His Saving Grace by Sharon Cullen

she began, but the door was flung open and Nigel stomped in.
    “What is the meaning of this, Grace? Why in the world would you insist on meeting me in the drawing room? You know I always conduct all of my business in my study. This is a great inconvenience.”
    Nigel had not yet seen Michael, for Michael was behind the open door, still in front of the portrait.
    “Good day to you as well, Nigel,” Grace said, standing taller.
    His eyes narrowed. “I don’t recall scheduling a meeting with you.”
    “Something has come up that I believe you need to be aware of.”
    He drew back. “You aren’t thinking of crying off with Sir Timmons, are you? That would be a grave mistake, I assure you.”
    A grave mistake? And why would that be?
    “No, I—”
    “Nigel. It’s good to see you again.” Michael stepped out from behind the door.
    Nigel spun around. He stared at Michael for long moments. Opened his mouth. Closed it. He turned to face Grace. “Is this some sort of jest?” His color was high, suffusing his face and giving him a mottled appearance. He had certainly changed since Michael’s “death.” Before, he had been cool but polite. After, the politeness had dissolved into disdain and very nearly verbal abuse.
    “A jest?” she asked, confused. “No.”
    Michael folded his hands over the top of his cane and smiled at Nigel. “It’s good to see you too, brother.”
    Nigel looked between the two, his head swiveling one way, then the other. “But…you’re…”
    “Not dead. It’s a long story, and I’m certain you don’t want all the gory details. I am here, as you can see. And I’m ready to take over my duties as earl. I want to thank you for maintaining the Ashworth estates in my absence. That was very kind of you.”
    “But—”
    “You have one week to move out of the manor so the countess and I can take our rightful place here.”
    “One week?” Nigel nearly squeaked in outrage. “That is not nearly enough time to find somewhere to live.”
    “I’m confident that one week is six days longer than you gave Grace.”
    Nigel looked chagrined. How Michael had guessed that Nigel had kicked Grace out of the manor house in a matter of hours was beyond her, for she had never said anything.
    “You may have the use of the estate in Scotland until you find a place of your own,” Michael was saying.
    “I have no income,” Nigel sputtered.
    “You are a solicitor, are you not?”
    “Not since becoming earl. I’ve given all my clients to other solicitors.”
    “Then you will simply have to drum up more. I will settle an amount on you and…” For a small moment, a moment Grace was certain only she witnessed, Michael’s eyes widened in panic. No doubt he could not remember Clara’s name. She was proud of him when he quickly rallied. “Your wife. To get you settled and to give you time to resurrect your business. I daresay that was probably more than you did for my wife.” He pierced Nigel with an accusatory look that had Nigel squirming.
    “Lady Grace was given exactly what was owed to her per her dower status.”
    “A rundown dower house?” Michael raised an eyebrow. “And what of the one-third income from the estate? Has that been paid to her?”
    Grace was becoming uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation and even more uncomfortable with the anger she could see building inside Michael.
    Nigel straightened his back. “She spent a large portion of her funds on that silly glass conservatory. If she wanted comfort, then she should have spent her money a little more wisely.”
    Michael’s face tightened, and Nigel, being the selfish goose that he was, didn’t see the signs. He peered closely at Michael with a calculating look that made Grace nervous. “You certainly look like my brother, but how do I know you are?”
    “Don’t be a fool.”
    Nigel stood straighter, his face hard and unyielding. “I have an earldom to protect. I can’t have just anyone waltzing in, claiming to