“Nicholas?” she asked hesitantly when he didn’t speak. She could see the dark circles under his eyes and lines of exhaustion on his face. He looked like she felt, worn out and weary from the previous night’s events.
“I understand I woke you last night.”
His voice was expressionless, giving nothing away. Grace frowned, pushing the hair out of her face. Had he sought her out to apologize? Surely he understood there was no need. “I was not asleep Nicholas.”
“Still you should have remained in your bed. It is not appropriate for you to see me so.” His voice was curt and Grace fought against her instinctive need to flinch.
Taking a deep breath, she touched his shoulder, careful to keep the touch light. Plucking up the courage she whispered, “Is that why you have yet to come to my bed?”
He didn’t meet her eyes, though she could see the tightening in his jaw. “I will not subject you to my nightmares.”
Grace climbed out of the bed then and came to stand before her damaged husband, heedless of the fact that she was wearing only her nightclothes. Boldly, she touched his cheek and forced him to meet her gaze.
His eyes darkened, but he didn’t respond, simply stared down at her, his face expressionless. Grace summoned the courage she’d just found to do what she must. “If you wish to allow me to help you, I will, but I will not push you to do so Nicholas. These nightmares do not make you weak, but they will destroy you if you allow them to do so.”
“You know nothing of the world,” he responded cuttingly. “You cannot help me. I don’t need a nursemaid. I need a wife. One who knows her place.”
The iciness in his tone caused Grace’s heart to thud sickeningly and she stepped back slightly, wanting nothing more than to crawl back into her bed and bury herself under the covers. Instead she stood tall, and clenching her fists together, leaned forward to press her lips against his cheek. “Yes, I am your wife,” she started, surprised her voice remained steady. “And you are my husband. Your pain is my pain. I will be here, whenever you need me.”
Nicholas’s sharp intake of breath told Grace she’d caught him off guard and she straightened, wanting nothing more than to wrap her arms around him. “Will you have breakfast with me?” she asked carefully, moving to the wardrobe that held her dresses.
The door closing behind her was her only response and Grace pressed her forehead to the cool wood, her shoulders slumping. He had sought her out, but only to tell her to mind her own business and stay out of his way.
Well if her husband thought she was that much of a damn ninny hammer, he was in for a grave shock.
∞∞∞
The discovery that her husband had left with nary a word spoken to her had her spitting feathers. For the first time since she’d become mistress of this mausoleum, Grace felt her anger begin to stir. She had done nothing for him to treat her so. His troubled mind did not give him an excuse for boorish behaviour.
He had intimated he wished her to stay out of his way. Well disappearing to Scotland without telling her was certainly an excellent way to belabour his point. Grace stamped her foot in frustration before taking herself in hand. She was behaving like a… a… mawkish nincompoop.
Resolutely she put her ill-mannered husband out of her mind and determined she would learn everything she could about the house she was now mistress of, and mayhap learn a little about what was expected of her. For the next two weeks she explored the house from top to bottom, seeking out all its hidden nooks and crannies. When she wasn’t exploring, she spent most of her time in the library reading about Blackmore’s history. Sections of the house were clearly very old, and it had more than its fair share of gruesome legends.
She also wrote to her husband, enquiring after his health and intimating she was missing his company.
After discovering everything she could about her new home, Grace decided to move on to exploring the grounds which were much more extensive than she’d imagined. Luckily the weather remained warm and sunny, and she enjoyed many an hour wandering the formal gardens and learning about the herbs in the kitchen garden. When she wasn’t exploring, she spent her time sitting under her favourite tree in the orchard reading.
She also wrote again to her husband, enquiring after his health and this time intimating her distress that he would stay away from Blackmore and his wife for such an extended period.
To both letters, she received neither reply nor acknowledgement, and by the time a full month had passed with no word Grace had finally had enough. It had become abundantly clear that her husband held her in scant regard and was unwilling to show her even the slightest consideration or courtesy fitting as his wife and duchess.
If Nicholas didn’t think she was good enough to be his wife, then what was the use in trying to be anything other than she was. She might now be the Duchess of Blackmore, but her husband clearly did not regard her as such. Well, she was still Grace Shackleford, and she’d be damned if she would continue to try and change herself to accommodate a man who plainly had no interest in her.
If and when he wanted her help, she would willingly give it, but until then, she was done trying to make herself into something she was not.
Instead of looking to dress in something that would please her husband on the off chance he returned, Grace put on her most comfortable gown and went downstairs to pen a letter to her sisters.
Chapter Nine
Reverend Shackleford was a troubled man. He
