Page 29 of The Spinster's Resolve

‘ S he has more colour than yesterday,’ Mrs Merriweather observed anxiously. ‘The doctor said she should wake soon. Poor petal—such a trauma.’

‘Her cheeks still look peaky!’ Heather exclaimed.

Grace could hear the voices, but her eyelids were too heavy to lift, and her mouth felt as dry as sandpaper. The throbbing in the back of her head persisted, though it was not as intense as before. She forced herself to speak, and a raspy voice emerged.

‘I reckon I still look more colourful than you, squirrel.’

Both ladies gasped.

‘Gracy!’ Heather cried and leapt onto her sister’s prone form. ‘You’re awake at last!’

‘Oh, Miss Heather, stop smothering her. She needs air,’ Mrs Merriweather scolded.

Grace managed to open her eyes to see Mrs Merriweather’s rosy face and Heather’s wild curls, which were indeed threatening to smother her.

Heather sat up at once. ‘You gave us such a fright! How are you feeling? Can you move all your fingers and toes? Can you hear properly? Can you see? The doctor said he would need to check all that.’

Alarmed by this statement, Grace immediately wriggled her fingers and toes, relieved when she felt them respond.

‘Here, have some water, my love.’ Mrs Merriweather brought a glass to her lips. The cool liquid helped.

‘What happened? How did I get here?’

Heather launched into the tale. ‘When you were caught by that horrid man, you told me to run—and I did. I ran back onto the road to find help. You won’t believe it—even I still have a hard time believing it—but do you remember those two riders approaching in the distance? Well, they were none other than the Duke himself and his good friend! They were searching for us!’

‘Really? But how did they know where to find us?’ Grace asked, still groggy.

Mrs Merriweather answered. ‘When we returned to the London residence, we realised your coach was missing. The Duke especially was asking for you, Grace, as he had just returned from his trip. The moment we told him that you and Heather had gone with Lord Harry, he looked utterly horrified. He ran out at once, assembling a search party. I suppose they must have backtracked your movements and found you. You cannot imagine my dread when he carried you—limp as a rag doll—back into the house. He stayed with us all night. He only stepped out to fetch the doctor again.’ She ended with a noisy blow of her nose.

Grace coloured slightly at the thought. He had stayed. All night. A man who had rejected her, who had once barely spared her a glance, had not left her side. Why?

Her fingers curled against the blanket, but her heart refused to be still. If she let herself believe—if she let herself hope—what would happen when reality shattered the illusion? She cleared her throat to shake off the feeling. ‘What of Lord Harry? Did they...?’

‘Oh, he was dragged off that carriage one-handed by the Duke. I’ve never seen anything like it, Gracy! The Duke was so furious! He punched him like this and that!’ Heather demonstrated on an unfortunate pillow. ‘Then he threw him to the ground. I daresay he might have killed him if his friend had not stepped in!’ She bobbed up and down in excitement, releasing her pillow from its mock strangulation.

‘Afterwards, he stayed with us in the carriage while some villagers and his friend took Lord Harry to a holding cell in town. Then we drove back here.’

‘Did you tell him everything? About what happened and what Lord Harry confessed?’

Heather nodded, her excitement dimming. ‘I told him everything. I was terrified that...’ Her voice wobbled, and tears welled in her eyes. ‘I was terrified something would happen to you.’ She flung her arms around her sister again, crying freely.

Grace held Heather close, stroking her wild curls. ‘I am fine now, poppet. Hush, now.’ She drew back slightly and studied her sister’s appearance. ‘By the way, what on earth happened to your hair? It looks like that hideous bush behind our cottage!’

Heather sniffled, then let out a watery chuckle.

A quiet knock on the door interrupted them, and a kindly-faced doctor entered to examine Grace. Though she felt well enough to leave the bed and speak to the Duke about recent events, the doctor strictly forbade it. She was to rest for at least another day.

Grace counted the hours impatiently. Her constant fidgeting irritated Mrs Merriweather, who straightened the bedcovers for the umpteenth time.

‘ Miss Grace, you are just as bad as the Duke,’ Mrs Merriweather remarked, her lips twitching. ‘He’s been prowling the halls like a caged panther, snapping at anyone who so much as breathes too loudly.’

Heather smirked, setting down her needlework. ‘He’s driving Lady Elizabeth to madness. Every five minutes, he demands an update. I do believe she threatened to have him tied to a chair.’

Grace’s fingers tightened around the bedsheet. A man who did not care would not pace. A man who did not care would not stay.

And yet, he had done both.

Grace ignored the implications and forced herself to remain nonchalant.

Mrs Merriweather, however, was not finished. ‘You are no one to talk, Miss Heather. I believe a certain gentleman is still kicking his heels downstairs, waiting to speak with you!’

‘Which gentleman? Mr Howard?’ Grace asked, seizing the opportunity to steer the conversation away from herself. ‘I knew it was only a matter of time. Will you accept him, Heather?’

Mrs Merriweather chuckled as Heather flushed. ‘Tis not Mr Howard—it is Paul,’ she replied shyly.

‘Paul? Which Paul? You don’t mean Mr Smith Jr?’ Grace was incredulous.

‘It turns out he did not marry that girl after all and is quite unattached,’ Mrs Merriweather added.

‘He can be as unattached as he likes—I want nothing to do with him!’ Heather declared hotly.

Grace, despite her slowed thoughts due to her head injury, caught on quickly. Her sister’s irritation—and the telltale signs of an attachment—told her everything.

She decided to call her sister’s bluff.

‘Well then, why don’t you go down and refuse him? Why are you letting him linger?’ She watched with satisfaction as a horrified expression spread across Heather’s face. ‘Go speak to him, poppet. He has come for you.’

Tears welled in Heather’s eyes. ‘I... I cannot. I am still angry with him. Why did it take him so long to come? I don’t understand!’

Grace’s expression softened. ‘Then go ask him.’

Heather nodded and left the room.

THE NEXT MORNING, AS soon as the doctor declared her well, Grace insisted on getting dressed—despite Mrs Merriweather’s protests. However, both Mrs Merriweather and Lady Elizabeth insisted she remain in her bedchamber.

Heather spent much of the day speaking with Mr Smith and, when she finally returned, it was with good news—she was now the happy fiancée of Mr Smith.

Celebrations were in order, with Lady Elizabeth and Jane joining them.

With Heather now settled, Grace turned her thoughts to her own plans. She wished to return to her cottage. The conversation with the Duke regarding Lord Harry’s fate could wait until she arranged her departure. However, she was spared the trouble of seeking him out.

A familiar knock sounded on her chamber door.

The Duke himself entered.

He stood at the threshold, his presence commanding. Grace’s heart drummed at a wild pace, the room fell silent.

‘I wonder if I may speak with Miss Skye privately, ladies.’