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 almost appeared 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 coach 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 the situation 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 beginning to replace 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 the ton may 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, praying Nicholas 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 his 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'd shunned his coach and now 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 taken all her belongings.
He was too late. Grace had gone.
∞∞∞
Grace was certain it
