The Duchess Hunt (32 page)

“Threats against me won’t work for you.
Nothing will. I will not marry you.”

She made another frustrated
humph
, stamped her foot again, and spat, “Rot
in hell, Trent,” before spinning away and storming off toward the house.

The sun had settled high overhead, beating
down on the cart Robert Johnston drove with Sarah seated beside him. She dipped
her head so her bonnet brim would shade her face from the penetrating rays.

When Mrs. Hope had asked her to make this
journey to Birmingham to fetch a collection of new linens she’d ordered last
month, Sarah had agreed, thinking that a brief time away from Ironwood Park
would be good for her. She hadn’t expected Robert would be her driver. She’d
also expected one of the housemaids to accompany her, but Mrs. Hope said that
everyone was busy with the houseguests, and two maids had the day off, so she’d
be shorthanded as it was.

So the day after rejecting his proposal
and accidentally pouring out all her wretched misery to him, Sarah found
herself side by side with Robert Johnston on the bench of a cart on an errand
that would last well into the evening hours.

They’d traveled mostly in silence all
morning, Robert working the horses, Sarah turned away from him and staring out
over the landscapes they passed. Green, fertile farms. Tiny villages with
timbered houses. Willow-herbs blooming with splashes of pink. Fields of clover
and forget-me-nots, and clumps of blue fescue. Copses of elms… sycamores… oaks.
She could name almost every plant and tree that they passed, thanks to her
father, and she passed the time by listing them in her mind and categorizing
them and saving the details of those she couldn’t name to ask her father about
later.

That way, she didn’t have to think about
how mortified she was to be sitting beside Robert Johnston, the person she’d
least wanted to come in contact with today.

It was now past noon, and they were still
driving. She’d never been to Birmingham, but she’d heard from the other
servants that the drive took about half a day. They’d left at dawn, which meant
they were closing on seven hours now. Seven interminable, miserable hours.

She glanced at Robert. “Are we almost
there?”

“Ah… not yet.” He didn’t look at her but
doggedly remained focused on the horses.

Suddenly, every alarm bell in her body
seemed to go off at once. She stiffened in her seat.

“Robert?”

“Mmm?”

“Is something wrong?” She looked in the
direction he was staring – the team of four horses – but they all looked hardy
enough. Though she wasn’t an expert on horses like he was. “Is something wrong
with one of the horses?”

“No, Sarah. Nothing is wrong with the
horses.” Gradually, he slowed the animals to a walk. When they were plodding
along at a far more sedate pace, the sounds of their clomping hooves subdued,
he stared straight ahead and said, “I need to speak with you about something.”

She stifled an inward groan. In a way, she
wished he’d hated her after what she’d revealed to him yesterday. She wished
his image of her perfection had been shattered. Instead, he’d gently comforted
her. Whatever anger he had possessed seemed to be directed toward Simon, not
her.

Gripping her hands in her lap, she nodded.

“I went to your father yesterday.”

She flinched. Oh, good Lord. “Again?”

“Aye. I told him everything.”

“What?” she gasped. No. Oh, no. Her
father… She knew he’d learn about her pregnancy at some point, but she wasn’t
sure how he’d respond to it. She’d wanted to have a firm plan in place before
she told him to limit his worry… and his disappointment in her.

Robert’s expression didn’t change. “I told
him you were with child by the duke.”

Heaviness settled thickly in her chest,
like someone was pouring cooling iron into her lungs. Her father knew. He
hadn’t arisen this morning to see her off. She hadn’t even seen him last night
– she’d worked late at the house, and when she’d returned, he’d already been
abed. Did he hate her now? Think of his own daughter as a whore?

Who knew how Robert had portrayed her
relationship with Simon?

She turned slowly, looking at Robert with
new eyes. He’d revealed her secret. He’d told her father something it was her
right alone to reveal.

“How could you?” she whispered. She shook
her head and looked away from him, her hands clenched tight in her lap, her
eyes stinging, unable to communicate to him how betrayed she felt.

“It was for your own good, Sarah. Did you
think you could hide it from him forever? Better sooner than later, I say. So
we can protect you. Save your reputation.”

Foolish men. She had no reputation to
save.

“We spoke at length and finally determined
our best option,” Robert continued. “
Your
best option.”

She swung her head around to stare at him
with narrowed eyes.

He took a deep breath. “We came to the
conclusion that you and I must marry. Immediately. It is the only way.”

“The only…
way
?” she repeated faintly.

“Yes. To save your position and status at
Ironwood Park.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“It is also the only way to legitimize the
child – everyone will believe that he is mine,” Robert continued, “and I will
not deny it. I’d do that for you, Sarah.”

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

“Your father was thankful that I would
sacrifice so much for you.”

He said it as if he believed she should be
thankful, too. But her mind was swirling – full of betrayal and fear and
hopelessness. “So you… you’re kidnapping me?”

His eyes widened. “Of course not. I’m
simply taking you to Scotland so we can be married without delay. Without
wasting the weeks it would require for the reading of the banns were we to
marry in England. Before you swell with child and the speculation begins.”

She didn’t say anything. She couldn’t
think, couldn’t process what was happening.

“Your father said you would come to your
senses on the journey. That you would ultimately agree.”

She stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
Was that what this swirling madness in her head was? The process of coming to
her senses?

“Mr. Osborne and I spoke for hours.
Believe me when I say this is the best solution for you. The only solution that
will assure your future. The child’s future. You don’t wish to raise a bastard,
do you?”

“I…” She closed her mouth, still unable to
speak through the jumble of words cluttering up her throat. She stared ahead.
So… they weren’t going to Birmingham, after all. They’d passed Birmingham and
were headed north. To Scotland.

“Mrs. Hope?” she managed.

At that, Robert grinned. “Your father and
I went to her with our idea. Don’t worry – we didn’t tell her about the child,
though.”

Oh, thanks for that, Sarah thought
bitterly.

“As soon as she heard the plan to whisk
you away to Scotland so we could be married, she thought it was all very
romantic. She told us she’d help us in any way we required.”

“So… she lied to me.”

“I wouldn’t put it like that.”

“She tricked me.” Even Mrs. Hope had
betrayed her.

“She
helped
us,” Robert said quietly. “You know all the servants were
well-aware of our courtship.”

Sarah closed her eyes, remembering the
snide comments from the other maids, the smirks from the footmen, the comments
from Esme… She’d simply brushed them off.

A courtship? Was that what this had been?

She gazed at the winding ribbon of road
stretched out before them. The road to Scotland. Had she been on this road all
along?

If only she could find a way off of it.
But towering walls stood on both sides, hemming her in. There were no forks in
the road, no intersections. No options.

Perhaps Robert was right. There was no
other way.

Chapter
Twenty-One

Simon hadn’t seen any sign of Sarah all
day, and after Georgina stomped off in her temper, he itched to hurry off in
search of her. Her father would know where she was. Or perhaps Mrs. Hope.

But he lingered at the stream for a few
minutes, shaking off his surprise at Georgina’s behavior, bracing himself for
the inevitable unpleasantness that the Stanleys would lay on the Hawkinses now.

Except for his mother, his whole family
was still here. Tonight he’d bring them together – with Sarah, of course – and
devise a plan about what to do.

But first… Sarah. He needed to reveal his
heart to her. It couldn’t wait any longer.

He began walking in the direction of her
father’s cottage, but he hadn’t gone far before he saw Mr. Osborne’s telltale
straw hat peeking over a box hedge. Simon had always liked Osborne – the man
took a special pride in the appearance of Ironwood Park and was passionate
about his work. He worked hard and made good decisions, and Simon respected him
for those qualities. He also respected the close relationship that Sarah seemed
to have with him. Never once had Sarah made a disparaging remark about her
father. By all appearances, he seemed to be a doting parent. Sarah had told him
that was because she was the only family he had left, and that she doted on him
as well, for the same reason.

Hurrying toward the older man, Simon found
him heatedly discussing the use of stable manure as fertilizer with one of the
under gardeners.

“Mr. Osborne,” he hailed.

Osborne went silent at the sound of his
voice. Slowly, he turned his head and looked at Simon. Then, he turned back to
the gardener, speaking in lowered tones. The other man immediately strode off
after a quick bow in Simon’s direction.

Osborne turned fully to him and gave him a
perfunctory nod. “Your Grace. How may I help you?” His words were polite but
his tone was not, and though Simon had believed that the man knew nothing about
his relationship with Sarah, he now wondered if that were true.

“I’m looking for Sarah,” he told Osborne.
“Do you know where I might find her?”

“Yes.”

Simon waited for the man to continue, but
he just stood there, looking at him, his eyes squinting at him under the shade
of his hat brim.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Scotland.”

“Scotland?” He shook his head in
confusion. “What do you mean?”

Osborne’s leathery skin twitched in the
vicinity of his jaw. When he spoke, it sounded as if he was forcing each word
out through a tiny tube.

“She is going to Scotland to be married.”

“Married? To whom?” Simon asked in
bewilderment.

“Robert Johnston,” the man gritted out.

No. That was…
No.
Impossible.

Osborne’s eyes narrowed further, and he
pointed a dirt-smudged finger at Simon. “I would thank you not to look at me
like that, Your Grace. As if you are surprised. Your actions led to this.
Your
actions forced my daughter into this.”

“What are you saying?” Simon pushed the
words through his closing throat.

Osborne shook his head in disgust. “You
compromised her. My sweet, innocent, lovely Sarah. You…” He turned his face
away, then turned back, his blue eyes – eyes like his daughter’s – shining with
unshed tears. “Never mind.” His voice was lower now but rough with emotion. “I
promise you, once she is married, she will keep her distance from you. I hope
you will show her enough courtesy to do the same.”

Simon’s mind worked rapidly. Why would
Sarah do this? She’d told him she possessed no aspirations of marriage, and he
was certain she didn’t have feelings for Johnston. How had Simon’s actions
forced her into marriage? Unless…

Oh, God.
Unless Sarah was with child.

Sarah’s child.
His
child.

But if that were the case, why go to her
father? Why go to Robert Johnston? Why hadn’t she come to him?

Those questions would wait. For now… he
had to find her. Had to stop the damn wedding.

Unless it was too late.

“When did they leave?” he snapped at
Osborne.

“This morning.”

Simon gave him a short nod, then he took a
step forward. “Listen to me, Osborne, and listen closely. I am leaving this
instant. I am going to Scotland. I am going to stop this marriage.”

Osborne opened his mouth to speak, but
Simon cut him off.

“She cannot marry Robert Johnston,” he
said, spitting out the other man’s name. “Because she is going to marry me.”

Osborne spluttered in surprise. “But
you’re – you – engaged – someone else – can’t —”

“There is no one,” Simon informed him.
“There never has been anyone else for me. I love her… and I… love…” The child.
Their
child. Emotion welled up in him so fast he could hardly speak.
When he did, it emerged as a shaking whisper. “Sarah is everything to me.”

With that, he swiveled around and headed
toward the stable, his chest vibrating with the truth of his words.

Simon rode like the hounds of hell nipped
at his heels. He rode for long hours, stopping only to change horses and only
late at night when he was so tired he worried he might fall off the horse.

On a foggy late morning two days later, he
rode into the village of Gretna Green, not knowing what he’d find. Maybe Sarah
and Johnston were here now. Maybe they weren’t here yet. Maybe they’d already
married and were heading back to Ironwood Park. He hadn’t encountered them, but
there were those bits of time he hadn’t been on the road and there were
certainly other times they hadn’t been on the road. It was possible they’d
passed one another unknowingly.

But he hoped not.

The hard riding had stripped him of all
emotion, all feeling. Except hope. Hope was all he had left.

He rode to the famed inn where the
blacksmith of Gretna Green had married runaway brides and grooms for the past
sixty years. The man had died last year, and the position of the Gretna Green
Parson had been handed over to his grandson-in-law, a Mr. Elliot, who performed
ceremonies in the inn, the largest establishment in the village, set among a
tidy row of mostly old clay cottages and a few modern stone houses.

As Simon dismounted, a sallow-faced young
man appeared at the door of the place. Securing his horse, Simon removed his
hat and greeted him. “Are you Mr. Elliot?”

“Aye, sir.”

“Have you performed any marriages here in
the past twenty-four hours?”

Elliot regarded him for a moment, then
said, “Nay, I havena. Much to that lad’s disappointment.” He angled his pointed
chin toward the lawn. Simon followed the movement, squinting at the dark figure
slouched beneath a tree in the distance.

He strode toward the man, and as he drew
closer he recognized Robert Johnston’s bearing and his dark hair.

The coachman straightened as Simon
approached, and his features drew tight as he recognized Simon.

“Your Grace,” he said quietly. Then he
shook his head, blinking as though Simon were some apparition he was trying to
make disappear. “What are you doing here?”

Simon hadn’t ridden all this way to have a
pleasant chat with Robert Johnston. He ignored the man’s question. “Where is
she?”

“Sarah?” Johnston squinted his eyes at him
as if he was confused. “You’re looking for Sarah?”

Simon’s hands fisted at his sides as he
struggled for calm. “Where is she, Johnston?”

“Why would you come here… to Gretna Green…
looking for Sarah? You’re the one who…” Johnston’s features went taut again,
and his eyes narrowed.

Simon took a step closer, tapping the brim
of his hat against his thigh. He addressed the man with slow speech, as if he
were speaking to a child. “I need to speak with Sarah Osborne.”

Johnston’s lip curled. “Why? So you can
ruin her all over again? So you can leave her broken and scattered to the
winds, with no one to turn to?” He shook his head and added bitterly, “I’m not
going to be there to pick her up the next time.”

Simon stared at the other man, shaken. Had
he done that? Broken her and thrown the pieces to the wind?

“I am trying to make this right.”

“Right? How do you intend to make this
right, Your Grace?” Now patent dislike shone in Johnston’s gaze. “What will you
do? Set her up in some fine townhouse in London as your secret mistress while
you show off your high-and-mighty lady wife to the world? She’s too good for
that.” He poked a finger into the air in emphasis. “Too. Good.”

Only now did Simon see the half-empty
bottle of whiskey nestled among the roots at the base of the tree. He looked
back at Johnston. “You’re drunk.”

Johnston gave a negligent shrug.

Simon stepped forward, his gaze narrowed
on the coachman. “She didn’t go through with marrying you, I presume.”

Johnston scowled and looked away.

Simon pushed his hand through his hair,
which was already sticking up straight from the lack of both a comb and
Burton’s fastidious care. “Why did she refuse you?”

Johnston pressed his fingers to his
temples. “Accused me of kidnapping her. Of not knowing her mind. Her heart. She
left this morning on the mail coach.”

“Where was it headed?”

“To England. Manchester.”

“When did it leave?”

“Nine o’clock.”

Hell. He’d passed the mail coach on the
road less than an hour ago. Sarah had been inside.

That put him more than an hour behind it
now.

He secured his hat and turned toward his
horse.

As he walked away, Johnston called out to
him. “For what it’s worth, I quit. I shall never darken your doorstep – or your
driver’s seat – again.”

Simon didn’t answer him. Moments later, he
turned back onto the road to England, spurring the horse into a gallop.

Sarah clutched her hands in her lap and
stared at them. There were three other passengers in the mail coach – a married
older couple and a young man heading to London. They’d tried to make
conversation with her, and while she’d usually be eager to get to know other
travelers, she didn’t have it in her today to converse with strangers.

So she’d let their talk flow around her
while she sat gazing at her clenched hands, feeling the enquiring gazes they
sent her way, knowing they understood the significance of the mail coach
fetching a single young woman from the inn at Gretna Green.

Robert had been kind to her during their
journey north. He hadn’t tried to touch her, had given her the time he thought
she needed to come to terms with marrying him.

She’d remained quiet, for the most part.
Trying to find some acceptance in her heart of what she couldn’t deny was the
best solution for her and for her baby. But she hadn’t been able to.

Finally, as Robert had discussed their
situation with the parson at Gretna Green, she realized she couldn’t do it. Not
to herself, and not to him. He deserved a woman who cared for him as much as he
cared for her. Marriage might be what he wanted, but she knew she would never
grow to love him in the way he thought she would. As much as she might like him
– and she couldn’t even say she liked him after how he’d betrayed her to her
father – she could never love him.

He’d been hurt and confused. It was only
providence that had the mail coach arriving at just the right time for her to
slip onto it, paying the driver with part of the funds that Mrs. Hope, playing
her part to the letter, had given her for the “draper” in Birmingham. As she’d
reached into the purse to find the coins she needed, her hand had brushed over
a tiny, folded paper.

When the coach was underway, she’d
withdrawn the paper and unfolded it to find a note from Mrs. Hope.

Dearest Sarah,