Saving Grace by Michele Paige Holmes Page A

this time it will be for good .
    With a smile on her face and all the courage she could muster, Grace turned the knob and left the room.
    And took exactly six steps before realizing how unwell she still felt.
    A coughing fit seized her, robbing her of breath until the walls spun and she was forced to lean on a side table and close her eyes. She waited for her breath to return and the dizziness to stop, for Miranda to march into the hallway and scold her right back into bed.
    And I just might obey, too, Grace thought, taking a peppermint from her reticule and popping it in her mouth. Harrison had brought her a handful of them earlier, and she’d discovered that they had an amazing effect on her coughing, so as to temporarily banish it. She was certain to have minty breath throughout the evening.
    That Miranda had not come to haul her to bed seemed odd until Grace heard a similar wracking cough on the other side of the wall.
    So she is ill too. Grace had suspected as much and had encouraged Miranda to rest, but of course, Miranda had not been able to, engaged as she had been spreading rumors.
    At least she will get the night off now. If not, then on the morrow. Grace would act the part many in her position did — being insistent and bossy, using her authority to order Miranda right back to bed.
    When she could finally look and see everything in its proper place, Grace left the support of the side table and made her way to the main hall. She felt hot and cold and shaky all over. It was going to be a very long night.
    Thankfully, a sturdy rail ran the length of the third floor hall overlooking the ballroom. She took refuge at the polished banister, leaning against it as she looked down on the splendid, terrifying scene below. Gentlemen swirled ladies about the floor, their gowns flowing out in a blur of colors as their laughter floated upward.
    Those not dancing stood in clusters around the edges of the room, some with heads bent together in gossip.
    About me, quite possibly. The thought should have made her happy. This whole thing had been her idea — and a good one, too. Only now that her part had arrived, she was blanching at what must be done.
    Coward, she scolded herself — but still did not move. She lifted a hand to her forehead and felt warmth. Dratted fever. A chill rippled through her body, and Grace glanced at the door at the end of the corridor, grateful it remained closed. Miranda had not seen her shivering.
    I didn’t lie to Mr. Preston. I was not well enough to attend dinner. Nor am I well enough to dance. But I must. Grace refused to let her current frailty ruin all of Miranda and Harrison’s hard work.
    Still she remained where she was, gathering both her nerve and her strength.
    On a dais in the corner of the opulent ballroom, a quartet played. For several more minutes, Grace stood at the rail, watching the violinists and listening to the lively melodies. Standing here listening was pleasant; if she only could have remained in the hall all night, she would have been content.
    But the time for the fashionable lateness Miranda had suggested would soon be past, so reluctantly, Grace made her way to the second floor and the grand staircase, which led to the ballroom below.
    The line of those waiting to be announced at the top of the staircase had grown short. Grace stepped behind the last couple, an elderly man and woman. She hoped very much that they would take a long time to descend the stairs. Every minute that passed before she entered was one less she had to endure.
    The heavy scent of perfume lingered in the air, and Grace wrinkled her nose with distaste as two women walked by, their falsely high voices grating. In a side room, Grace could just make out a group of men smoking cigars. One of the men laughed, and the unpleasant bark rang through the hall. It was too much — too many people, too much noise, too many scents — and it all combined to make her feel worse than ever.
    She looked away, focusing