Saving Grace Read Online Free PDF Page A

Miranda following them to the door and throwing the bolt behind them. She returned to Grace, still slumped in the chair and unable even to bend enough to remove her mud-caked slippers.
    And to think that I once said I didn’t require a lady’s maid. With some chagrin, Grace recalled a conversation with her grandfather shortly after she’d come to live with him. He’d insisted that she behave as befitted her newly acquired status — by wearing proper clothing and having her own personal maid. At this moment Grace could feel only gratitude; Miranda seemed a godsend.
    When the wet stockings had been peeled off and tossed aside, Grace leaned forward so Miranda might reach the back of the gown.
    “Soaked to the bone you are. It’ll be the death of us both if you get worse.” Miranda tugged at the wet sleeves.
    “I admit to feeling poorly,” Grace murmured. “Sleep” — she yawned — “will do me well.”
    “Or so we pray.” Miranda helped Grace step from her wet gown and underclothes.
    Once in the tub, she could no longer keep her eyes opened but leaned her head back, near sleep as Miranda washed her hair. The warm water began to thaw her frozen limbs, and Grace thought the tub even more satisfactory than the chair.
    Miranda had other ideas and pushed Grace this way and that, scrubbing and rinsing.
    “Oh, let me be,” Grace complained as the last bucketful of water — not nearly so warm as the first — cascaded over her head.
    “In another minute, miss.”
    Grace squinted one eye, watching as Miranda reached for the bundle of dry clothing.
    Though Grace was positive she couldn’t move, Miranda somehow managed to get her from the tub and into the fresh clothes. Grace put an end to her maid’s ministering when Miranda produced a comb.
    “My head feels as if will explode,” Grace protested. “I’m still so cold, and my chest hurts.” All of this was true, but she probably shouldn’t have told Miranda as much. The poor woman would likely be up worrying for what was left of the night.
    “Very well,” Miranda said, returning the comb to the dresser. “Let’s get you into bed.”
    Grace leaned on her, then walked the few steps to the massive, canopied bed. Miranda swept back one side of the curtain, revealing a mattress piled high with pillows. “There now. That looks comfortable.” She helped Grace climb onto the high bed.
    “It’s lovely,” Grace agreed. “And there’s nothing wrong with me that a little sleep won’t fix.” She tried and failed at making her voice sound light as she coughed again.
    “We’ll just see what the doctor says about that tomorrow.” Miranda tucked the covers over Grace, who let her head sink into the soft pillow and snuggled under the heavy quilts, vaguely appreciating the fine bed. If only she felt better. In spite of the blankets, another shiver wiggled up her spine. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Miranda let the curtain fall back into place, and Grace listened as she left the room, closing the door behind her. Only then did Grace give in to her exhaustion and slept at once.

Nicholas Sutherland emerged from his landau and stood on the drive, staring up at the dark night and equally dark and formidable building in front of him.
    Home sweet home, he thought wryly, taking in the pile of stone that looked as if it had been abandoned some time ago. As unwelcoming as ever.
    He hadn’t always viewed it this way. When he was a child, the old castle had never seemed gloomy or forbidding, but rather the perfect house for losing one’s tutor and avoiding book work, as well as a splendid place for playing Hide and Seek with his sister. Now that he was well beyond his school years, and Elizabeth was gone — Father, too — nothing about the ivy-covered turrets and grey stone appeared splendid at all.
    That he’d all but shut up the house and had allowed the gardens to run wild and hadn’t kept the walks swept or the hedges trimmed only added to the