The Duchess Hunt (29 page)

Sam tilted his head. Simon couldn’t really
see his expression in the gloom, but his brother’s dark eyes shone.

“Trent,” he said, his voice ever so quiet,
“it is unlike you to dally with the servants.”

Fury built in Simon so quickly he snapped
out of his chair, still gripping his brandy in one fist. Cool liquid splashed
over his hand. “Don’t push me, Sam.”

Sam remained seated, gazing up at him. “Why?
Isn’t that what you’re doing?”

“No!” he roared. The bloody drink was in
the way, so he stalked over to his desk and slammed it down. Then he rounded on
his brother. “I am not dallying with anyone. And hell, if another person refers
to her as a servant, he’s going to be receiving a mouthful of my fist.”

“Then what is it, exactly, that you are
doing with her?”

“What are
you
doing?” Simon growled. “You come in here
and accuse me of dallying with servants when you know damn well that’s not what
this is.”

“If not a dalliance, what is it?” Sam
pressed. “Don’t tell me you had intended to propose marriage before all this
Stanley nonsense.”

“Marriage…?” Shaking his head to clear the
sudden fog in it, Simon stared at his brother.

“I see,” Sam said mildly. “The thought
never even occurred to you. Of course it didn’t. She’s too far below you to
consider such a preposterous idea.”

“I…” Simon shut his mouth. Sam was right.
The thought hadn’t occurred to him. Not once.

“She’d make an unacceptable wife, of
course,” Sam continued. “Her breeding isn’t of the proper sort, after all.
She’s not remotely close to possessing an aristocratic lineage. And only a true
lady could be a wife to you, right, Trent? Only someone who’s been groomed for
the task, who has the correct aristocratic bloodlines. You could never marry a
woman like Sarah Osborne. You must consider yourself lucky to have had Georgina
Stanley fall into your lap instead.”

A vague part of his brain registered that
Sam had grossly insulted him, but the greater majority was overwhelmed by the
concept that swirled about.
Marry her.
Marry Sarah.

Make her his wife. Spend his life with
her. Fall asleep beside her every night and wake beside her every morning. Have
children with her. Grow old with her. Possess the freedom to love her openly.
Make her his duchess.

The thoughts grounded him; calmed him. It
wasn’t like considering his marriage to Georgina, which always left him vaguely
angry and slightly ill. No, the idea of marrying Sarah was a balm to his soul.

All his life he had assigned such
importance to aristocratic bloodlines and lineage, just like Sam said. But not
anymore. He didn’t give a damn anymore. He’d learned there were things far more
important than having the blood of the aristocracy running through one’s veins.
In any case, from the evidence he’d gathered this summer, that blood was mostly
tainted.

Marry Sarah.

But it couldn’t happen. He was betrothed
to another.

He pushed a frustrated hand through his
hair and turned away from his brother. “This conversation is moot,” he said
harshly. “It is too late for such talk.”

“Right. Of course. Then tell me, Trent,
what
are
you doing with Sarah, if it
does not qualify as a dalliance?”

“I am…” His voice trailed off. He rubbed
his temples. “I am trying to do what is right. What you advised me to do. Marry
Georgina Stanley to save my brothers and sister from disgrace.”

“But what about Sarah?”

Simon swallowed hard, emotions he dared
not name churning within him. After a long moment, he murmured, “I’m hurting
her.”

He was hurting himself. Hurting them both.

“I am fond of Sarah,” Sam said quietly.
“All of us are.”

“Not the Stanleys.”

“You know I don’t mean the Stanleys. I
mean all of
us
. None of us wishes to see her hurt.”

“Nor do I, damn it.”

Sam’s eyes glinted in the dim. “Are you
saying that you care about her? That your aristocratic pride is willing to
stoop down so low?”

Simon straightened. “Society might think
her lower than me, but she isn’t. She is… my
equal
. In all things.”

Sam sat back in his chair as if Simon’s
words had slapped him across the face. A long moment of stunned silence filled
the room.

Finally, Sam said, “If you’re hurting her,
Trent, you’re going to need to put a stop to it.”

Simon leaned on his desk, both hands flat
on the sleek mahogany surface. “And what do you propose I do? Please, gift me
with your wisdom, because I’m bloody well in dire need of it at this moment.”

Slowly, Sam shook his head from side to
side. “There is no solution that will result in everyone’s happiness. Worse for
you, perhaps, is that there is no solution that won’t result in a scandal
worthy of our mother.”

Simon stared down at his hands.

“But you must fix this, Trent.”

Slowly, he raised his gaze until he met
his brother’s eyes. “You’re right.”

The next day, while Sarah was eating her
midday meal, Robert Johnston entered the kitchen. She tried to smile a greeting
at him.

Forcing her lips into upward tilts had
been a difficult exercise for the past day. Ever since she’d realized she was
with child, she’d brought a dark cloud into every room she entered. People had
noticed her dour mood, but she didn’t have any idea how to clear away the
gloom.

A pregnancy should be a time of joy and
anticipation, but all she could feel was fear and dread. The simple fact was,
Georgina Stanley was going to force her to leave Ironwood Park. Yesterday
morning, Sarah had believed she had options, would find another situation in
another house, and while she’d miss Simon, she’d survive. But now that she’d be
bringing an illegitimate child with her, her options fluttered away, as
fleeting as dandelion seeds whisked away on a strong breeze.

She hadn’t the faintest idea what she’d
do. Where she’d go. Who’d accept her now.

How she and the babe would survive.

She’d thought about telling Simon
yesterday afternoon when she’d revealed her discoveries at Bordesley Green, but
she hadn’t been able to do it. Who knew what his powerful sense of duty and
propriety would compel him to do? If he jilted Georgina Stanley and married
Sarah because he considered it the “right” thing to do, the scandal would
destroy him and his family. She couldn’t do that to him – to any of them.

Or, he might never even consider marrying
her. He’d go forward with marrying Miss Stanley, but his sense of duty might
compel him to “keep” Sarah, perhaps set her up discreetly in a small house far
away with an allowance for her and the babe.

That thought, when she’d had it just after
breakfast, had given her such a sour feeling in her gut that she’d run to the
privy to release the contents of her stomach.

She had remained slumped against the door
of the privy for a long while as she’d come to terms with this additional
verification of her pregnancy, and while she’d stood there, she realized that
she couldn’t accept the option of being Simon’s “kept woman.” She was too proud
to be hidden away somewhere. To be Simon’s embarrassing secret.

Although once her practical nature
regained control, she admitted to herself that it might be her last resort. If
it came to accepting his charity or the poorhouse, her pride would just have to
endure the blow.

Now, she pasted a smile on her face and
directed it to Robert Johnston. “Good afternoon, Robert.”

“I was hoping I’d find you here,” he said.

She wiped her hands on her napkin and
pushed her plate away. “Here I am. How may I help you?”

He glanced around the kitchen. One of the
housemaids was eating with Sarah at the table. Two kitchen maids were kneading
dough, and the cook had poked her head out of the larder and was watching them
with interest.

He looked back down at her. “Do you have
time to walk with me?”

She didn’t want to walk with Robert
Johnston, but her mind was too muddled to invent an acceptable excuse not to.
“I might be able to spare half an hour.”

His smile was brilliant. “Wonderful.”

The summer day was fine, and she didn’t
need a coat. They walked the garden path, then out onto the lawn, headed toward
the stream and the line of trees marking the forest. They reached the line of
blackberry bushes along the bank of the stream, then Robert cut behind them. Toward
her and Simon’s bench.

“Let’s sit for a while,” Robert said when
the bench came into view.

At his expectant look, she lowered herself
woodenly. She hadn’t wanted to come here ever again, but to come here with
Robert and not Simon – a part of her felt like she was being unfaithful.

“I enjoyed our day together yesterday,” he
said as he sat down beside her.

She looked at him in some surprise. She’d
hardly noticed him all day, so selfishly focused as she’d been on her own
revelations. “It was very kind of you to drive me all that way.”

“I was happy to do it for you.” He paused,
then added in a low voice, “I’d do anything for you, Sarah.”

Sarah’s heart began to pound, and her
stomach roiled, reminding her of the tiny life growing there. She pressed her
hand flat against her bodice. Her baby. Simon’s baby.

Her luncheon tumbled around in her
stomach. If she vomited here, she would be mortified.

“Robert, I don’t —”

He held up his hand. “Please. Let me
speak.”

She shut her mouth, stanching the impulse
to beg him to stop talking, to take her back to the house.

He turned to face her. “I can’t stop
thinking about you, Sarah.”

She tried to remember to breathe, forcing
air in and out, in and out. She shook her head in silent denial, pleading him
with her eyes to stop, stop now, before he said something they’d both regret.

But he didn’t seem to understand her
silent pleas, because he continued. “You are lovely. You are kind and honest
and pure.”

“No —” she gasped, but he raised his hand,
stopping her again.

“In short, you’d make the most perfect of
companions for me. I have asked your father for your hand in marriage, and he
has given his consent.” He took a deep breath. “Sarah Osborne, will you make me
the happiest of men? Will you marry me?”

She opened her mouth, but now that she’d
been given leave to speak, words failed her. She scrambled through the cackles
of laughter from the devil in her soul – “Pure? You? What a wonderful farce!” –
and tried to find the words she could string together into a coherent sentence.

Finally, she spoke, her voice low and
scratchy. “You… hardly know me.”

“I’ve spent a full day in your company,”
he answered readily, “and we’ve seen each other on countless other occasions. I
observed you in London. You behaved admirably, given the challenging situation
the duke and his sister put you in. You remained composed in every
circumstance, and through it all, your grace, your gentle and compassionate
nature shone through.”

She blinked at him, feeling like she was
in some kind of warped dream. His words sounded so formal. Had he rehearsed
them? Again, she shook her head. “No, you don’t understand.”

He looked up at her, his brown eyes dark
and serious. “But I do. I know you, Sarah. I know you will make me a fine wife.
Your father agrees.”

She rubbed her forehead, trying to
eliminate the awkward image of Robert asking her father for permission to marry
her.

“Oh, Robert.” She squeezed her eyes shut.
As much as she hated to hurt him, it had to be said. “I cannot marry you.”

“Of course you can.”

“No. I can’t. I truly can’t.”

The first lines of concern deepened
between his brows. “I’ll give you whatever time you need. I will court you
properly. I will do whatever it takes —”

“No. It will never… It can never be. I am
so sorry.”

“If you take some time to think it over —”

“No, Robert.”

“Give me a chance to prove myself to you,
then.”

“No,” she repeated as her heart wept.
Wouldn’t it have been wonderful if Robert were the man she’d fallen in love
with? But, no, she’d lost herself, lost everything to an impossibility.

He shook his head. “I can’t accept no.
There is no logic to that answer.”

“But there is. I don’t love you.”

“I will earn your love. It’ll come in
time.”

She simply shook her head. “I am sorry.”

A frown marred his lips. When he spoke,
all softness had melted from his tone. “Why, then?” His dark eyes bored into
her. “Tell me why.”

“I… can’t. I’m sorry.”