father’s line may be of little consequence, but you’re the granddaughter of a duke, and him not around to have a say about who you end up with.”
And with a father who has no scruples about it.
Harrison would never dare to voice the thought, yet the truth of it was known by all. Grace began walking toward the manor. “Yet again, my status as a lady appears to prove problematic. Perhaps I shall need to take up wearing breeches and riding astride in front of Lidgate. That may dissuade him as well.”
“I wouldn’t plan on that, Miss Thatcher,” Harrison said, falling into step behind her. “Lidgate’s not the type who’ll be concerned with your behavior, nor your mind. He’ll be feasting his eyes, in a manner of speaking.”
A blush heated Grace’s face. “Harrison,” she admonished. “Please.”
“I’m sorry, miss.” He lowered his head, as if to prove he was contrite. “Miranda and I thought you should be forewarned.”
“Thank you,” Grace said. “Please ready the carriage. I shall be but a few minutes.” She left Harrison near the base of the stairs and began the climb, the joy from her morning success all but gone.
Before nightfall she would be faced with yet another man, one likely worse than Lord Crosby. A man who wasn’t afraid of women, but one she might have every reason to fear.
For the second time in as many days, Grace sat in the mud. Yesterday, it had been an unruly sorrel mare that had dislodged her into a thicket. But just now, feeling rather dazed, half sitting, half lying in the mire, with rain falling steadily through the dark, she could not place the cause of her current circumstance.
“Miss Thatcher, are you all right?” Harrison called to her from somewhere above.
“I am both well enough and wet enough,” she managed to say before a coughing fit seized her, rattling her entire body and paralyzing her to all but the barest ability to breathe.
“You don’t sound well,” Harrison said, concern in his voice. “Sit tight — supposing you’re sitting, that is — and I’ll fetch you shortly.”
And take me where? Grace lifted a hand to her aching head, stopping herself just in time when she realized that muck covered her palm. “Harrison,” she called through the black. “Where are we? Where is Miranda?”
“Here,” Miranda called, sounding somewhat less than here.
“We’ve gone off the road en route to Mr. Preston’s,” Harrison said. “The carriage tipped, and you with it.” Horses’ whinnying and the grating of slow-turning wheels confirmed his story.
That explains it, Grace thought, rationalizing that her entire body ached because of the spill from the carriage and not her worsening illness. But who was Mr. Preston, and what on earth had she been going to see him for?
Did Grandfather send me — in the dead of night? Of course not. She stilled, this time crippled by a pain much greater than her persistent cough.
Grandfather could not have sent me because he’s — Dead. I was on my way to see Mr. Preston, the next man in the line of potential suitors, because Father needs money. The only way he knows of to obtain that money is for Helen or me to marry. Grace groaned, wishing she hadn’t tried so hard to recollect.
Miranda reached her side. “Are you hurt? Here’s my cloak. Put it around you.”
“You use it.” Grace batted the fabric away. “Cover yourself. I am quite well.” It wasn’t an entire falsehood. As best she could tell she’d suffered no grave injuries in the fall. The real damage had come during the previous week during that wretched visit to Sir Lidgate’s.Grace shuddered, and gooseflesh sprang up along her arms — not from the cold but from fear and tonight’s narrow escape.
Harrison slid down the embankment toward them. “Nearly there!”
“What caused the accident?” Grace asked, taking the hand he offered and struggling to her feet. She tested each foot carefully, lest one of her ankles had been twisted in
Azure Boone, Kenra Daniels