Grace bit her lip at his kindness and was about to reply when Nicholas opened his eyes. For a second, disorientated, he stared at her sleepily and she drew in her breath at the slumbering desire in his eyes. She realised the exact moment the events of the last few days came back to him. His beautiful eyes darkened before he turned away and sat up hurriedly.
“We’re about three miles away from the estate yer grace,” Malcolm offered mildly. “Will we be taking her grace to the cottage immediately or will she abide the night at the house.”
Nicholas frowned and shook his head. “We’ll continue to Pear Tree Cottage. I gave instructions for the house to be aired and a bed made up.” He looked over at Grace, clearly reluctant to communicate directly to her. “I am sure you will be more than comfortable madam,” he offered curtly. “The cottage is small but I daresay has more room than you were accustomed to before we wed.”
Grace’s face flamed and she clenched her hands against the seat to prevent herself from crying out in protest. Outwardly calm, she simply bent her head slightly in acknowledgement and turned to look out of the window.
Dawn was not far away, and the familiar rolling hills of Devonshire were only now beginning to regain their colour after the black and greyness of the night.
For Grace, the journey could not be over quick enough.
∞∞∞
Reverend Shackleford had finally received a missive from the Duke of Blackmore. It was short, curt and to the point. The Duke had indeed cast Grace aside. She was to live in a cottage on the estate and his son in law made it abundantly clear that he had no wish to see either his wife or any of her family. His grace also directed that while he was in residence, weekly services were to be held within the private chapel at Blackmore as he would no longer be attending the church. They would be delivered by the curate.
Putting the letter down, the Reverend felt a trifle light-headed. The situation was dire indeed. Putting his head in his hands, Augustus Shackleford allowed himself a moment of despondency before taking a deep breath and determinedly rallying.
At least his eldest daughter would continue to have an actualroof over her head, and it appeared he was to continue with his incumbency, at least for the moment. Agnes would be happy they were not all about to be unceremoniously banished from Blackmore. The Reverend sighed. Happy was undeniably an over embellishment but at least there was an outside possibility his wife might actually talk to him again.
Nonetheless, Augustus Shackleford could not escape the knowledge that it was his responsibility to put the whole terrible business to rights, and for the most part he was confident it was not beyond his capabilities. Indeed, it could be said that resourcefulness was his greatest skill; after all it was his responsibility to ensure the church collection box was acceptably full every Sunday.
And, if he failed to come up with a suitable plan, he could always ask Percy…
∞∞∞
Contrary to Grace’s fears, Pear Tree cottage was perfectly lovely. Had she not been in such a hobbleshe would have delighted in the charming red brick house. Downstairs consisted of a kitchen, dining room and drawing room while upstairs there were three bedrooms and even a tiny bathroom. The last was completely impractical since the length of time it would take her to heat enough water to fill the bath and carry it up the narrow stairs, would most likely render it cold again by the time she actually got into it. That said, the rooms in the rest of the house were small but nonetheless light and airy and best of all there was an enchanting walled garden with a huge apple tree which she enjoyed sitting under when the weather permitted.
The cottage was cleaned and the bedding changed once a week. The garden was tended to and she was provided with enough victuals to ensure she wouldn’t starve, providing she knew how to cook them. For that skill Grace conceded she was truly indebted to Mrs Higgins and the many hours she’d spent in the cook’s kitchen at Blackmore.
It was Grace’s choice to live without any domestic help. Her husband had curtly informed her that he had no care how many servants she chose to employ. Mayhap in the future she would welcome the company but at the moment she preferred that of her own.
Autumn came and went with no news from the Duke. She had written to her father and to her sisters but had refrained from entertaining them lest Nicholas find out, thus adding credence to her supposed perfidy. She missed her sisters terribly - in particular Temperance who was closest to her in age.
Yet, their absence was as nothing compared to her longing for her husband. Her yearning for Nicholas was a persistent ache deep in the pit of her stomach that was with her from the moment she rose in the morning until she finally fell into an exhausted sleep in the early hours. Her mind berated her endlessly for her foolhardiness until she felt as if she might scream. The worst day however came one blustery October morning when she woke to discover the onset of her menses.
There would be no child from their union.
She remained in her bed for the whole day allowing the tears to fall, grieving for what might have been, and for what she would never now experience. She cried until she felt as though her heart might break, and then, at last, she slept.
To her surprise, the next day she felt slightly better. Rising just after dawn, she stared out at the distant undulating hills wreathed in early morning mist, with the barely visible glimpses of the sea between them