The Duchess Hunt (26 page)

“Excellent choice, miss,” Sarah said
quietly. The yellow silk was the dress she’d set aside before the ladies had
first entered the bedchamber.

Another puff of a sigh.

Standing in the center of the little room,
Miss Stanley held her arms out straight from her sides. Taking this as a cue to
begin undressing her, Sarah approached.

She removed Miss Stanley’s clothes
wordlessly, touching the younger woman as little as possible. First, her green
striped muslin came off, followed by two petticoats, her stays, and last of
all, her chemise. Sarah went to one of the drawers and pulled out a clean silk
chemise, holding it up for the lady’s approval.

“No, not that one.”

“Which one would you prefer, miss?”

“There is only one other silk, of course.
The one with the lace trim around the bottom.”

Sarah searched the drawer while Miss
Stanley watched her, but she could find no such chemise. Finally, she looked
up, empty-handed. “Do you know when you last wore it, miss?”

“No, of course not. I never remember such
things.”

“Perhaps it is downstairs being laundered.
Shall I check for you?”

“For heaven’s sake, no! We are already
late, you know, due to your silly task for the housekeeper.” Miss Stanley
heaved a disgusted sigh. “Very well. The other silk will have to do. Although
Missy could have found it for me.”

Missy was the lady’s maid who’d taken to
her bed this afternoon. It was suddenly very clear to Sarah why Missy suffered
from headaches.

She finished dressing Miss Stanley with
two additional bursts of temper – the first when she tied the lady’s short
stays “too tightly,” although Sarah had been tying stays her entire life and
was sure she knew exactly to what level of tension to adjust the ties. But she
said nothing and loosened them until Miss Stanley voiced her grudging
acceptance. And then, the dress. There was a tiny smudge of something – dust,
perhaps, on the sleeve.

“Oh, no,” Miss Stanley cried. “My dress is
ruined!”

Sarah tried brushing out the light smudge,
and she’d thought she’d done a good job of it, but Miss Stanley outlined the
shape of it with her fingers, her eyes welling with tears.

“What will Trent think if I come to dinner
looking like a common ragamuffin?” she wailed, and Sarah was forced to call in
a very busy Mrs. Hope for assistance.

But, finally, it was done. The “horrid
defect” had been taken care of, and now it was time to do Miss Stanley’s hair.

Sarah didn’t want to touch those shining
golden locks. She really, really didn’t want to.

So, when Miss Stanley sat at the dressing
table and looked expectantly up at Sarah in the mirror, Sarah hesitated. Then
she said in a low voice, “Miss, I must admit, arranging coiffures is not my
forte.”

Miss Stanley’s blue eyes narrowed as she
shook her head.

“Of
course
. I am not surprised. What
is
your forte, may I ask? What did you learn in the nursery – sorry,
not in the nursery, but wherever it was the family governess taught you as you
scampered about inside the duchess’s skirts? French? Drawing? Playing on the
pianoforte? Of what use are those skills to a housemaid?”

Sarah wasn’t sure how to answer. True, she
had been taught French – which she was good at, and drawing – which she could
do with passable skill if she never used a person as a subject. Miss Farnshaw
had given up on teaching her music as soon as Sarah had opened her mouth to
belt out a note and the governess had deemed her tone deaf. But Mrs. Hope had
taught her many skills as well, and Sarah prided herself on her housekeeping
abilities.

So she didn’t answer Miss Stanley, just
bowed her head.

And then, although Sarah thought her heart
couldn’t be shattered any further, Georgina Stanley pushed the dagger deeper
and then drove it home.

“A maid incapable of arranging hair,” she
spat. “Really, it is beyond bearing. When I am the duchess, I shall not
tolerate such ridiculousness from my staff.” Miss Stanley turned around fully
in her chair, and a sticky sweetness overtook the venom in her voice. “That is
in two months’ time, Sarah Osborne. I do hope you are already looking for
another position, because in two months, you shall be leaving Ironwood Park
forever.”

Sarah lay in bed, staring up at the
ceiling. Sleep was elusive – had been elusive since that last night she’d spent
with Simon in London.

Her future was so uncertain. So… bleak.

She was a cheerful, happy person – had
been her entire life. She always saw the positives in a given situation or a
person.

Now she stood on the verge of losing
everything that was dear to her. Simon and the Hawkins family as a whole.
Ironwood Park and everyone who lived here… including her father.

For the past sixteen years, those things
had composed her entire sphere of existence. And now Georgina Stanley
threatened to take them all away.

The ceiling was dark, its details obscured
by the black velvet of night, but she continued to stare up at it, unmoving.

There was no way to escape this mire, she
realized now. No way to prevent the loss. The only thing that she could do was
face it with her head held high.

She would do that, if nothing else.

She
would
.

She should have known this was coming. She
had been stupid to think that she’d remain at Ironwood Park forever.
Impossible, given her feelings for Simon. In fact, it was best she left. She
could find a good position elsewhere. Any member of the Hawkins family would
provide her with a good reference, as would Mrs. Hope.

Unlike some girls who found themselves in
similar situations, she had the luxury of options. She could probably find a
position anywhere in the United Kingdom. Perhaps even for a British family in
the West Indies or India.

She closed her eyes to the daydream of
sailing away from England on some elegant ship.

Something at her window rattled, and Sarah
froze.

It rattled again, and she took a deep
breath. There was nothing to be afraid of. For goodness’ sake, she had freely
traipsed about Ironwood Park at night for most of her life.

She slipped out of bed and went to the
window. She reached out to part the curtains, and jumped back, gasping, as she
saw the dark form hovering outside. She blinked hard, and the figure came into
clearer focus.

Simon, his face pale in the moonlight.

She stared at him in shock for a moment.
It was unlike Simon to skulk about late at night. Before, whenever he’d wanted
to speak to her, he’d simply knock on her door or approach her during the day.
Or meet her at their bench.

She hastened to open the window. “Your
Grace, what is it?” she asked in concern, and then she remembered the night
they’d found his brother at the back door in London. “Is something wrong? Is it
Lord Lukas? Your mother?”

The expression on his face, which had been
taut with tension, softened. “Nothing’s the matter,” he said, then he flinched.
“Well, nothing of that nature, anyhow. I just need to speak with you.”

She took a small step backward, feeling
the frown deepen between her brows.

“Please,” he said quietly. “It is nothing
untoward.”

“Of course. Will you give me a moment to
dress? I’ll meet you at the front door.”

“Yes. Thank you.” He stepped back from the
window.

She pulled on her cloak hurriedly, trying
not to confuse her mind with what he could possibly want from her. He waited by
the door as she exited. She closed the door behind her as she stepped out into
the cool evening air. “What is it, Your Grace?”

He held out his arm. “Let’s walk.”

She looked pointedly at his arm, then up
at his face. She didn’t want to torture herself by touching him.

He dropped his arm, regret flashing over
his features. “Right.”

He began to walk. She stayed at his side
as he led her toward the stream, not stopping or speaking until they reached
their bench. He stopped there, at the edge of the bank, but didn’t sit. “I
looked for you here earlier,” he said. “But you weren’t here. I realized how
odd it was that every time I used to feel the need to speak with you, I’d find
you here.”

“Sometimes I knew when you’d come,” she
murmured. She’d seen it in his expression as they’d passed each other in the
corridor or when she’d served him tea.

“But you didn’t know I’d come tonight,” he
said.

She shook her head. “I decided that
perhaps it would be best if I never came here again.”

He crossed his arms over his chest.
Turning away from her, he looked out over the water. “We’re always thinking of
what would be best,” he said quietly. “But what if we’re wrong? What if I’m not
making the right choices? What if I’m seeing this through a lens that is giving
me a warped perspective?”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” He dropped his hands to
his sides and turned to her. “I brought you out here tonight to apologize.”

She stared at him, waiting.

“Last evening. You shouldn’t have seen
that.”

She tore her gaze from him. “It is a sight
I should force myself to become accustomed to.”

Even now, the memory of him calling
Georgina Stanley beautiful, of their passionate kiss, threatened to tear her
apart. She’d spent the day trying to scrub the sight from her memory. She’d
failed, of course. Now, nausea swirled in her gut, and she stared straight
ahead, trying to swallow the sensation down.

“I’m sorry, Sarah.”

She didn’t answer.

“I have to do this,” he said. “I must
marry her.” But he sounded wretchedly unhappy about it.

“Why?” she whispered. “You never told me
why.”

“I’m not sure you knowing will help
things.”

“Maybe it would help me to understand. I
think you owe me that much, at least.” She looked up at him, her eyes stinging.
“You don’t love her, do you?”

Her heart throbbed, raw and painful in her
chest as she awaited his answer.

“No.” The word was solid, a rock,
something for her to grasp onto.

“Then why?”

“Come. Let’s sit down.”

They sat, side by side, as they had so
many nights before this one.

And he told her about how Lord Stanley had
come to him. About how the baron had claimed paternity of Luke. About how Theo
and Mark were the sons of a London courtesan who’d been mistress to both the
duke and Lord Stanley. About how Simon had sought out verification of these
accusations, and it had all proven true. About Stanley’s theory that Esme, too,
was illegitimate.

Every word Simon said was like a spoonful
of her soul being dug from her, until he finished speaking and all that
remained of her was an empty shell.

“If I do not marry Miss Stanley,” he told
her finally, “my family will be ruined. My brothers’ and sister’s futures will
be ripped away from them.”

He’d trusted her with this devastating
information. That fact did not escape Sarah. The fact that the Stanleys were a
devious, cruel, and manipulative lot didn’t escape her, either.

They sat in silence for seconds that
formed into long minutes, the only sound the whisper of the nearby stream.

Finally, she looked up at him. “Can you be
happy with Miss Stanley, Your Grace?”

“Not as happy as I am with you.” His
answer was automatic. But then he seemed to shake himself. “Perhaps one day,
I’ll learn to… love her.” He grimaced as he said “love,” as if the word tasted
bitter to him.

“Learn to be happy with her?”

“Perhaps.” But he sounded doubtful. He
heaved out a sigh. “She seems a decent enough young lady. I’ve no evidence that
she knows anything of her father’s despicable plot.”

From what she knew of Miss Stanley, Sarah
wasn’t so sure. But how could she tell Simon that? She had no proof. Indeed,
she had nothing but petulance and peevishness.

She should tell Simon she hoped he’d find
happiness and love with Miss Stanley. After all, his happiness was more
important to her than anything else in the world. But she was selfish, too. She
couldn’t bring herself to wish them happiness together. She just couldn’t.

“Do you understand now, Sarah?”

“I do.” She did understand. Simon was too
good a man to allow his family to fall into ruin around him. She tried to smile
up at him. “I’d invented a story or two as to why you’d chosen this path. I was
wrong.” She shook her head. “The truth of it is more fantastical than my
imaginings. Poor Lady Esme. Your poor brothers, Lord Luke most of all.”

He sighed deeply. “I still can hardly believe
it. If I hadn’t seen the proof firsthand…” He gazed at her, some of the
softness she’d seen in bed with him returning into his green eyes. “What had
you guessed?”