His Saving Grace (14 page)

Despite her twisted underclothes, Grace hurried after them. “Michael.”

He turned to her with a distracted look.

“Take notes.”

He looked at her blankly. “Whatever do you mean, Grace?”

She refused to be deterred or to take offense at his curt tone. She was beginning to understand him a little better. When he was preoccupied, he tended to be short with her. That might be because he was trying to concentrate on something and she was keeping him from it.

“Take notes. As Roberts tells you something important, jot it down. You can refer to your notes as you talk to him, and then you might not ask him the same question twice.”

“He will think that’s odd.”

“What does it matter? Let him think it’s odd. He doesn’t even have to see what you’re writing. But if you write it down, you will always have your notes as a reminder.”

“I can’t even write all that well.”

Stop throwing up obstacles,
she wanted to shout at him. She forced her irritation away. “We will decipher it later. Even if you jot down just a few words as a reminder, that might be enough. Just try it. Please.”

He looked at her. He seemed to be mentally switching subject matters to try to concentrate on what she was saying. “That might work,” he finally said. “I shall try it. Thank you, Gracie.”

She bit her lip as he disappeared into the study. Oh, how she wished she could go in there with him, but that would be too odd. So she hurried up to her room to attend to her attire and discovered that her hair was a frightful mess.

She was mortified all over again that Tarik had seen her like this.

They boarded the train for London on a very fine spring day. Grace was nervous. She felt this journey was going to change her life in ways that she could not imagine.

She had done something that Michael might not be pleased about, but she knew she had to do it. There was a doctor residing in London who specialized in injuries to the head, and despite Michael’s insistence that he was finished with doctors, she had made an appointment. If he was angry, then so be it, but she was not going to leave any stone unturned.

However, going against Michael’s wishes made her nervous. She just knew she was standing on the precipice of something big, something that would make her dig deep and find a strength that she previously had not been aware she possessed.

Just like Tarik had warned her about.

The train station at Hadley Springs was not overly crowded, and the ride into town was pleasant. It had been a long time since Grace had visited London. While she much preferred living in the country, she did enjoy infrequent trips into the bustling city. And the prospect of a new wardrobe was enticing.

The trip took a few hours, and then they were disgorged upon London, with all of its noise and sights and sounds. The train station was quite a bit busier than the one they’d just come from. She was thankful for Tarik, who cleared a path for them, forcing his way through the crowd who parted before him, surprised to see such a tall, dark-skinned man in their midst.

Michael leaned heavily on his cane. Twice his leg gave out and he stumbled. His face was gray, his lips pressed tightly together. Though Grace stayed close, ready to catch him should he fall, he moved through the crowd. A bit inelegantly, but that was all right.

Tarik took charge of their luggage and hailed two cabs, ushering Grace and Michael into one while Tarik and Jenny, Grace’s maid, rode in the other along with the luggage. Once the door closed behind them and the noise was muffled, Michael let his head fall back and blew out a breath.

“I’d forgotten how loud London is,” he said. “And busy. So many people, and they all seem to be in a hurry.”

When one spends his entire life in the country, she thought, London was a shock to the senses. It was the reason she could take it only so long before she was ready to return to her slower-paced life.

They were scheduled to stay in town for a week. How was Michael to survive an entire week if simply walking across the station drained him? Once people discovered Michael and Grace were in residence, they would come calling. There would be invitations as well. Grace’s anxiety rose with each thought. How in the world were they going to do this?

Traffic was horrific. Carriages clogged the main roads, causing everything to come to a standstill. Michael kept his eyes closed, discouraging any discussion. Grace looked out the window but hardly noted the scenery because she was too worried about the upcoming week.

It took much longer than necessary to reach their townhouse in St. James. Relieved to be out of the confinement of the carriage, Grace fluffed her skirts and looked up at the butler and the housekeeper patiently waiting in the doorway for them. Tarik and Jenny arrived, and Tarik began instructing the servants on what to do with the luggage. They seemed a bit surprised to find the tall man issuing orders, but they jumped to do his bidding.

Together Grace and Michael walked up the steps. They were greeted by the staff, who exclaimed delight at seeing Michael for the first time since his return. Then they were shown to their bedrooms, where Grace helped Jenny unpack.

A knock on the door revealed the butler with a tray full of mail. “These started arriving a few days ago,” he said.

Grace bit back a sigh. Invitations nearly spilled off the tray. There was a mound to go through, and she was so tired that she didn’t even want to think about them, but to ignore them would be rude and definitely noted by the
ton
. If Michael wanted to keep up appearances, then they were required to appear at one of the events, at the very least.

And so it began.

The next afternoon Michael found Grace at her desk in her suite of rooms with her head in her hands, surrounded by stacks of letters.

“What are these?” He pulled a letter toward him and turned it around to see that their names were written on it.

She lifted her head and sighed. “Invitations.”

“Ah.” He tried his best to hide his reaction. When he’d decided to travel to London, he’d given a passing thought to the invitations they would receive, but like he had said to Grace, he couldn’t avoid it forever. At some point in the future, he would have to take his place in Parliament, and that would mean traveling to London. He preferred to take his first trip now, when there were fewer pressures on his shoulders. And Grace could be beside him.

They’d made love a few more times since that time in the glass house, and Michael had discovered something about himself. When he was making love with Grace, he felt more like himself than he had since his injury. She made him feel complete, whole, like a man. In bed, pleasing Grace, he needn’t remember words, he didn’t forget, he simply acted, and it was a wonderfully freeing feeling. So much that he wanted to remain beside her all night long.

She smiled up at him, but he could see her weariness. The last few weeks were taking a toll on her. She worried about him. He could see it in the looks she gave him when she thought he wasn’t aware. She tried to protect him from outside forces, and while there were times he was grateful, there were also times he felt smothered. More often he was just plain angry. He should be the one protecting her. Not the other way around.

“It seems that an earl returning from the dead is very popular,” she said with forced lightheart
edness. “Our calendar will be quite full if we accept everything. I was thinking that we should attend a few small dinner parties. Maybe a musicale or two.”

He winced. “Not a musicale, I beg of you.” The thought of sitting through the screeching singing, or worse, the obnoxious musical instruments, was torture. High-pitched noises grated on the inside of his brain.

“I thought the smaller musicales would be better. Fewer people. Fewer conversati
ons.”

She was trying to protect him again, but he couldn’t hide from society forever. When he’d chosen to return home, he’d known what he was getting into. What he hadn’t known was how difficult it would be or that his brain was injured far more than he had assumed.

Of course an earl who had returned from the dead would be popular. His attendance at any social event would be the talk of the season, and the person hosting the event would rise in everyone’s estimation.

“No balls?” he asked.

She hesitated. “I wasn’t certain if you would want to attend a ball.”

“I would rather attend a ball than a musicale or a small dinner party.”

She looked at him in confusion. “I thought it would be the other way around.”

“There are many people at a ball. I can circulate without having to engage in deep conversations. Whereas at a musicale or small dinner party, I will have to know everyone’s name and be able to say it on cue. I’m afraid that might be beyond me.”

She looked down at the invitations. “I never thought of it that way.”

He tapped a stack of invitations. “Accept a few to the biggest balls.” He turned to leave but stopped and turned again. “Grace?”

She lifted her head. He hated to see the pinched look on her face. Knowing he was the cause of it nearly destroyed him.

“Yes?”

“Please stop worrying about me.”

“I can’t.”

While Michael met with his solicitors, Grace had her own appointment to keep. She had told her husband that she was meeting with her modiste. Instead, she sat in a surprisingly well-appointed office in Clapham and waited for the man before her to speak.

“I must confess,” said Sir William Montgomery, “that I was afraid you had not given me adequate time to carry out my investigat
ion.”

He was a handsome man. In his late twenties, with dark blond hair and the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Not at all what she had expected from an investigator.

“Surprisin
gly,” he continued, “it wasn’t difficult to find the information you requested.”

After Nigel threatened Michael’s claim on the earldom, Grace had not been able to stem the tide of her worries. So she’d taken it upon herself to contact Sir William, an investigator with Scotland Yard and a man known for his discretion. In the weeks since Michael’s return, she had discovered an inner strength that had surprised her—just like Tarik had said she would. She had not forgotten Nigel’s threats, and she was determined to be armed with information, at the very least, should Nigel make any more accusations.

She leaned forward in her chair, eager to learn what Sir William had unearthed about her brother-in-law.

“It seems,” he said, “that Lord Nigel Ashworth has a few blemishes upon his record.”

“Blemishes?” Her heart pounded in excitement. What new lows had she stooped to that she was excited to discover Nigel had blemishes? Whatever that meant.

“It seems he likes to frequent…” Sir William turned red and he coughed into his hand. “Er…well…”

“I assure you, Sir William, you cannot shock me. Please do tell.”

“Lord Nigel likes to frequent bawdy houses.” He dipped his head and stared hard at the papers in his hand.

“Bawdy houses,” Grace repeated. “It’s not unusual for a man to enjoy such…enter
tainment.”