∞∞∞
Reverend Shackleford failed to recall a time when his life had been this terrible, and he couldn’t help but question the Almighty’s treatment of so loyal a servant.
He may well have made a complete cake of everything, but he’d done it with the best possible motives. Wincing, he remembered the old adageHell is paved with good intentions.He had no doubt that Percy would be including the proverb in his upcoming sermon.
Sighing, the Reverend sipped on his glass of port. His meals had become a solitary affair with only Freddy for company. He’d been taking them in his study since Agnes had refused to speak to him after her fit of the vapours three days ago. She was now in a high dudgeon having taken to her bed with only her salts for company.
The rest of the household were tiptoeing around and speaking in whispers. It was as if someone had turned over the deuced perch, and for the second time in his long, occasionally less than illustrious interval on this mortal coil, Reverend Shackleford was truly flummoxed.
So far, he’d received no word from the Duke of Blackmore and no indication whether the news of his daughter’s indiscretions had found his son-in-law’s ears. Quite what the Duke would make of the Reverend’s own admittedly ill-advised activities, was something he couldn’t as yet bring himself to ponder.
Reverend Shackleford was under no illusions that the damned ivory tuner who’d taken advantage of his being a trifle foxed had refrained from hastening up to London to spread the gossip to all and sundry. It was only a matter of time. Sighing, the Reverend put his head in his hands. He wasin the suds and no mistake. Somehow, he had to come up with a plan that would see his son’s future honour restored, and more urgently, given the fact that Anthony was only five, to ensure that his eldest daughter was not consigned to living in a barn.
Along with the rest of them.
∞∞∞
Grace had finally fallen into a light doze in the early hours but was woken again at the sound of a cock crowing just before dawn. She lay there until Dorcas appeared with a cup of chocolate approximately half an hour later. Nodding gratefully at the solemn faced maid, she propped up her pillows, determined not to be rushed. Her husband was unlikely to leave without her after all. When Dorcas finally appeared with a basin of hot water, she reluctantly climbed out of bed. She’d intended to don the same gown as yesterday, but with an unexpected hint of mulishness, she changed her mind, choosing instead an emerald green morning gown from her new wardrobe that brought out the colour of her eyes.
Seating herself at the dressing table, she allowed Dorcas to brush and style her hair. If she was to be banished, then her husband’s last sight of her would not be the forlorn pitiful woman of yesterday. Her heart might well be breaking, but she still had her pride.Which was what got you into this position in the first place, she couldn’t help musing. No matter. She would not have her husband remember her looking as sick as a cushion. She made a determined effort to smile in the mirror at Dorcas as the maid put the finishing touches to her coiffure which unfortunately resulted in the servant bursting into tears. Hurriedly, Grace rose and handed the distraught maid a handkerchief.Anyone would think I was going to the scaffold,she thought a trifle hysterically. Luckily, a knock at the door brought a swift end to the histrionics, and wiping her eyes, Dorcas went to the door.
Bailey stood on the other side, wheezing slightly from the stairs. “Your grace, his grace is asking whether you have any baggage.”
“Naturally,” Grace responded, slightly irritated that the Duke might expect her to travel without luggage. “I will leave it in my chamber to be collected.”
“If it pleases you, I will take it downstairs for you now, your grace,” Bailey puffed, moving into the room.
“Certainly not.” Grace’s reply was a little sharper than she’d intended, but she had no intention of witnessing the elderly butler suffer an apoplexy as a result of struggling downstairs with her heavy baggage. Softening her next words, she continued. “Please instruct one of the footmen to take care of it. I am sure my husband will be more than happy to wait a few moments more.”
With that, she picked up her reticule and gloves and swept past him to head down the stairs. She stumbled a little as she saw the Duke waiting unsmiling at the bottom, but thankfully managed to descend to the hall without pitching headlong into his arms.Would he even bother to catch me?she couldn’t help questioning ruefully.
Finally, standing in front of her husband, she lifted her head before saying in as firm a voice as she could muster, “I will be ready to depart once I have partaken of some breakfast, your grace.” She thought she saw him flinch slightly at her use of his title, but he merely nodded his head curtly before turning on his heel and heading towards his study. “Have the coach brought round in fifteen minutes,” he bit out to Bailey who had just arrived at the bottom of the stairs.
Fighting back yet more tears, Grace walked into the dining room, seating herself for the last time at the end of the table. She had cried enough to fill an ocean, but no more. She was determined to leave with her head held high. Where this sudden surge of courage had come from, she had no idea, but whatever happened in the future, she would not disgrace herselffurther in the eyes of the servants, particularly as she was unlikely to see any of them again.
She feared her husband was already a lost cause.
∞∞∞
Nicholas strode over to his desk and poured himself a large brandy. It was early in the day, but he wasn’t sure he’d survive the next few hours without being slightly foxed. Swallowing the dark liquid in one go, he quickly poured another. He was unable to get the image of his wife’s regal descent of the stairs out of his mind. He couldn’t help but admire her pluck. Gone was the snivelling wretch from yesterday. Today she looked like a duchess. His Duchess.
The first woman he’d ever fallen in love with. He could admit it to himself now. When it was far, far too late.
Turning, Nicholas raised his glass to the only remaining portrait of his father hidden away in the corner of the study. “I’m sure you’re having a fine time gloating, old man,” he murmured bitterly. “Well you’ve certainly had the last laugh. Trapped in a marriage with a woman who abhors me.” He savoured the burning in his throat before pouring a third.
“Still, perhaps you’re not finding it quite so humorous,” he continued collapsing bleakly into his chair. “After all, you know exactly what that feels like, don’t you father?”
Chapter Nineteen
This time Malcolm accompanied them on their journey, because Grace realised wretchedly, Nicholas did not wish them to be alone together. Indeed, in his haste to be rid of her, the Duke decided they would return to Blackmore without staying overnight at a hostelry, which demanded a change of horses halfway.
The only time she was allowed to alight the carriage throughout the journey was to see to her ablutions and eat a swift meal. Grace didn’t know whether to be relieved or sorry when she was left to dine alone. She suspected she wouldn’t have been able to force anything down had she been subject to her husband’s scowling face during the meal. She supposed Nicholas preferred to eat with Malcolm.
Her husband hardly spoke two words to her throughout the journey. She only briefly tried to engage him in conversation while Malcolm was supervising the onward journey of their first team of horses once the beasts had had sufficient time to rest. He listened to her in glacial silence before stating flatly that should she utter one more word, she would find herself left behind along with the horses. She suspected he might actually have been a trifle disguised at the start of their journey and was beyond relieved when he finally fell asleep in the early hours.
Despite her weariness, Grace had been unable to stop her mind repeating over and over the events of the last few days. It didabsolutely no good at all but nevertheless prevented her from finding any respite in sleep, and by the time the carriage finally entered Devonshire, her whole body was aching to such an extent she couldn’t help wondering whether she’d ever be able to walk again. Staring across at her husband’s strained face, she felt unwilling sympathy, imagining the pain he was going through from his injuries.
“Try not to bother yerself too much lassie,” Malcolm murmured after glancing over at his master’s sleeping form. Surprised, Grace looked over at the valet. It was the first time the Scot had spoken to her since they’d left London. “I would have spoken to ye earlier, but the Laird forbade it.” Malcolm cocked his head towards Nicholas who continued to sleep fitfully.
