The Reverend opened his mouth, but nothing came out. For the first time he could remember, he was at a lossfor words. All his carefully crafted arguments simply vanished into the ether.
“She assumed you didn’t love her,” Percy suddenly blurted out, adding, “your grace,” when both men turned to look at him. The Duke refrained from speaking, merely raising his eyebrows ominously, but somehow Percy found the courage to continue.
“Your wife lo-loves you, your grace,” he stammered, glancing frantically towards the Reverend who was silently regarding his curate open-mouthed. Swallowing, the small man continued, warming a little to his theme. “Sh-she could not bear to live in a loveless marriage, your grace. She feared you would turn to a mistress to … to slake your needs…”
The Reverend blinked, before interrupting vehemently, “Steady on Percy, my daughter would never say such a th…”
“She could not endure being near you without your grace’s heart being involved.” Percy’s impassioned speech got louder, and the Reverend subsided, regarding the stranger next to him in astonishment.
“Your grace … sir … please, I beg you … give Grace another chance,” the curate begged fervently. “She is truly miserable without you … as I am assured you are without her.”
Augustus Shackleford closed his eyes in horror at Percy’s final words. This was it; they were done for. Keeping his eyes determinedly shut, the Reverend waited with bated breath for the axe to fall, until at length the ongoing silence became too much.
Opening his eyes, the first thing he saw was Percy’s white face, rigid with shocked disbelief at his own presumption. Heart thudding, he reluctantly turned his attention towards the Duke, still ominously silent, dreading his grace’s wrath at the curate’s impertinence.
To his bewilderment, the look on Nicholas Sinclair’s face was far from furious. Instead, the Duke looked pensive as if he’d actually listened to Percy’s impassioned plea, and his posture almostappeared to have relaxed slightly.
All things considered, the Reverend thought he might possibly be hallucinating.
The fact of the matter was that Augustus Shackleford was entirely done to a cow’s thumb and now wanted nothing more than to take to his bed, but he feared to move lest he inadvertently rekindle the Duke of Blackmore’s ire.
All three men remained motionless. Only Freddy’s soft snoring permeated the silence. After what seemed like forever, the Duke tossed back the rest of his brandy and rang for the butler. While they were waiting, his grace eyed them both with weary exasperation, but his earlier anger seemed to have dissipated. When Huntley finally opened the door, Nicholas gave the elderly butler orders to escort their two visitors out and to have his horse brought round to the front.
Chapter Twenty-One
After her father’s fervent vow to put things right, Grace found herself repeatedly waking up in a cold sweat over what he would do. After several sleepless nights, she decided her only course of action was to take matters into her own hands before the Reverend took the opportunity to make matters considerably worse. She had no clue of his intentions, but given that his last solution encompassed kidnapping, she was firmly of the opinion that she needed to put a halt to any action he and Percy were currently plotting between them.
Anger was finally replacing heartache, and she resolutely ignored the small voice warning her of the dire consequences the last time this happened. Whatever mistakes she’d made, Nicholas had contributed his fair share. And what’s more, she was his wife dammit. Whether he wished it or no, she was the Duchess of Blackmore, and while thetonmay forever consider her a provincial upstart with no breeding or manners, she was nonetheless owed more consideration than her husband was currently giving her.
She’d remained banished in her cottage for nigh on three months, waiting, hoping,prayingNicholas would finally condescend to speak with her. Well, enough was enough. She was done playing the martyr.
If her husband refused to come to her, she would go to her husband.
And she would remain by his side whatever his personal thoughts on the matter.
Determinedly, she packed her belongings and after dragging them down the stairs, left them in the kitchen to be collected. Then wrapping herself in her thickest cloak, she donned her boots and started walking. If she succeeded in keeping a brisk pace, she would arrive at Blackmore before dusk.
***
Nicholas hadn’t been astride a horse since his brother’s death. However, after he’d finally succeeded in dispatching what he had no doubt were the worst two incumbents currently in the employ of the Anglican Church, he’d found himself suddenly frantic to see his wife. Against all odds, the curate’s impassioned pleas earlier had finally succeeded in cracking open his defences.
Abruptly, all he could think about was his own foolish pig-headedness. He no longer cared what Grace had or hadn’t intended. All that mattered was having her in his arms.
Nicholas realised he was not his father to never forgive or forget a mistake. After the overwhelming hurt of Peter’s death and his father’s betrayal, he’d thought to live his life without the closeness of another human being. Firstly, his son and then his wife had shown him the absurdity of that path. For good or ill, he loved. He had no wish to spend the rest of his life bitter and lonely.
God’s teeth, he only now realised just how close he’d come to turning into his father.
Somehow, he would persuade Grace to return to Blackmore with him and give him the opportunity to spend the rest of his life showing her just how much he loved her. With Grace by his side, he believed he would succeed in finally freeing himself from the night terrors that plagued him.
Which was why he found himself galloping over the uneven countryside on his old horse Delilah. Incredibly,it felt as though he’d last ridden the mare only days ago, and he couldn’t deny it was unexpectedly glorious. In the space of twenty minutes, he arrived at Grace’s house. The small cottage was in complete darkness despite the dwindling light of early evening. Frowning, he dismounted quickly and tethered the horse to the gate. With mounting dread, Nicholas strode up the path to the front door which opened immediately, adding to his growing concern. After only a slight hesitation, he walked in, calling Grace’s name. It took only seconds to determine the cottage was empty. And within the next two minutes he discovered his wife had taken all her belongings.
He was too late. Grace had gone.
∞∞∞
Grace was certain it had not been so far the last time she’d thought to walk to Blackmore in the hopes of catching sight of her husband. This time she felt as if she’d been walking for hours, made worse after discovering very early on that fashionable boots were not made to withstand the rigours of the countryside in winter. Grimacing, she recalled the last time she’d taken this path had been on a dry bright sunny day. Now dusk was falling much faster than she’d anticipated and everything suddenly looked the same in the muted light. Swallowing, she looked around, forcing back the first stirrings of panic. This was Devonshire for goodness sake. She knew this land like the back of her hand and had been lost in it more times than she could count, always being chanced upon eventually by her father or Percy.
A sudden sick feeling of dread paralyzed her as she abruptly realised that in this instance, no one knew she was missing. It might well be days before anyone discovered she’d left the cottage. Feeling suddenly faint, Grace sat down on a large boulder. She was no stranger to this landscape and consequentlyto its hazards. While generally fairly clement, the weather had been known to cause havoc to the unwary. If she was unable to find her way, and the temperature chanced to fall more than a few degrees, there was a possibility she would freeze to death.
