Malia Martin (29 page)

With a sigh of relief, Trevor stood and took the offering. “Thank you, Filbert.”

“Eh?” The old man leaned toward him ear first.

“I said, thank you, Filbert!”

“Harrumph.” Filbert scowled. “We’ll just see how thankful you are after you see what the thing says. It was delivered by that she-devil Biddle woman.”

Trevor hid a smile as he turned the paper over and looked at the seal. It was Sara’s.

“Mrs. Biddle brought this?”

“Just said she did, didn’t I?” Filbert glowered at him, then shook his head as he retreated. “Everybody in this house is stone deaf, I tell you.” And Filbert hobbled down the hall muttering.

Trevor took the letter to the desk where Lyle sat, and used a letter opener to break the wax seal. He unfolded the page carefully, the thought foremost in his mind being that Sara had touched this same paper. It was the thought of a lovelorn youth, but Trevor could not push it away.

“Do you want me to read it, Guv?” Lyle asked. Trevor had confided in the boy about his difficulty.

“I’ve got it.” Trevor stared down at the five names on the page. “’Tis just a list of names.”

“Really? For what?”

Trevor clicked his teeth together and chuckled lightly. “I have a feeling the Dowager Duchess is trying to help me find a bride.”

“Ah,” Lyle said. “So wherever the lady is, she knows of your plight, doesn’t she?”

“It seems so.”

“Shall I write some invitations for these young women to call on you, Guv?” Lyle gestured to the paper.

With a sigh, Trevor tossed the names on top of the desk. “Do what you think is right.”

“Well, now, I’m not the one lookin’ for a wife, Guv. Should be you to decide what to do about this.”

Trevor stared out the dark window for a moment. In truth, he wished never to marry. The names were nothing to him—Hannah Prewitt, Lady Eliza Redwig—but the wax, sealed with Sara’s initials, had made his heart skid against his chest.

And it had been delivered by Mrs. Biddle. Trevor blinked once, then ran for the door.

“Guv? Your grace?” Lyle shouted after him uselessly.

Trevor didn’t take the time to explain. He pounded down the hall, through the front door, and into the cool dark night. He ran with all his might up the gravelled drive and overtook Mrs. Biddle as she turned onto the dirt road. She was alone, driving a small gig.

“Mrs. Biddle!” Trevor shouted.

She did not hear at first and continued on.

Trevor took a deep breath and yelled with all his might, “Mrs.
Biddle!
”

The woman pulled up on the reins and frowned as she turned on her seat.

Trevor stopped, dropping his hands to his knees for a moment and panting. Finally he straightened to see Mrs. Biddle staring at him, her eyes round with shock.

“Mrs. Biddle,” he said breathlessly. “I must know how you got that letter.”

Her lids dropped over her eyes, and she angled away from him. “’Tis from the Dowager.”

“I know that, Mrs. Biddle. Did she send it to you?”

“She sent it to you, your grace.”

Trevor bit his tongue before he said something he would probably regret. “I realize that, Mrs. Biddle.” Trevor took a deep breath. “Did the Dowager hand you the letter to give to me?”

Mrs. Biddle stared at him silently for a moment. “Yes,” she finally said.

“So you know where she is!”

“I know where she is.”

Trevor let out an excited whoop and did a little dance.

Mrs. Biddle watched him warily.

“You can tell me where she is, then,” he said when he had finished his dance of exaltation.

“No.”

Trevor blinked. “No?”

“No,” the woman said sternly. “The Dowager Duchess does not wish for you to know where she is.”

“Did she say that?”

“Most explicitly.”

“But . . .” Trevor stood in the dirt road looking up at Mrs. Biddle, and he felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. “Why?” he asked, not sure he wanted to know.

Mrs. Biddle looked away from him.

Trevor dropped his head back and stared at the dark sky that was spotted with stars and a bright moon. “I need her, Mrs. Biddle.” He looked at the back of her head again. “Couldn’t you tell me where she is? I have a week, less than a week, to find a bride, and I need her help.”

Mrs. Biddle turned slowly on her seat. She was shaking her head as she did, her mouth open and her brows furrowed. “You need her, your grace? You want her to find you a bride?” Mrs. Biddle closed her eyes and gave her head a small, jerky shake. When she opened her eyes, she looked less like Mrs. Biddle and more like a woman than Trevor had ever seen her. Her eyes actually glittered, the moon reflecting in their depths.

“Do you realize what you ask of her? Do you, your grace? You will ask the woman who loves you dearly to find a bride for you? And then stand by and watch as you marry that other woman? That is cruel, your grace. The cruelest of punishments! She has sent you her help in the form of a note. Now, leave her alone.” Rachel Biddle turned on the seat and snapped the
reins over her horse’s neck. The gig lurched forward, but Trevor grabbed the side and swung up next to Mrs. Biddle before she went more than a foot.

The woman pulled her horse to a stop, turning furious eyes upon him.

“Hold,” Trevor said, putting his hand up, palm out.

Mrs. Biddle blinked, holding her tongue.

“You are right, Mrs. Biddle. It would be callous of me to ask her to witness my marriage. But please, will you at least tell me how she fares? I want to know about her.” Trevor curled his fingers into his palm and pushed it against his thigh. “Is she well?”

“Of course she is,” Rachel snapped.

Trevor sighed. “I just want to hear about her.”

Rachel drew in a breath through her nose, then turned away as if disgusted with him. “Damn it.”

Trevor blinked, unsure if he had heard correctly.

“Bloody damn hell!” This was yelled into the still night. Trevor most definitely heard her correctly. So had half the county. He scooted back an inch, wondering if Mrs. Biddle was quite right in the head.

“You love her,” she said to him.

Trevor glanced around, then nodded slowly.

“And she loves you.”

Trevor nodded again.

“And she is going to have your baby.”

Trevor stared. He could not feel his body, his feet, his legs. And he could not breathe. He pulled air into his lungs frantically. And then he had too much. He coughed, he sucked in air, he coughed again.

Mrs. Biddle pounded frantically against his back. “Relax, your grace, breathe!” she commanded.

Trevor blinked, trying to get his breathing under control. Then he grabbed at Mrs. Biddle’s arm. He had to get her to quit banging against his back before he lost a lung through his larynx.

He held Mrs. Biddle’s arm in his hand for a moment, then he looked up at her silently. “Tell me where she is,” he said quietly. “You
must
tell me where she is.”

H
er blanket had slipped onto the floor, but Sara could not stop reading to take the time to retrieve it. She was sitting on the small balcony that overlooked the rough ocean beyond the cliffs. She had her feet up, as Mrs. Burnell had ordered, and she was doing nothing more rigorous than reading.

If Trevor had done as he was supposed to and had married Helen, rather than gallantly stepping aside for that nitwit of a shopkeeper Mr. Goldblume, Sara’s life would now be perfect. Or at least as perfect as she knew it could be. Unfortunately, as she took in the good sea air and read her wonderful book, there was a constant thought nagging at the back of her mind.

Would he find a bride in time? Would he break the curse? Should she go make sure it happened? When Rachel had come to visit her, she had told her of Helen’s insistence on marrying Mr. Goldblume, and Rachel’s final acquiescence. And she had said that she would keep Sara apprised of the duke’s progress in finding a bride.

If a problem arose, Rachel had said she would come and get Sara. The words blurred before her, and Sara closed her eyes against them. Well, today was the day. If he didn’t marry today, all would be lost.

She should have gone back to Rawlston.

“You’ve lost something.”

Sara jerked, the book fell from her grasp, and she stared at the man who stooped before her, then spread her blanket over her legs.

“You.” He was so incredibly beautiful, she wanted to weep. The wind whipped his ebony hair about his dark face. And those eyes, those green eyes like moss in the deepest part of the forest, smiled down at her. Sara blinked, then sat up quickly, looking around for the person that must be with him.

“Tell me you brought your wife for me to see,” she begged.

“I have no wife.”

“Ohhh!” Sara jumped to her feet. “But you must, Trevor, today is the last day for you to marry! Even if you do not believe in the curse, the people do. They will not believe in the mill or your sheep unless you marry . . . today!”

“I plan to, Sara,” Trevor said calmly. “Sit down, Dearest. I do not want you to tire yourself.”

Sara stilled, staring at him warily. “Why did you say that? Why are you worried about me tiring myself?”

“Sara, sit.” He urged her down, his hands on her arms, and she sat.

Lily came out the front door, looking from Trevor to Sara, her brows arched in question.

“I’m fine, Lily,” Sara reassured her. “Why don’t you bring tea?” Sara turned back to Trevor. “Have you come alone, or should Lily bring tea for three?” she asked hopefully.

Trevor shook his head. “Just me. Unless you think Lucky would enjoy some tea.”

Sara sighed.

“And bring me lots of sugar, please, Lily.”

“It is better without heaps of sugar, Trevor.”

Trevor pursed his lips as if he had just sucked a lemon. “It is palatable with heaps of sugar. ‘Better’ is never a word I would use in conjunction with a cup of tea.”

“You have a terrible sweet tooth, Trevor.”

“I appreciate things that taste good.” He leaned closer to her. “Like you, for instance.”

Sara blinked, pulling away from him. “Trevor!”

“Sara!”

She frowned. “This playful mood disturbs me, your grace. This is quite a serious day.”

“Quite.”

“You must, at least, set my heart to rest. You have chosen a bride, and intend to marry today?”

“Yes.” Trevor grinned and sat carefully at the edge of her padded footstool.

“Are you going to marry her here?” Sara glanced around. “You will not have time to return to Rawlston before evening.”

Trevor took her hand in his. “Sara, Dearest, I have come to ask your hand in marriage.”

Sara stared at him for a moment, then pulled her hand away. “Trevor, how could you?”

“I know that my babe grows in your belly.”

Sara clenched her jaw and squeezed her eyes shut.

“The reason you would not marry me is that you did not believe you could have a child,” Trevor said quietly. “Well, you are to have a child—my child—and I would like to give him my name.”

Sara shook her head, then looked into Trevor’s hopeful gaze. “How could you?” she asked again.

Trevor straightened, his face wary. “I love you. And I believe you love me.”

“That means nothing.”

“And what of the child?” he demanded, getting angry himself now. “Does the child mean nothing also?”

Sara swallowed painfully. “The child will mean everything if it lives. Unfortunately, that is not a strong likelihood.”

“You gave birth to one child. You could give birth to this one.”

“Trevor!” Sara clutched at his arm. “I will not marry you.”

“You will, Sara,” Trevor said to her. “You are the only chance I have to break the curse. I have a special license with your name on it. There is no one else.”

Sara groaned, leaning back heavily in her chair. “I cannot believe you have done this to me!”

“And I do not understand how you can fight me on this. You can believe so strongly in this curse, and yet you cannot believe that we will be blessed with prosperity and children if you marry me within the first year of my being the duke? Why, Sara?”

Sara shook her head wearily. “I am happy here, Trevor. I am here, alone, and I am happy. I do not want to be the Duchess anymore. I did that, and I hated it. Please do not put it upon me anymore.”

Trevor stood quickly and paced away from her. He turned on his heel. “It seems we have come full circle. I am begging you now, as you once begged me, to return to Rawlston and take on the duties and burdens of responsibility.”

“Oh!” Sara shoved herself up from the chair and stalked over to the arrogant man. “How dare you throw that in my face? How dare you? I have lived with those duties and responsibilities for fifteen years! I did it! And I failed, damn you!”

Trevor pulled her against him suddenly,
holding her still against his chest. “You did not fail. And you will not fail. You are not done with it, Sara. You hold in your belly the heir to Rawlston.”

Sara pushed away from him. “And what if it is a girl, Trevor?” she asked. “Let us say the child lives and is a girl? There will be no heir. Rawlston will pass yet again into the hands of a distant cousin who cares not for the people, our hopes, our anguishes.”

“If it is a girl, we will have another.”

A single sob wrenched from Sara’s throat and she pivoted on her heel to stare out at the choppy gray sea. “You do not understand, Trevor. If this child lives, it will be a miracle. To ask for two is asking too much.”

“Not if we break the curse, Sara.” Trevor leaned his face down to be on a level with hers. “Break the curse with me, now, Sara. Marry me today. And we shall have hundreds of children from your womb.”

Sara closed her eyes. “Do you really believe that, Trevor? Because I do not think I do. Not completely. Not enough to make it happen.”

“The people believe in it. And this is the last day.”

They stared in silence at one another, turning when Lily pushed through the front door. She glanced between the two of them, then quickly placed the tray of tea on a small table and retreated.

Sara glanced away from him again, digging
her fingers into the wooden railing of the balcony. “Do you realize how much I do not want to be Duchess, Trevor? Do you know how I yearned to be away from the Hall? To be away from the duties of such a title?”