. Give them a chance to get to know you. You may find they turn out to be wonderful friends." If you'd give yourself a chance, they just might give you one, too.

Grace called for Rupert and gave him instructions to send all the female servants in and to send the footman to speak with Dorothea and see if she could also come. Before long, all the female servants of Castle Felton were in the sitting room. Everyone except Grace was busy sewing what they could.

Since she couldn't sew a straight line to save her life, Grace was relegated to organizing the finished products. She wanted to give each of her students one brand new outfit. Many of the younger children had never owned anything new because their clothes had all been handed down to them from older siblings. While they were always clean and tidy when they arrived for their lessons, it was hard not to miss the threadbare nature of most of the children's clothing. Grace had cleaned three seamstress shops out of all their serviceable materials while in Newcastle in the hope of pulling together this special gift.

The children would be at the castle for lessons in two days' time, and Grace wanted to have this surprise for them. Margaret likely would have finished by now had it not been for Grace insisting she wanted to help. Watching the women speak to one another and slowly warm up to Margaret did Grace's heart good. Perhaps ruining half the clothes was the best thing Grace could have done for these women.

****

The big day arrived. The girls had all worked harder than a team of plow horses during planting season, and Grace wanted them to be able to participate in giving the gifts out. Each new outfit was wrapped in plain paper with the child's name written on it. They hid all the younger children's parcels around the great hall, while the older children's were outdoors in various places around the grounds.

As the children came in and settled into their places on the floor, Grace said, "Thank you, boys and girls, for coming today. I am so pleased to see each of you. Today we have a special treat." A murmur of excitement rose among the children. Their curiosity showed in their widened eyes, tightly clasped hands, and broad smiles. "Before we get to the surprise, I need to give each of you an exam. You will be expected to spell your name."

A collective groan rose up from the assembled group. Grace waited for it to quiet down, then added, "I am not asking you to write it." The sigh of relief that rose up from the group brought a smile to Grace's face as she continued, "You simply need to tell me the letters that make your name. Once everyone is done, we can move on to the surprise."

As with numbers, writing their letters was a slow and tedious process for the children. Spelling out loud, and even reading, was proving a much easier skill to learn. Most of the children had memorized the letters of their names early on.

When Grace gave the command, the children lined up in a single-file line in front of her. One by one, they spelled their names for her. Almost every child had something else to say as well. "You look lovely today, Your Grace." "Are you wanting that bairn you're carryin' to be a boy or a girl?" "I hope ye have a boy. The duke'll be mighty proud to have a son." "My mum said to thank you for all the nice things you do for us."

Elsie's younger sister Fran was the last child in line. The little girl held the sides of her skirt spread wide and sank down into a regal curtsy. Her posture and glowing smile belied her drab dress. When she rose again, she said, "It's an honor to be in your presence today, Your Grace."

"It is a pleasure to see you, too, Fran. You've been practicing your curtsy, I see."

"Just like you taught me."

"You did it beautifully. Now, can you please spell your name for me?"

"My name is Fran. It's spelled F-R-A-N." Then, with a sparkling smile, she added, "Sometimes my da calls me Frannie, but I haven't learned how to spell that yet."

With a chuckle, Grace sent her back to the group. "Here is our game today, everyone. The younger children will stay inside with me, and the older children will go outdoors with Mr. Rupert. We are going to have a treasure hunt. An item with your name written on it has been hidden. You need to find the item that bears your name, bring it back here to the great hall, and have a seat."

"What if you find something with someone else's name on it?"

"Good question, Samuel. If you can read the name and know who it belongs to, you may give it to them. If you cannot read the name, then you need to put it back and continue looking for your own parcel."

"Is there something in the parcel? Do we get to keep it?"

"Indeed there is, Joshua. And you will be able to keep it, but I want all of you together when you open them, so please, once you find your parcel, bring it back in here and have a seat."

"Why do we have to be together when we open them?"

"If someone opens theirs first, it might spoil the surprise for everyone else, Katherine."

Once all the questions had been asked and answered, the children quickly divided into their respective groups and eagerly began their treasure hunt. Margaret, Sarah, and Mrs. Pembroke assisted Grace in the great hall while the other two housemaids, along with Rupert and the footman, helped with the children outdoors. Despite knowing what was in her package, Elsie participated with as much gusto as the other children.

It took much of the morning for all of the children to find their parcels and return to the great hall. The adults overseeing the indoor group rescued two busts from destruction during the search. She hadn't yet heard the tally on outdoor casualties but figured that at the rate they were going, Mr. Pembroke would have very little statuary to maintain in the garden. The months since the children had been coming to the castle had seen a great reduction in the number of breakable works of art on display, in some cases because the pieces were moved to safety and in others because they did not get moved to safety quickly enough. Grace had lost count of how many items had met an energetic demise.

The children were all excited and eager as they sat, each with their parcel held close. The chatter in the great hall echoed louder than hunting dogs baying at a cornered fox. Grace couldn't help but smile as she gave the word. As the children began opening their packages, some ripped at the paper with abandon while others carefully opened the parcel so the paper wouldn't be damaged and could be reused.

To the last one, every child was delighted with what he or she received. The girls were naturally more excited about their new dresses. Though not as exuberant, the boys were equally pleased to have something new to wear that was theirs and theirs alone.

"Look at them," Grace said to the ladies gathered around her, the ones who had worked so hard to make this possible. "You all did this. Cherish this moment and always remember what it feels like to do a kindness to another without any expectation of a return."

In that moment Grace felt like she could take on the world, including the ton. Confidence filled her, lightening her step and emboldening her smile. No matter where life took her and Thomas, she would, with the strength and wisdom granted by her creator, be able to touch the lives of those around her in a positive way.

Fran jumped up from where she sat and ran to Grace, hurling herself into the duchess's arms. "Thank you oh so much, Your Grace! I love you!" Several of the other girls followed Fran's example, thanking the women who had done the sewing. Most of the boys held back, but Grace didn't mind. If she knew her pupils well, they'd each be saying a "thank you" upon their leave-taking. They weren't perfect, and they did their share of bickering, but she'd not found a truly selfish child in the bunch.

I wish Thomas could be here to see this.

****

Later in the afternoon, after the last of the children left, Grace asked, "Still no word from Thomas?"

Rupert shook his head and said, "I've sent an official inquiry to London. I don't know it will do any good, but I thought it couldn't hurt, especially if it will give you some peace of mind."

"I can't imagine the officials in London would know where he is without his being able to write to us." She saw the slightest shadow pass across Rupert's face and asked, "Can you?"

"If Thomas is injured somewhere and unable to write, the War Office might know his location and status."

I hadn't thought of that. It's not quite the reassurance I was hoping for.

Not happy with the implication, Grace asked, "What prompted Thomas to rush to Wellington's aid? I don't think I'd realized he knew the duke or had any military experience."

"Thomas did some work with Wellington before Napoleon was last captured. He learned of Napoleon's escape from Elba two days before he found himself betrothed to you and decided to volunteer his services."

Ruefully, Grace said, "Perfect timing for a man who wished to escape from a wife he'd felt trapped into marrying." After a moment, she asked, "You can't tell me what his role is in Wellington's army?" When Rupert shook his head, Grace frowned but didn't press him. Thomas would be home one day, and he would answer the many questions she had, she was sure of it.

I don't actually care if he answers any of them as long as he comes home.

When she lingered, Rupert asked, "Was there anything else?"

Grace winced and pulled her lower lip between her teeth for a moment before saying, "Sometimes I think I've heard his voice, but when I look, no one is there."

Rupert's eyes were thoughtful, his voice soothing as he said, "It's good that you miss him."

"Is something wrong with me?"

Her words were met with a confident shake of the head. "I've seen it before, but usually with the men serving far from home. I've never stopped to wonder if the family left behind has similar issues. It just means you love and miss him, that you wish he were here. I wouldn't worry about it if I were you."

Grace blinked several times to fight the sudden pressure of tears. She quickly said, "Thank you," and turned away from Rupert, intent on finding a few minutes to herself.

I'm glad I spoke up. No reason to be needlessly overwrought about it. Besides, I already have enough to worry about.

Lord, please keep Thomas safe…

Chapter Thirteen

Less than a week later, the vicar arrived at Castle Felton winded and exuberant. "We've won! We've won!"

While waiting for the man to catch his breath so he could continue, Grace snatched the newspaper he was waving around in the air. "We've won," she said to the gathering crowd of household staff.

"Won what, Your Grace?" Mr. Pembroke asked.

"According to the June twenty-second issue of the London Gazette, Wellington defeated Napoleon at the Battle of Waterloo on the nineteenth. Napoleon will be sent into exile again, but at a more secure location. It appears the war is over."

Exuberant cheers filled the foyer of Castle Felton. "A rider brought the newspaper into town to share the news. I came as soon as I read it," Vicar Renner finally got out.

Grace cast a worried glance at Rupert. Why haven't we heard from Thomas? Her concern for her husband had steadily increased. Whether it was the pregnancy or the isolation of Northumberland playing tricks on her mind, she continued to hear his voice at times, usually as she was drifting off to sleep. Positive Thomas had spoken to her, she would sit up to find she was alone in her chamber. She hadn't told anyone but Rupert of her imaginings.

I don't want everyone to look at me with pity. Or worse, compare me to Thomas's great aunt who was sent here after losing her mind.

While everyone around her cheered in celebration of the war's end, Grace worried her lower lip.

I'm afraid that one of these days I might start answering back when I think I hear his voice. Where, oh where, is Thomas?

Chapter Fourteen

July 1815

Three weeks passed. No word had been returned from the War Office, not even an acknowledgement of Rupert's inquiry. It had been more than two months since the last letter she'd received from Thomas and over four months since he'd gone away. Grace couldn't help but think back to the time they'd spent together after being wed. Parts of it had been so contentious, and parts of it had been pure wonder.

She was sitting out in the garden enjoying the fresh air, her hand resting gently on the slight swell of her abdomen. Lord, I'm so afraid. Where is Thomas? In truth, she was choking on her fear. She had heard tell that pregnant women were more emotional, but she believed she would have felt this way even if she weren't with child. Thomas had told her they still had years of marriage ahead of them, and she'd believed him. The lack of letters wore on her, making her feel sluggish and hollow. She tried to be strong, but each day of silence brought her closer to the brink of hysteria.

She'd worn a puce dress today because it reminded her of Thomas. It wasn't yet obvious to a casual observer, but as the babe within her grew, her previous dresses had become uncomfortably binding. When she'd sent Margaret into Newcastle to obtain more material for dresses, she'd told her to be sure to include puce. It was a small thing, but it made her feel that she was honoring her husband's wishes.

As the fragrance of flowers wafted on the passing breeze, she recalled Thomas's words. You are a strong, brave, and wonderful woman. I am honored to call you wife. Don't let my absence take your sparkle away. I will believe you are here reading the newspaper and getting involved in things other women wouldn't dare. Promise me you will continue being you.

"I promise," she said softly, sadly.

"Promise what?" came a man's voice from her left.

"Great. Now I'm imagining things in broad daylight. I'm going to end up confined to my room if word of this gets out."

A rugged man with far too much facial hair and startling blue eyes sat down beside her on the bench. "What sorts of promises are you giving out today?"

"I was promising my husband, who's not here by the way, that I would continue doing my best to get into trouble." Grace refused to look at the man beside her. He's not real. If I ignore him, he'll go away.

"I'm sure your husband would appreciate such a promise. Men rarely like obedient and subservient wives."

At least when I imagine I hear Thomas's voice, he's saying all the things I want to hear.

"That's a lovely dress you're wearing. I like that color on you." The hairy ruffian from her imagination seemed intent on having a conversation with her.

Should I tell Rupert about this? Maybe he'll tell me it's not so unusual…

A commotion came from the right, and she saw Rupert approaching, his black hair flying as he ran. "My goodness. I've never seen him move like that," she said.

"I have," the man replied, "but it involved guns, gambling, and a very persistent innkeeper's daughter."

When Rupert came to a screeching halt a short distance away, he simply said, "Your Grace."

"I'm not doing anything wrong out here, Rupert," she told him. When she glanced up and saw Rupert's puzzled expression, she asked, "Is there a problem? Am I needed inside?"

The voice from beside her said, "She thinks she's come unhinged and is having a conversation with an imaginary man."

Grace, assuming she alone could hear the man, refused to dignify his remark with a response. "Rupert, is anything wrong?"

"I—I got word from the groomsman we had a new arrival. I went to check and found Hero in our stable."

Gawking at Rupert, she asked, "Hero?" He nodded. Then, still not convinced of her own sanity, she asked, "Is there anyone sitting next to me?" He nodded again. "Who sits beside me?" she asked.

"His Grace," came his reply.

Taking her fan, she walloped her husband on the arm as hard as she could. "How dare you scare me so? I've had no idea where you were or whether you were alive or dead! The War Office would tell us nothing. The newspaper said the war was over, but you didn't come home!"

"Now that you've hit me, do you think I can have a hug?" Thomas asked.

Grace jumped up from the bench and faced him, hands on her hips and said, "You are not getting away with it that easily! Where have you been, and why could I not reach you?"

"If I promise to tell you everything after the evening meal when we retire for the night, can I have a hug? Maybe even a kiss?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rupert shaking his head as he walked away. Calling out to him, she asked, "Rupert, you swear he's here?"

He didn't turn back around to look at them, but his call of, "Yes, Your Grace," could not be missed.

Dashing away the tears flowing down her cheeks, she said to her husband, "I missed you."

Thomas, no longer needing to stay out of reach of her fan, rose to join her. He pulled her into his embrace, held her tenderly, and said, "I missed you more than you'll ever know. Wherever you go for the rest of your life, I will be there. No matter where it is, my home will always be in your arms. You, my dear," he said, gently brushing the loosened tendrils of her black hair away from her face, "will always be God's special gift to me, my saving grace." Then he leaned and captured her mouth with his own, his beard a reassuring tickle against her skin.

Of course he's real. I never would have conceived of giving him facial hair!

****

That evening over dinner, served in the formal dining room out of deference to her husband, Grace learned that in addition to speaking English, he also spoke French, German, and some Russian. If that hadn't been surprising enough, he explained he'd twice before used his skill with languages to assist the Duke of Wellington with special diplomatic missions behind enemy borders. Not willing to let him have the corner on shocking news, she waited until he took a bite of dessert, a fluffy confection of cake and pudding, then told him, "I'm increasing. The doctor thinks the babe will be born around Martinmas."

Thomas's sudden intake of breath led to choking. Grace jumped up and hit him repeatedly on the back as hard as she could manage. The footman had stepped out, so she called out, "Rupert! Rupert! His Grace is choking!" Both the footman and Rupert came running into the dining room. Rupert grabbed Thomas from her and pounded him on the back hard enough to crack the ribs of a lesser man.

"Can you breathe yet, Your Grace?" Rupert yelled, continuing to hit his back.

Thomas finally managed to jump away from Rupert. He stood with his back to the table and said, "I'd be able to breathe splendidly if you'd stop hitting me so hard!"

Casting his eyes from the duke to Grace, Rupert asked, "Is everything all right then, Your Grace?"

Trying to hide her laughter behind a hand, she answered, "Everything's fine, Rupert. I informed His Grace he's to be a father. Who could have known it was possible to choke on pudding?"

Signaling for the footman to precede him, Rupert retreated from the room, shaking his head much as he had that afternoon when he'd left them in the garden.

Spinning to face his wife, Thomas said, "There was no need to call Rupert in. Do you realize how strong he is?" Wincing as he rolled his shoulders, he said, "I think I'm worse off now than I was before."

No longer bothering to contain her mirth, Grace laughed. "The look on your face was priceless, you know. I shan't ever forget it."

"So we're going to be having a child, are we?"

"Someday," she said impishly. "I believe we'll start with a babe, though, if that's acceptable to you."

Thomas pulled her close into an embrace. "I thought I noticed something different this afternoon. In fear that you'd missed me so much you'd taken to overindulging in sweets, I decided I shouldn't remark."

She punched him half-heartedly in the arm and said, "You surely know how to charm the ladies. It's no wonder they were all throwing themselves at you in London."

Thomas took her hand and began to move toward the door. "I think it's time we retire for the night. It's been too long since I've played lady's maid for a beautiful woman." As they walked hand in hand toward the grand staircase, he asked, "Have you been doing some redecorating? It seems that some of the statuary is not where I remember it."

Grace's laughter echoed throughout the castle before she told him, grinning, "I decided to take a more minimalist approach."

Epilogue

February 1816

William Robert Stanbury, the next Duke of Stafford, was two months old. He'd come along in December, about a month after Martinmas. He was strong and healthy.

Margaret and Elsie returned to Stafford with the duke and duchess, along with the footman. Elsie continued as Grace's lady's maid and was grudgingly accepted by the other staff. Margaret, thankful for the fresh start in a new place, took on the role of nursemaid to the young heir. Whenever Elsie wasn't seeing to Grace, she was often found in the nursery with Margaret and the babe.

Rupert remained at Castle Felton. Thomas had officially appointed him as steward to oversee the tenants and land. The village had suffered some neglect by his continued absence from the far northern estate over the past years, and Thomas wanted to put that to rights. His father had once told him any duke worth his weight took good care of his tenants and his family. Thomas aimed to do a better job in the future, and appointing Rupert, the perfect man for the job, was the first step.

Once Napoleon was safely away on his island of exile, the Duke of Wellington pulled some strings to get Thomas released from his military commitment. Thomas would have served out his year had it been required, but Grace was grateful to the duke for discharging her husband so he could stay close to her. It had been important to her that he be nearby, even if downstairs, when she'd labored to bring their son into the world.

"How are you this afternoon?" Thomas asked as he entered her salon and spied his lovely emerald-eyed wife.

"I am well, husband. How are you?"

Thomas didn't answer, but instead handed her a newspaper. "I'm going to be tied up all day with parliament and won't be back until long after dinner. I thought you might find this of interest."

"You are going to tease me then and not tell me what exactly I will find of interest in the newspaper?"

"It wouldn't be proper for me to speak to a woman about the goings-on in other people's marriages, certainly not that of Lord Byron and Lady Anne. If, however, you read about it yourself," he said with a shrug and a wink, "then there's nothing I can do about that."

"You know if Rupert were here, I'd yell to him that you're choking."

Before Grace realized what he was up to, Thomas snatched the newspaper back away from her and skipped out of reach. "Are you sure you want to threaten me with a beating, dear wife? Wouldn't you rather…?"

Rolling her eyes, she asked, "What am I going to have to do in order to get the newspaper back?"

Thomas gave her a deep bow and said, "Give me a kiss and tell me I'm the most amazing man you've ever met."

Grace popped up onto her tiptoes and gave her husband a light kiss on the cheek. Then, grabbing the newspaper from his grasp and running, she shouted behind her, "You are the most infuriating man I've ever met!"

The duke and duchess's laughter could be heard throughout their townhome as she fled and he pursued. Their London butler, Frederick, shook his head while the maids went about their business as though this were an everyday occurrence, which, in truth, it was.

About The Author

Aside from her long-standing love affair with coffee, Heather's greatest joys in life are her relationship with her Savior, her family, and writing. Years ago, she decided it would be better to laugh than yell. Heather carries that theme over into her writing where she strives to create characters that experience both the highs and lows of life and, through it all, find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.

More from Heather Gray

Chapter One

Larkspur, Idaho Territory

April 1878

Sarah had noticed a number of new faces in town over the past few days, and it was beginning to make her more than a bit uncomfortable. The new faces were all men. Sure, men outnumbered women in every frontier town, but Sarah had seen more than a dozen new men and had heard rumors that Mrs. Ginty’s boarding house was full-up, which had never happened before. Larkspur was a small frontier town in a territory sparsely populated, and Sarah had never before heard of Mrs. Ginty having to turn away customers.

New people in town can sometimes mean good news. Businesses certainly like having more customers. It can mean trouble, too, though, when the newcomers start to outnumber the homegrown townsfolk. Sarah had heard tell of towns where ruffians had swarmed in, taking over the town and practically holding the locals prisoner by sheer force of number. A small shudder overtook her at the thought of such brutality.

Sarah’s papa had well trained her how to take care of and provide for herself, but ever since he passed away, she had no one to protect her should the need ever arise. Sighing, she forced her loneliness back down, beating it into submission by sheer force of will.

Keeping her eyes directed down, Sarah walked from the small house she had once shared with Papa. She was heading to the stage office for a long day of work and, with all these new people in town, did not want to make eye contact with the wrong individual. The workday hadn’t even yet begun, but Sarah couldn’t wait for the day to be finished. This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it, Sarah quoted in her mind as she reminded herself to be grateful. She was looking forward to sharing a meal with her dearest friend tonight. Dinner with the Smiths held much more appeal than another long day at the stage office. Visiting with Minnie and her folks was always delightful. Sarah also hoped Minnie’s father, who was mayor of Larkspur, might be able to shed some light on the flood of strange men showing up in town.

Sarah heard a commotion to her left. Before she could even raise her eyes to see what was going on, someone came barreling out from the mercantile and plowed right into her. Sarah’s feet flew out from under her, and she landed out in the street, far from the boardwalk on which she had a moment ago been walking. Before she could take stock of the situation to determine if she’d landed in mud or manure, at least a dozen hands were reaching out to help her up. Frightened by all of the men crowding in around her and not sure of their intentions, Sarah scrambled to her feet and backed up from the growing crowd. She did not recognize a single face from the group that continued to step closer to her.

As she scurried backward, Sarah ran right smack into a wall. She didn’t remember a wall being there in the middle of the street, but sure enough, she was trapped between the wall behind her and the wall of men walking toward her.

“Pardon me, gentlemen, but I think you have frightened the lady here.” Sarah stiffened as she heard the wall behind her speak. Her head whipped back and up. With the sun shining right into her eyes, she couldn’t see the face of her rescuer, but his voice was confidently calm, loud enough to carry to all of the men who had been reaching toward her without actually sounding as though he’d raised his voice. “Miss, are you okay?” It took Sarah a moment to realize the talking wall was speaking to her.

“Y-y-yes, thank you.” Sarah struggled to get the words out past a suddenly dry and scratchy throat.

“That was quite a fall you took. Are you sure you are alright?”

Glancing down at her dress, Sarah saw that, thankfully, she had landed on a dry patch of dirt and, though dusty, was not covered with mud or worse. She knew she would be sore later, but she was still in too much shock right now to feel the effects of her fall into the street. Thank goodness a horse or carriage had not been riding by at the time – she could have been badly hurt!

“Yes, sir, thank you. I am fine and must be on my way now.”

Sarah considered the path up Main Street toward her destination and saw what now appeared to be more than twenty men standing around ogling her. Completely beside herself with discomfort at the situation, she tried to take a step back only to be reminded of the talking wall behind her.

Without removing her eyes from the crowd of men, she spoke to the one behind her. “Pardon me, sir, but could I be so bold as to request your assistance in a small matter?”

There was a smile behind the man’s voice, Sarah was certain of it, as he softly answered, “I will accommodate you if I can, Miss. With what do you need assistance?”

Sarah felt the hint of a shiver she knew could not be attributed to the weather. It was either fear because of the men in front of her… or something else because of the man behind her. Not wanting to dissect her feelings quite yet, she uttered, “I need to pass these men to get to the stage office. I find that…” Sarah tried to think of a delicate way to say she wasn’t sure if she’d make it there safely if she went alone.

Before Sarah could even take a full breath, though, or find the correct words, she felt herself lifted by the waist and placed back up onto the boardwalk. The talking wall immediately joined her and offered his arm to her. Sarah tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow, still not knowing the man’s name.

In the shade now, after having been blinded by the sun, Sarah took another glance up at her talking wall but still could not make out any features on the man’s face. She knew he was quite tall, but Sarah could not even identify the color of his hair, let alone any distinguishing features.

“I wonder what all of these men are doing in town. It’s a trifle disconcerting,” she said to the man walking beside her.

“Ah,” he replied. “I believe they are after the same thing most people are after.”

Not sure how to take that answer, Sarah asked, “What, then, is it most people are after?”

“Love.”

Sarah was surprised at the laugh that bubbled up inside of her, for she was the serious one, not prone to outbursts of laughter, or so she had always believed. Not sure what to think of her own laughter, she instead puzzled over the companion’s answer. She would not have associated a fanciful notion such as love with the talking wall that had rescued her.

She heard the smile in his voice again as he went on, “Either that, or someone to raise their children and do their laundry.”

“A wife then?” Sarah questioned. “Why would anyone come to Larkspur looking for a wife? We have no more women than any other town in the territory.” Certain the man beside her was having a joke at her expense, she waited for the punch line, but none was forthcoming. They arrived at the stage office where, without delay, Sarah unlocked the office door, stepped inside, and began opening the curtains.

“Thank you for escorting me. Could I offer you some coffee, Mr….” Hoping the talking wall would provide her with the information she sought, Sarah let her sentence hang. What she got for her effort was a deep-throated chuckle that seemed both sincere and humor-filled, and again she felt the joke was somehow at her expense.

Disgruntled, she put her satchel away and then stood there next to the percolator specifically not making any coffee. She gave him the best Do-As-I-Say look she could muster under the circumstances and made not a single move toward the coffee tin as she awaited his response. Sarah was shocking herself with her own audacity. Something about this man was making her act different, bolder. Sarah quickly decided she liked this new side of herself and that she also liked the man who drew it out of her.

“My apologies, Miss. You reminded me so much there of one of my cousins I couldn’t help but laugh. I sincerely meant no harm.”

Sarah relaxed her shoulders, somewhat mollified by his words.

“The pleasure of escorting you was all mine, I assure you. No thanks are necessary.”

As she continued to look at him pointedly, he held out one hand and began ticking off fingers as he spoke to himself in a voice intended to carry. “Let’s see. She thanked me for the escort, and I responded. When she didn’t like my laughing, I apologized. She offered me coffee… aha!” Looking up at her with a distinctive twinkle in his golden brown eyes, he said, “Why yes, Miss, I would enjoy a cup of coffee if it’s not too much trouble.” Winking at her, he added, “Samuel Livingston at your service.”

Sarah tried to be unaffected, but the way he swept his hat off and bowed as he introduced himself had her heart fluttering faster than a bumblebee in a field of clover. As for his wink, Sarah wasn’t sure which was more scandalous – the fact he winked or the way her heart raced at the sight of it.

****

The moment Sarah got the small stove lit, Cesar Martinez came into the office. “Good morning, Miss Jenkins.” He tipped his hat to her and asked, “What do you need me to do first this morning?”

Sarah instructed Cesar to sweep out the office and the front walk. She was going to send him on an errand, but she didn’t want him to go quite yet. Being alone with the talking wall no longer seemed the wisest choice. As Cesar collected the broom to start sweeping, Mr. Livingston hung his hat on the hook near the front door and leaned against the counter behind which Sarah normally worked. His relaxed posture made him seem less formidable. Without his hat on, Sarah could get a good look at his face for the first time. Casually stepping behind the counter, she hoped to get a better view of her talking wall without being obvious.

“Are you alright, Miss?” asked Mr. Livingston. Sarah nodded and glanced over to where the coffee was not quite ready. He was, by her own design, directly in her line of sight. All hope for an unobtrusive glance at her rescuer quickly fled as she absorbed the sight of him with all her senses. She was stunned to realize how beautiful he was. Never before had she seen a man whose mere presence took her breath away. Her heart no longer fluttered like a bumblebee. It thumped like a herd of wild mustangs.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Sarah allowed his image play across her mind’s eye. He was tall, but she’d already known that. He had intense eyes, chocolate brown at the outer edge and pure glittering gold around the pupil. His hair was cut short but remained just unruly enough to hint at being curly, and it, too, was filled with various hues of gold. He was tan but not the weather-worn dark tan of a rancher or farmer. He had a strong jaw, a straight nose, and lips that curled up in laughter even when he wasn’t laughing. He was dressed like a businessman, only flashier. The suit he wore was a fairly traditional grey, but his vest was bright red. He had a flair about him that Sarah could not quantify. One thing was certain, though. Sarah was sure she would drown in those eyes, forever losing herself, if she stared too long.

“Are you alright, Miss?” Mortified at her own imaginings and wandering mind – something she was definitely not prone to – Sarah tried to control her staring eyes and nodded, then quickly blushed. Feeling the heat of embarrassment climb up her neck and into her cheeks, she quickly turned her back on the man and went back over to where the coffee was percolating. Grabbing two mugs, she filled them both, handing one to Mr. Livingston and taking the other back over to her work counter. As she set her mug down she realized the brew appeared no stronger than what you might give a baby to drink. Groaning inwardly, Sarah hoped the man liked weak coffee. Who was she kidding? It wasn’t weak coffee. It was colored water!

As Sarah was about to apologize for the coffee, Cesar came through the door to tell her the morning stage was approaching. She peeked at the clock and said to no one in particular, “It’s an hour early. I hope nothing’s wrong.”

Cesar put the broom up and went out to greet the stage.

Sarah resumed her post behind the counter. Most all of the stage drivers knew her from when her father ran the stage office, but sometimes there were new drivers or unruly passengers, and so when her father passed away, Sarah had stopped going out to greet the incoming stage. Each driver was directed into the office to meet her there. She provided them with coffee, a kind word, and often a bite to eat, but she did not go out onto the platform if she could help it.

“How old is the lad who helps you?” asked Mr. Livingston.

“Cesar? He is 14, I think.”

“Awfully young to be working here. Shouldn’t he be in school?”

Sarah nodded. “Cesar and his brothers do not attend the local school. We used to have a teacher in town that had a problem with the family, so their mother started teaching them at home. A new teacher came along a few years back, but the family had settled into their routine and decided to keep it. All three of them are well ahead of their school-bound peers in their learning. Their mother does an excellent job with them.”

“Doesn’t working here keep him away from his studies, though?”

“May I ask why you have such an interest in my hired help?” Sarah did not want to sound surly, but she was not used to people questioning business decisions, such as her choice in employees.

“I am visiting town on a business matter and staying with my cousin and her husband. He is the school teacher in town. A person who spends any time at all with John will naturally learn to be attentive to educational matters and sensitive to the needs of rural families. For example, parents sometimes pull their kids out of school because they need the money their labor can bring.” Following an almost imperceptible pause, Mr. Livingston continued, “Larkspur is lucky to have such a caring teacher.”

Sarah gave Mr. Livingston a genuine smile, for she knew the school teacher and his wife well. They attended the same church as she and would, on occasion, invite Sarah over for dinner. They were wonderful people. Sarah remembered they had been praying for safe travel for a relative but could not at the moment recall anything more on the subject.

Nodding at Mr. Livingston, she said, “You can ask Ida and John about Cesar. I am certain you will be pleased with what you hear. John has helped Cesar’s mother obtain books and other materials whenever needed for her boys’ education. He checks in on them periodically, too, at the parents’ request to make certain the boys are not falling behind in any of their studies. Cesar and his two brothers all work here at the Stage Office. As the youngest, Cesar only started a month or so ago and works one day here by himself and sometimes comes in on Saturday to help as well.”

She couldn’t be certain, but Sarah thought she saw appreciation in Mr. Livingston’s eyes. His smile seemed genuine and quite dangerous in its charm. “Who helps you the rest of the week?”

There didn’t seem to be anything amiss with Mr. Livingston’s questions. After all, he knew Ida and John. However, habits of self-protection are hard to break, and her father had taught her from the time she was little that sometimes, when people ask questions that seem innocent, they are actually trying to get information that could cause harm. Sarah’s gut told her it was okay to trust Mr. Livingston, but she could hear her father’s voice telling her to do her due diligence. She would check with Ida and John about her talking wall before she revealed any additional information to him about the stage office, herself, or the wonderful family she employed at the office.

As she made her decision, the front door banged open and Cesar came in carrying a sack of mail and dragging another behind him. “My goodness!” said Sarah as she rushed to help him.

“There’s more,” Cesar said. “Lots more.”

“What on earth! We don’t get this much mail in a month of Sundays, let alone on one single stage.” Trying not to appear as discombobulated as she felt by this influx of mail, Sarah asked Cesar, “Where are the passengers? Does anyone have anything to store or need assistance finding accommodations?”

Cesar’s eyes searched wildly around the room as though seeking an answer in the wood and plaster. He almost seemed afraid to say anything more. Then, looking over his shoulders as if searching for someone lurking behind him, he whispered to her, “There are no passengers. This isn’t even the real stage. The stage will be here on time with passengers and mail. This is all the extra mail they couldn’t fit onto the coach. There’s about six more bags out there, and the driver is fit to be tied. No one planned on an extra trip out here this week, but the mail has been getting backed up at the last stop. Their office is small, and they couldn’t keep our mail there any longer waiting for room on the stages – so they sent it over straightaway to get it out of their office.”

Sarah glanced out the window at the office platform, saw the bags of mail being pulled from the stage and piled up there. “Oh my,” she whispered. “I’ve never seen the likes.”

Table of Contents

His Saving Grace

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

About The Author

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