Realm 04 - A Touch of Grace (10 page)

Quickly, before he moved away, Grace sought her sketchpad from her portmanteau. She made a rough drawing of the stranger. She wished she could see his eyes and his facial expression, but she drew what she saw. The way the man slouched against the fence railing, but, more importantly, she wanted Lord Godown to possess a likeness of the man who had caused him such pain. “And if Gabriel should not…” she thought as tears filled her eyes. “I shall send this to Lord Worthing.”

The man finally returned to the inn, but not before she had etched his memory on paper. She could fill in the details during the hours while Lord Godown slept. For now, she would first check the obstacles she had placed before the door to increase their security and then return to His Lordship’s side.

*

It was on their sixth day at the inn that his fever finally broke. Grace had never known such happiness as when she touched his forehead and found it cool. “Thank, God,” she murmured as she, literally, sank to her knees in supplication beside his bed.

Immediately following her prayers of thanksgiving, she sent for fresh linens and a clear broth. When he awoke, Grace would change the bedding and then feed him. He had had nothing but sips of brandy and water for nearly a week, and he appeared gaunt.

“How long?” he asked weakly as she managed to wrestle him into a chair as she spread the clean linens across the damp mattress.

Grace blew a strand of loose hair from her face as she ran her hand across the wrinkled sheet to straighten it. Spots of blood from their lovemaking had marked the coverlet. She prayed the Bradshaws would take no notice when the maid called later for the soiled linens.

“How long have I been here?” she asked distractedly.

“Yes,” he said a bit impatiently.

Grace looked up from her task. “Today is day six.” Dusk had already made an appearance.

“And you have remained in this room throughout my ordeal?” Lord Godown asked suspiciously.

“Where else would I have gone?” she answered innocently.

Perhaps if he had had laudanum, Gabriel would not have been so aware of the woman who had readily agreed to share his room, but without the medicine, the only thing that had lessened his pain was to concentrate on the true kindest he found in Grace Nelson’s countenance. And he had discovered to his great surprise he liked the idea of waking up to find her watching over him. He had entered the room with the intention of dying in the comfort of a clean bed rather than along a dusty Scottish road. To die with his dignity in tact. Yet, from the beginning, Miss Nelson had insisted she would not permit him to meet his Maker. And Gabriel had believed her. Like Thornhill’s first wife Ashmita, Gabriel had latched onto another’s hope: That of Miss Nelson’s desire to see him well, and with each breath, he had fought to survive. To survive to honor his parents’ legacy. To survive to finally know contentment. To survive because it was Miss Nelson’s prayer, and Gabriel would not have her disappointed.

He would wake and his first thought would be of her. He would whisper her name, and “Grace’s” countenance would appear above him. She would lovingly caress his cheek before sponging away the sweat and the heat that had plagued his body. It was heaven. Someone watched over him. It had been nearly two decades since someone had unselfishly tended to his needs. It was a heady experience.

He had also discovered a bit of jealousy when Miss Nelson would occasionally not appear immediately when he awoke. Once he heard her speaking to a man in hushed tones. He assumed it was the innkeeper, but a part of him feared it was a relationship Miss Nelson had formed since coming to the inn or on her journey across Scotland. She could have pretended to be alone. In honesty, what did he know of the woman? She had lowered the bed drapes and had moved a screen to block the bed’s view from the room door. Although Gabriel knew his thoughts foolish, he could not quite abandon the feeling of betrayal that haunted each of his female relationships.

“I just thought…” he stammered. “That you had gone below to take your meals.”

Grace’s forehead knitted with irritation. “I do not make commitments, my Lord, upon which I renege.”

Gabriel’s lips turned up in amusement. “I never considered you, my Dear, to be a woman with a weak manner.” Yet, he had placed her among those from whom he feared duplicity because, with Grace, he felt an unfamiliar vulnerability.

Grace’s hands unfisted from her waist. “Lord Godown, this is most inappropriate to say, but I am honored to have been of service to you.”

Gabriel shifted uncomfortably. “You speak, Miss Nelson, as if our relationship is coming to an end.”

To Gabriel’s disappointment, the woman returned to her housekeeping duties. “A marquis cannot associate with one of the working class, my Lord,” she said matter-of-factly.

“Miss Nelson, you must know…” he began, but her alarmed expression stopped him short.

She turned her back on him, and Gabriel watched her shoulders rise and fall in distress. “Please, Lord Godown,” she whispered hoarsely. “Permit us to part as friends. Despite your injury, these days have been ideal. I tended someone I deeply respect.”

He wished he were strong enough to go to her. To take her in his arms and prove to her he wanted her for more than his nurse. That he would not abandon her. “Our relationship excels,” Gabriel said to her partial profile.

“Please,” she said again on a rasp. “Do not destroy the memories.”

Gabriel did not wish to upset her. Somehow, she had found a place in his heart. “We will discuss this more thoroughly when I am well enough to travel. Until then, we will continue on as before.”

With a flick of her finger across her damp cheek, he watched as she replaced the congenial smile on her lips, but Gabriel did not believe her. Miss Nelson had substituted the loving woman of his dreams with the efficient governess, and he felt bereft with her withdrawal. Without meeting his gaze, she said, “Thank you, my Lord.” Coming around the bed, she continued, “Permit me to assist you into bed.”

She lifted his arm about her shoulder, and Gabriel permitted her to bolster his stance. He would not argue with her at this time, but he intended to press his suit with Grace Nelson before they departed Scotland. He would permit the lady to choose an English wedding, or they could do the deed before they crossed the border. Either way, he would make Grace Nelson his wife. He knew his duty to an innocent.

*

When he finally slept, Grace allowed herself to breathe relief. As she had anticipated, Lord Godown intended to do the honorable act, and she must not permit him to soil his title with her connection. As she watched him sleep, Grace memorized his countenance’s lines. The frown line above his left eyebrow. Deeper than the one on the right. A bit of a cleft in his strong, noble chin. The French influence evident in the shape of his jaw line and in his eyes. Softer than the higher cheek bones and shallow jowls often found among the English men she had encountered. Yet, very masculine. She would etch his image on her memory. While he slept, she frantically sketched his countenance in repose. Another of her keepsakes.

She would stay with him one more day–maybe two. Her letter to his estate should have sent his staff into response. His carriage would arrive any day. He would be to Staffordshire and she to Lancashire. She would see Lord Godown a bit stronger, and then she would make her departure. As much as she had learned to care for the man, Grace would walk away. He deserved to marry a beautiful woman, one he could truly love and honor.

*

“I insist,” Lord Godown had said aristocratically. “You have spent eight days within these walls. You will go below and have a proper breakfast.” She had assisted him to a seated position in the bed, and His Lordship had eaten some dry toast and two poached eggs. “I have noted how you have eaten less and less. I will not have you taken ill because of me.”

“But I would prefer to remain with you,” she countered. How could she tell him she wished to savor every moment that remained of their time together in his presence? Those minutes would sustain her heart for the remainder of her days.

“Yet, you will grant me this favor,” he said softly. Lord Godown caressed the back of her hand with his thumb.

Grace stared down at his countenance’s perfection. Even with a scruffy beard to roughen his features, she ached to touch him. Since his fever had receded, Grace had had few opportunities to just touch him, and she had discovered a perverse desire to do so. “You do not play fair, my Lord.”

A wicked smile spread across his lips. “I suspect I will often have to practice deception to change your beautifully stubborn nature.”

Grace’s shoulders stiffened. She did not want him to make promises that would tempt her to permit him control of her future. If he actually proposed, she was not certain she could refuse. “I shan’t be long. When I return, we shall give you a shave.” Although she should not do so, Grace cupped his chin to feel the beard’s soft whiskers.

Lord Godown caught her hand and placed a kiss to her open palm. Instinctively, she closed her hand about the spot to capture the splendid warmth of his lips on her flesh. “And after that, we will have that conversation you have so artfully avoided for the past few days.”

Grace flinched, but she said, “As you wish, my Lord.” When she went below for her meal, she would ask Mr. Bradshaw about the next departure. If necessary, she would turn her back on Lord Godown and walk away. Although he had recovered nicely, he would still be too weak to give pursuit. Loosening his hold on her hand, she retrieved her shawl from the chair’s back and turned toward the door.

“Grace.” His voice stilled her progress.

Without turning around to look at him, she paused with her hand on the latch. “Yes, Gabriel.” She allowed herself the pleasure of using his Christian name.

“I owe you my life and my honor, and I will not be denied,” he said confidently.

A tear escaped and made its way down her cheek. “I shall gladly accept your respect, my Lord.” Although her fingers fumbled with the handle, she managed to escape the room. Outside the closed portal, she sank heavily against the adjoining wall. Her heart ached to turn around and rush to his side, but she could not destroy his reputation with such an unholy alliance, and she could not lose her self-respect and be nothing more than his mistress. She held no choice but to refuse him. Wiping away the tears, she straightened her shoulders and descended the inn’s steps.

*

Gabriel wanted to call out for her return, but he permitted her the freedom of a few minutes without his company. He could tell by looking at her eyes Miss Nelson suspected his intentions. He could also recognize the lady’s desire to accept him warring against her sensible nature that privately told her she would not fare well as a marquise. Yet, her father had been a baron. Besides, Gabriel could care less what Society thought. He wanted a woman who would care for him–who would give him intelligent, capable children–and whose company did not bore him. Miss Nelson would provide all three. Anything else that developed between them would be fruit for the tart. It was not love, but who knew what it could be.

Last evening, as she thought he slept, Gabriel had spied on her. The lady had spent some time writing frantically on what appeared to be foolscap. Then she attended to her ablutions before returning to his bedside. He should have turned away from a glimpse of her partially nude body, but he took great pleasure in his body’s reaction to this enigmatic woman. It would be easy for him to remain true to her. Miss Nelson stirred his masculine desires. He would enjoy teaching her about passion. While she read to him from her novel, he had closed his eyes and rehearsed what he would say to her to convince the lady to accept his proposal. Gabriel attempted to anticipate his Grace’s every objection, and he knew there would be many; yet, he meant to prevail. Closing his eyes while he waited for her return, he banked his resolve.

*

Grace stepped into the common room’s open area to be greeted with a hearty welcome from Mr. Bradshaw. “I pray your appearance, my Lady, indicates His Lordship has taken a turn for the better.” He led Grace to a cozy table near the fire. “Would you prefer a private room, Ma’am?”

“That is not necessary,” Grace assured the man. “And, yes, my husband is stronger each day. We should be able to depart as soon as Lord Godown’s carriage arrives.” She slipped a coin into his hand. “This should cover the room’s expenses for the next few days.”

The innkeeper blustered, “I never doubted the marquis’s honesty, Ma’am.”

Grace patted his arm. “I am certain any one who ever met the marquis could doubt his honor.”

The maid brought Grace her usual breakfast, and Grace smiled kindly at the girl’s familiarity. “Thank you,” she said softly as she assumed the seat Mr. Bradshaw had indicated. A sigh of contentment filled her as she sipped her tea. The sun streamed across a nearby table, and she took time to memorize this moment also. When she finished her meal, she would check the posted times for arrivals and departures. She would separate herself from Lord Godown, and despite how her heart lurched every time she thought of never seeing Gabriel Crowden again, she had resolved to deny the man his plans. She would make her way to Lancashire where she would spend time with Mercy, and then she would be onto another governess position. This week with Lord Godown would become a precious, but faded, memory.

Finishing her meal, Grace stood and turned to slam into the solid body of man who smelled of stale tobacco and alcohol. A man who likely had not seen his bed the previous evening. “Pardon m-me,” she stammered. “I did not see you there.” The man’s grasp tightened on her shoulders, and she felt uncomfortable with his nearness. She took a step backward to pull away, but his fingers dug into her arm. “Sir,” she said with emphasis, “I suggest you…” Her gaze met his, and immediately her anger faded. “Geoffrey,” she exclaimed.

“One and the same,” her brother hissed. “What are you doing dining alone?” he accused. “Have you no decency?”

“Geoffrey, you are hurting me,” she said tentatively. “May we…may we not sit, and I can explain.”