His Saving Grace (Regency Refuge 1) (11 page)

I don't want everyone to look at me with pity. Or worse, compare me to Thomas's great aunt who was sent here after losing her mind.

While everyone around her cheered in celebration of the war's end, Grace worried her lower lip.

I'm afraid that one of these days I might start answering back when I think I hear his voice. Where, oh where, is Thomas?

July 1815

Three weeks passed. No word had been returned from the War Office, not even an acknowledgement of Rupert's inquiry. It had been more than two months since the last letter she'd received from Thomas and over four months since he'd gone away. Grace couldn't help but think back to the time they'd spent together after being wed. Parts of it had been so contentious, and parts of it had been pure wonder.

She was sitting out in the garden enjoying the fresh air, her hand resting gently on the slight swell of her abdomen.
Lord, I'm so afraid. Where is Thomas?
In truth, she was choking on her fear. She had heard tell that pregnant women were more emotional, but she believed she would have felt this way even if she weren't with child. Thomas had told her they still had years of marriage ahead of them, and she'd believed him. The lack of letters wore on her, making her feel sluggish and hollow. She tried to be strong, but each day of silence brought her closer to the brink of hysteria.

She'd worn a puce dress today because it reminded her of Thomas. It wasn't yet obvious to a casual observer, but as the babe within her grew, her previous dresses had become uncomfortably binding. When she'd sent Margaret into Newcastle to obtain more material for dresses, she'd told her to be sure to include puce. It was a small thing, but it made her feel that she was honoring her husband's wishes.

As the fragrance of flowers wafted on the passing breeze, she recalled Thomas's words.
You are a strong, brave, and wonderful woman. I am honored to call you wife. Don't let my absence take your sparkle away. I will believe you are here reading the newspaper and getting involved in things other women wouldn't dare. Promise me you will continue being you.

"I promise," she said softly, sadly.

"Promise what?" came a man's voice from her left.

"Great. Now I'm imagining things in broad daylight. I'm going to end up confined to my room if word of this gets out."

A rugged man with far too much facial hair and startling blue eyes sat down beside her on the bench. "What sorts of promises are you giving out today?"

"I was promising my husband, who's not here by the way, that I would continue doing my best to get into trouble." Grace refused to look at the man beside her.
He's not real. If I ignore him, he'll go away.

"I'm sure your husband would appreciate such a promise. Men rarely like obedient and subservient wives."

At least when I imagine I hear Thomas's voice, he's saying all the things I want to hear.

"That's a lovely dress you're wearing. I like that color on you." The hairy ruffian from her imagination seemed intent on having a conversation with her.

Should I tell Rupert about this? Maybe he'll tell me it's not so unusual…

A commotion came from the right, and she saw Rupert approaching, his black hair flying as he ran. "My goodness. I've never seen him move like that," she said.

"I have," the man replied, "but it involved guns, gambling, and a very persistent innkeeper's daughter."

When Rupert came to a screeching halt a short distance away, he simply said, "Your Grace."

"I'm not doing anything wrong out here, Rupert," she told him. When she glanced up and saw Rupert's puzzled expression, she asked, "Is there a problem? Am I needed inside?"

The voice from beside her said, "She thinks she's come unhinged and is having a conversation with an imaginary man."

Grace, assuming she alone could hear the man, refused to dignify his remark with a response. "Rupert, is anything wrong?"

"I—I got word from the groomsman we had a new arrival. I went to check and found Hero in our stable."

Gawking at Rupert, she asked, "Hero?" He nodded. Then, still not convinced of her own sanity, she asked, "Is there anyone sitting next to me?" He nodded again. "Who sits beside me?" she asked.

"His Grace," came his reply.

Taking her fan, she walloped her husband on the arm as hard as she could. "How dare you scare me so? I've had no idea where you were or whether you were alive or dead! The War Office would tell us nothing. The newspaper said the war was over, but you didn't come home!"

"Now that you've hit me, do you think I can have a hug?" Thomas asked.

Grace jumped up from the bench and faced him, hands on her hips and said, "You are not getting away with it that easily! Where have you been, and why could I not reach you?"

"If I promise to tell you everything after the evening meal when we retire for the night, can I have a hug? Maybe even a kiss?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rupert shaking his head as he walked away. Calling out to him, she asked, "Rupert, you swear he's here?"

He didn't turn back around to look at them, but his call of, "Yes, Your Grace," could not be missed.

Dashing away the tears flowing down her cheeks, she said to her husband, "I missed you."

Thomas, no longer needing to stay out of reach of her fan, rose to join her. He pulled her into his embrace, held her tenderly, and said, "I missed you more than you'll ever know. Wherever you go for the rest of your life, I will be there. No matter where it is, my home will always be in your arms. You, my dear," he said, gently brushing the loosened tendrils of her black hair away from her face, "will always be God's special gift to me, my saving grace." Then he leaned and captured her mouth with his own, his beard a reassuring tickle against her skin.

Of course he's real. I never would have conceived of giving him facial hair!

February 1816

William Robert Stanbury, the next Duke of Stafford, was two months old. He'd come along in December, about a month after Martinmas. He was strong and healthy.

Margaret and Elsie returned to Stafford with the duke and duchess, along with the footman. Elsie continued as Grace's lady's maid and was grudgingly accepted by the other staff. Margaret, thankful for the fresh start in a new place, took on the role of nursemaid to the young heir. Whenever Elsie wasn't seeing to Grace, she was often found in the nursery with Margaret and the babe.

Rupert remained at Castle Felton. Thomas had officially appointed him as steward to oversee the tenants and land. The village had suffered some neglect by his continued absence from the far northern estate over the past years, and Thomas wanted to put that to rights. His father had once told him any duke worth his weight took good care of his tenants and his family. Thomas aimed to do a better job in the future, and appointing Rupert, the perfect man for the job, was the first step.

Once Napoleon was safely away on his island of exile, the Duke of Wellington pulled some strings to get Thomas released from his military commitment. Thomas would have served out his year had it been required, but Grace was grateful to the duke for discharging her husband so he could stay close to her. It had been important to her that he be nearby, even if downstairs, when she'd labored to bring their son into the world.

"How are you this afternoon?" Thomas asked as he entered her salon and spied his lovely emerald-eyed wife.

"I am well, husband. How are you?"

Thomas didn't answer, but instead handed her a newspaper. "I'm going to be tied up all day with parliament and won't be back until long after dinner. I thought you might find this of interest."

"You are going to tease me then and not tell me what exactly I will find of interest in the newspaper?"

"It wouldn't be proper for me to speak to a woman about the goings-on in other people's marriages, certainly not that of Lord Byron and Lady Anne. If, however, you read about it yourself," he said with a shrug and a wink, "then there's nothing I can do about that."

"You know if Rupert were here, I'd yell to him that you're choking."

Before Grace realized what he was up to, Thomas snatched the newspaper back away from her and skipped out of reach. "Are you sure you want to threaten me with a beating, dear wife? Wouldn't you rather…?"

Rolling her eyes, she asked, "What am I going to have to do in order to get the newspaper back?"

Thomas gave her a deep bow and said, "Give me a kiss and tell me I'm the most amazing man you've ever met."

Grace popped up onto her tiptoes and gave her husband a light kiss on the cheek. Then, grabbing the newspaper from his grasp and running, she shouted behind her, "You are the most infuriating man I've ever met!"

The duke and duchess's laughter could be heard throughout their townhome as she fled and he pursued. Their London butler, Frederick, shook his head while the maids went about their business as though this were an everyday occurrence, which, in truth, it was.

Aside from her long-standing love affair with coffee, Heather's greatest joys in life are her relationship with her Savior, her family, and writing. Years ago, she decided it would be better to laugh than yell. Heather carries that theme over into her writing where she strives to create characters that experience both the highs and lows of life and, through it all, find a way to love God, embrace each day, and laugh out loud right along with her.