The Duchess Hunt (28 page)

“It’s my birthday! Cousin Sarah! Happy,
happy!” he exclaimed, clapping and bouncing on his toes.

“And how old are you today?” Sarah asked
him.

The question appeared to confuse him. He
looked to Mrs. Mills for help.

“Why, Friend Bertram, thou art four and
twenty. Dost thou not remember?”

“Four and twenty,” he told Sarah brightly.
“Four and twenty, four and twenty, four and twenty,” he sang.

And, with that, it all became clear.

In the parlor at Ironwood Park one day,
Sarah had overheard Miss Stanley telling Esme that she’d had an older brother
who’d died at the age of nine when she had been five years old.

This was the brother who’d “died.” The
Stanleys had hidden him away here, somewhat close to their properties so Lord
Stanley could keep an eye on him, but far too close as far as Miss Stanley was
concerned. She’d prefer it if her embarrassment of a brother was sent to
Abyssinia.

Even more potentially scandalizing for the
Stanleys, Georgina’s younger brother – Lord Stanley’s current legal heir – was
only nineteen years old and at Cambridge.

Bertram was Lord Stanley’s true heir. The
Stanleys were deceiving the world, pretending Bertram had perished when he was,
in fact, right here in England, giving her a gap-toothed grin and singing about
how he was four and twenty.

Sarah took a deep breath and forced a
smile. “I am so glad to see you again, Bertram.”

“Four and twenty!”

“Your family… misses you.”

The smile turned into an instant frown.
“Don’t like papas and mamas.”

Sarah looked at Mrs. Mills. “Have they
visited?” she asked softly.

Mrs. Mills shook her head, her expression
grave. “Not for many years.”

Sarah blew out a slow breath. “Do you
remember your mama and papa?” she asked Bertram.

She held her breath as he looked up as if
the answer dangled from the ceiling and he might pluck it down. Then he looked
at her, his lips twisting, and leaned forward, close enough that she could
smell him. His scent was an odd combination of harsh soap and sweat.

“I’m fat,” he told her, making circular
motions around his girth. “Papa is skinny. Papa has blue eyes like me.”

“Do you remember your sister, Georgina?”

“Little tiny babe in mama’s tummy,” he
said. “Big, big tummy like Bertram’s, but full of baby, and she went away
forever and ever, and pop! Georgy!” He shook his head vigorously. “Bertram
can’t hold Georgy. Bertram might break Georgy. Bertram can’t play. Bad, bad
Bertram.”

His movements and words were growing more
slurred and more frantic, and Sarah cast Mrs. Mills a hopeless look.

“Wouldst thou like to return to the common
room, Friend Bertram?” Mrs. Mills asked.

“Cousin Sarah!” he exclaimed.

“I’ll come back and visit you again,” she
told him gravely. It was a promise she vowed to keep, too. No matter where her
new position took her after she left Ironwood Park.

“Common room, then.” Mrs. Mills turned him
around and, with a hand on his back, firmly pressed him toward the door. He
looked back over his shoulder at Sarah.

“Cousin Sarah, cousin Sarah black hair!”

Only then did she notice that two
attendants had been waiting just outside the door. Mrs. Mills handed Bertram
off to them, and he ambled away down the corridor, talking about cousins and
papas and Sarahs until he was out of her hearing range.

Sarah just stood there, willing her heart
to calm. Mrs. Mills reentered the room. She gave Sarah a small smile. “I should
have warned thee that speaking of his family tends to agitate him. He sees so
many other families here on visiting days. I believe a part of him pines for
his own.”

“I am sorry,” Sarah said. “I didn’t know…”

“Yet his father has asked us to remove
them from his memory,” Mrs. Mills continued. She looked at Sarah with a
shadowed, wary expression.

“What do you mean?”

“They wish us to invent a new family for
him so there will never be a chance of him being connected to the baron.” She
gave Sarah a wistful look. “That was why I was rather surprised to see a cousin
here today. I’ve been led to believe they meant to sever all family ties.”

Sarah blinked, then nodded slowly. “My…
uncle and his family are prideful people.”

“Too proud to bring an idiot into their
midst, certainly.”

“Right. But he seems happy. They have
chosen well in his home.”

Mrs. Mills’s smile was genuine. “Thank
you, Friend Sarah. My husband and I toil under the belief that all of us, even
– and perhaps especially – the idiots, are God’s children and deserve to be
treated with love and humanity.”

“A truly noble belief,” Sarah said,
meaning it.

“Come. I will see thee out.”

“Thank you.”

As Mrs. Mills walked her down the long,
silent corridor, Sarah gathered the courage to speak. As they began to descend
the staircase, she asked, “I believe I know another of your residents as well,
Mrs. Mills.”

Mrs. Mills glanced back over her shoulder.
“Oh?”

“Mrs. James. She is the mother of a… well,
someone I once knew.”

“Ah, yes. Liza James.”

“Is she still here?”

“Yes,” Mrs. Mills said in a clipped tone.

“Would it… be possible to see her as
well?”

“No.” They’d reached the bottom of the
stairs, and Mrs. Mills drew to a halt. “Thou must not be truly acquainted with
Liza James, Friend Sarah, for she is one of our most difficult residents and
requires restraint nearly all the time.”

“Oh.” Sarah swallowed hard. “I am sorry to
hear that. You’re right – I’ve never made her acquaintance. I only know her son…”

“Of course.” Mrs. Mills gave a short nod.
“We have believed for some time now that she is not suited for an idiots’ home
and should be transferred to a home better equipped for lunatics, but despite
the hopelessness of her condition, Mr. James refuses to move her and continues
to visit her monthly. He is a very loyal and devoted son.”

Sarah’s heart began to race yet again.
“You say he visits every month – when was the last you saw him?”

“Why, on visiting day last month. He
arrives when the doors open at ten, like clockwork.”

Heavens.
James had been here last month! Sarah spoke through her suddenly
dry throat. “And you expect him tomorrow?”

“Oh, yes. He hasn’t missed a visiting day
in the five years his mother has resided here.”

“Thank you,” Sarah breathed. She began to
walk quickly down the corridor toward the exit. At the door, she thanked Mrs.
Mills profusely and promised to come again to visit her “cousin.”

She hurried down the path toward the
phaeton, trying to refrain from lifting her skirts and running, hardly noticing
the first drops of rain splashing against her cheeks.

The duchess had been missing for almost
four months now. James had been seen last month, which meant he surely had some
information on the duchess’s whereabouts.

She needed to hurry home. Tell Simon all
that she had learned.

Robert pushed off from where he was
leaning against the side of the phaeton as she rushed up, breathless, and
moments later, they were once again under way. He’d put up the hood, but soon
the infrequent drops evolved into a shower. The hood only provided partial
shelter from the rain – they’d both be soaked by the time they arrived home.

Not home. She had to stop thinking of
Ironwood Park as home. Something fluttered in her stomach at that thought. A
feeling she’d been having often in the past week or two – a rumbling stomach,
like she hadn’t eaten in a week. She glanced down at the sack she’d brought
containing their lunch. No, that wasn’t it. The odd feeling had come and gone
seemingly with no connection to how full or empty her stomach was.

What, then?

She thought hard.

And then it hit her. Her courses. She must
be about to begin them. How awkward it would be to start them on the way home
with nothing —

Wait.

When were they due? Her breaths began to
quicken as she calculated, and she felt the blood rushing from her head as she
came up with the answer.

She was late. For goodness’ sakes, she’d
completely skipped her courses last month. So much had been happening, between
her heartbreak over Simon’s engagement and the move back to Ironwood Park, she
hadn’t even noticed.

She swayed toward Robert, then jerked
herself upright.

Oh, God. Oh, God.
It was the eighth of August. The last time she had lain with Simon
was the eleventh of June – a date she’d never forget.

Two months.

Robert glanced over at her. “Are you all
right?”

“Yes.” She’d meant the word to sound like
a firm, confident statement, but it emerged instead as a breathy wisp of air.

Robert reined the horses to a stop and
turned to her, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Sarah, what is it?”

She passed the back of her wrist over her
forehead, soaking up beads of water she knew were not raindrops.

“It’s just… what I learned today.”

“Can you tell me?”

No, she couldn’t. She couldn’t speak,
couldn’t think beyond the rushing tide of blood as it swirled in her head in a
descending whirlpool, leaving her dizzy and faint.

You are two months gone with
child, Sarah.

Simon’s child.

Chapter
Eighteen

The family was sitting in the parlor
before dinner, along with Lord Stanley, who’d arrived from London late last
night. Earlier today, Simon, Georgina, and Lord and Lady Stanley had had a
picnic on the northern banks of the stream and had then gone for a ride through
the property, Simon pointing out the features and borders of his lands. When it
had begun to rain, they’d raced home, but not before all of them had received a
good dousing. They’d bathed and dressed for dinner, and now they relaxed on the
royal-blue silk upholstery of the parlor, comfortable and warm, with Simon’s
brothers and Esme.

Talking about the wedding.

Simon secretly wished he were still out
riding in the rain. But no, Georgina and Lady Stanley were going on and on
about whom to invite to the wedding breakfast.

“Yes, Lord Granger, for certain,” he said
in response to Lady Stanley’s question. He wandered over to one of the windows
to glance out at the rain, which was now coming down in sheets. Mark and Theo
gave him twin sympathetic looks as he walked past them.

Mark and Theo were so alike. More alike,
really, than any of his other siblings. Now he knew why – they were probably
the only two with the same two parents.

And they didn’t know. It plagued him that
he hadn’t told them the truth. But how to go about it eluded him.

He sighed, parted the curtains, and looked
out into the gray.

It had been a long day. Tedious, really.
The air between him and Stanley had been stretched taut since breakfast. On the
verge of snapping.

Simon’s hatred for his situation grew
daily. He was determined to grit his teeth and face it with stoic acceptance,
but every time he saw the smug expression of victory on Stanley’s face, he
wanted to tackle the man to the ground and beat the snide look off his face.

He missed Sarah, damn it. Missed her smile
and her scent. Her soft skin, dewy after they’d just made love. He’d only had
her for two weeks. But those weeks were imprinted upon every inch of his skin
and had seeped deep into him. He’d never forget. He wondered if he’d ever stop
longing for more.

“What do you think, Trent?”

Stanley’s voice jolted him out of his
reverie. He turned to the older man. “What’s that?”

“Georgina would like to do something
different at the wedding. Instead of one bridesmaid, she’d like to have a
dozen,” Lady Stanley said.

A dozen bridesmaids. This was going to be
the spectacle of the decade.

He inclined his head at Georgina.
“Whatever you wish, of course.”

She clapped her hands. “I’m having them
all wear plain white, so the beauty of my dress, which will be silver, will be
a shining star among them.”

Simon wondered if his smile appeared as
pained as it felt. “Excellent.”

The door burst open and banged against the
inside wall. Simon jerked his head in the direction of the noise as someone –
Esme, perhaps – gasped in surprise.

Sarah stood at the threshold wearing a
dripping wet gray pelisse, her black hair in whipped wet clumps, and her blue
eyes wild. Her gaze searched, seeking, then latched on to him. “Your… Grace.”

Her voice was choked. Full of some
indefinable emotion.

“For heaven’s sake!” Lady Stanley
exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this?”

From the corner of his eye, Simon saw that
she’d risen from her chair. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away from Sarah. His
chest clenched tight. When she wore her public face, Sarah was always
restrained, never dramatic. Something was very, very wrong.

“Sarah… what is it?”

“Your Grace,” she pushed out. “I need to…
we need to…” Her gaze darted around the room. She was trembling. Cold and wet
and terribly upset about something.

He strode forward. “What is the matter?”

“I… I…” She wrapped her arms around her
body as if to contain its shuddering. “I need to speak with you.”

“Is it so urgent you cannot take a moment
to dry yourself off?” Lord Stanley asked dryly.

“You are dripping all over the Persian
carpet, girl,” Lady Stanley snapped.

As if from far away, he heard Georgina
say, “What insolence, to thrust herself upon us in such a fashion. Can you
imagine?”

Simon turned on his wife-to-be. “Miss
Osborne is a valued member of my household. If she has something to say to me,
she will be given leave to say it.”

“Trent,” Lady Stanley said, “this is
highly improper. She is a mere housemaid and should not be bursting in on the
family with the impudence of some dirty wild thing. If something important has
happened, she should go to her superior, who will then address you if she deems
it of enough consequence. But I cannot abide a servant behaving so freely – and
this one, in particular, has forgotten her place more than once in my
presence.”

“Mine, too,” Georgina added primly.

Sarah stood at the door, looking so alone,
so vulnerable. She needed him right now.

First, he turned to Lady Stanley. “This is
my house and I shall treat everyone who resides here as I see fit, my lady. Do
not ever presume to know more about my household than I do.”

“Of course I —”

“And you,” he said, interrupting her and
turning on Georgina, “will treat everyone at Ironwood Park with respect.”

He didn’t wait for a response from her. He
turned to Stanley and his brothers. “Please excuse me. I’ve no idea if I’ll
return in time for dinner.”

Finally, he looked at Esme. “Have Mrs.
Hope fetch warm towels and tea and have them sent to the library.”

She nodded. “Of course.”

Was it his imagination or were the corners
of her lips twitching? He didn’t have time to analyze his sister’s expression.
He turned back to Sarah. “I’m sorry about all that.”

“It’s… all right.” Her teeth began to
chatter, and she clenched them together to stop.

“Hurry, Esme. She’s ice cold.”

As they left the parlor, Esme was on their
heels. She turned toward the kitchen and Mrs. Hope’s office while Simon steered
Sarah in the opposite direction toward the library. As they walked, he
unbuttoned his tailcoat and laid it on her shaking shoulders, hoping it would
help keep her warm until the towels and tea arrived. Burton would have a fit
about the ruination of this particular coat, but Simon didn’t give a damn.

Keeping his hands on her shoulders, he led
her into the library and to one of the warm rose-colored velvet chairs by the
hearth, then he bent to stoke the fire. After a few moments, he turned,
brushing his hands. Crouching in front of her, he took her cold hands in his
own and began to chafe them as he looked up into her face. Her expression could
only be called haggard.

“What is it, Sarah?” he asked quietly.
“What has happened? Why were you out in the rain?”

“I…” She bowed her head, breaking their
eye contact. “I found out something… about the Stanleys and about the duchess…
and I think there’s more.” She looked back up, but her gaze shifted, not quite
meeting his. “We might be able to find your mother.”

He rose and pulled a chair beside hers.
“Tell me what happened.”

“I overheard Miss Stanley and Lady Stanley
talking about a place called Bordesley Green.”

“Yes, I’ve heard of the place. It’s a home
near Worcester.”

“They were talking about someone they knew
who lived there whose identity they didn’t want to expose.”

Simon kept trying to work some warmth into
her hands, moving up to rub her wrists and forearms.

“I had no idea what they were talking about,
but I’d heard of Bordesley Green before, I knew it. It wasn’t until this
morning that I remembered where. You see… your mother’s manservant, James,
keeps his own mother there. I went this morning to investigate. And I
discovered that James was there to visit his mother last month, and he’s due
again tomorrow. It seems he’s very much alive, Your Grace. I don’t know where
he lives, but he’ll be at Bordesley Green tomorrow. He might have all the
answers. If you intercept him there, he might be able to tell you once and for
all what happened to your mother.”

Simon sat quietly for a moment, taking all
this in. Then he looked at her and asked softly, “You went all the way out
there on your own?”

“Yes.” She flinched. “Well, Robert
Johnston drove me. It took some time to return home. The rain and the mud —”

“Why didn’t you tell me, Sarah? You
needn’t have taken this on yourself.”

“You were busy with Miss Stanley,” she
whispered.

Her pain was raw in her eyes, and he had
to close his own in sheer self-preservation.

“And… I found the man the Stanleys are
trying to hide.”

His eyes opened, and he stared at her.

“Bertram Stanley. The eldest brother. He’s
alive.”

“What?”

“They tell everyone he’s dead, but he’s
not. He’s alive and living at Bordesley Green.”

“What the hell?”

“Because they don’t want an idiot to
inherit, Your Grace. If Bertram is ‘dead,’ Miss Stanley’s younger brother is
the legal heir.”

“Good God,” Simon murmured. “Their
selfishness and deviousness knows no bounds.”

He glanced at Sarah, but she was gazing
into the fire, her eyes welling with unshed tears.

There was a knock on the door, and he
pulled his hands away from her. It was a maid and a footman bearing tea and
towels. While the maid laid out the tea service, Simon took the towels from the
footman and wrapped them around Sarah. She was sitting stiffly, her back
straight, blinking hard and staring at the hearth, obviously trying to hide her
emotions from the two who’d just entered.

“You may go,” he told them.

They hurried out, and Simon finished pouring
the tea. He added a bit of sugar, the way he knew she liked it, stirred it, and
handed it to her.

“Will you be all right?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she said shakily. That was a lie.
He frowned.

“I’ll go to Bordesley Green tomorrow,” he
said.

She nodded.

“I’ll speak with James and I’ll see
Bertram Stanley.”

“Yes.”

He took her hand again. It was warmer now.
“I’ll take care of everything, Sarah. I’ll find out whatever it is James knows
about my mother.”

Her teeth closed over her lower lip.

“Everything will be all right.”

She looked away from him. She didn’t
believe him.

“What is it? Is there something else?”

She took a long moment to answer. Finally,
she turned to him slowly, as if moving through pudding.

“No, Your Grace. There is nothing else.”

“It’s Sarah Osborne, isn’t it?”

Simon snapped his head up from his drink
and squinted at his brother. He sat slouched in one of the velvet armchairs in
the dark library. The fire had long since stopped giving off heat, and there
was a chill in the air he hadn’t noticed before.

“What are you talking about?” he asked
Sam.

With a sigh, Sam did something most rare:
he sat, lowering himself into the chair Sarah had occupied earlier. It was
likely still damp, but Sam didn’t complain. One thing about Sam – he never
complained. He had come home once from the Continent with a gunshot wound to
his shoulder that had festered and taken months to heal, and he had never
spoken one word of complaint.

“Sarah Osborne,” Sam said. “The other
woman whose identity you wouldn’t reveal to me the day you came to tell me
about Stanley’s threats.”

Good God, had he been that obvious this
afternoon? If so, what were the rest of them thinking?

And then, a realization jolted through
him. He didn’t care. He didn’t give a damn if the whole world saw how he felt
about Sarah.

A great weight lifted from his shoulders,
and he gazed at his brother, stone-faced. “Yes.”