Margaret looked her up and down. “Looks no different than mine. Everyone is wearing mourning attire. It isn’t an exhibition. Please?”
Sarah’s shoulders rolled forward on the please. She had avoided Margaret so strenuously in the years after their ugly encounter, she’d almost forgotten how friendly and persuasive she could be. Now she found herself nodding.
“Of course, Your Grace,” she said on a sigh, and stepped in next to the duchess as they began to move up the hall together, back toward the stairs.
Margaret turned to face her. “Oh no, you mustn’t Your Grace me. You are off duty now that Phoebe is asleep and we are amongst friends. Meg, I insist.”
Sarah gaped. Meg? Great God, she could only imagine the ramifications that doing as she was asked would create. Especially if Kit heard her speaking so impertinently. Still, she couldn’t refuse, so she simply nodded. “If you would prefer it.”
“I would,” Meg said, smiling as they made their way down the stairs and through the hall to the parlor.
As they neared it, Sarah could hear voices from within. To her surprise, their tone was lighter than it had been in the past few days. Gentle laughter filtered into the hallway. Life was coming back into the house, as it always did in the end.
She knew better than most that life went on, even when it hurt.
Meg led her in, and as she slipped in behind her, she was shocked when the duchess announced, “I have found Miss Carlton and convinced her to join our party now that her charge is asleep.”
Sarah blushed as the group as a whole called out their greetings. Only one person did not acknowledge her entry with a friendly hello or wave. That was Kit. The duke was standing in the corner of the room with a few of the other men, and he speared her with a gaze she couldn’t read.
He was going to let her go. She knew it. He was only barely tolerating her before and now she had broken protocol entirely. She rolled her shoulders forward as she slipped to one side of the room away from the other guests. How she wished she could just curl into a tiny ball and roll away.
Especially when the man stepped away from his friends and began to cross toward her.
“Miss Carlton,” he said as he reached her.
She shook her head, clenching her hands at her sides. “The Duchess of Crestwood insisted I come down. She asked me, I did not encourage her.”
He brought his lips together with a shake of his head and actually looked confused by her statement. Then his eyebrows lifted and he glanced up and down her body. Appraising. Cool.
How many times had he looked at her just like that? Judging her.
“Yes,” he said slowly. “Meg said that, of course. I wasn’t coming over here to interrogate you on your sudden appearance in the room.”
“Oh,” she whispered, ducking her head as heat suffused her cheeks.
He was silent for a beat, and then he said, “How is my sister?”
She lifted her gaze and found him watching her intently. That was one thing she could grant him. He took the subject of his sister very seriously and clearly loved the little girl deeply. It was a very attractive facet to his complicated personality.
“A little rambunctious,” she admitted.
He gave a small smile and her heart fluttered. This man had very seldom allowed that expression around her. It made him even more handsome, which hardly seemed fair.
“Well, my sister has always been a bit wild,” he said with a shake of his head. “Not that I’m complaining. Her spirit kept this house filled with light, even as my father grew sicker.”
Sarah swallowed hard. Once again, she was moved by this man’s acceptance of his half-sister. Many men, especially ones as concerned with propriety, would be speaking to a governess about how to tame Phoebe’s wild heart. And one day, of course, the girl would need to temper herself. But he seemed in no hurry to rush that transformation.
“Her spirit is wonderful,” Sarah agreed, “for it is filled with sweetness, and that is lovely. However, right now I see something else beyond your sister’s normal playful impishness.”
He frowned. “You think it part of her grief.”
Sarah nodded. “Yes. She misses her father desperately.”
“I know how she feels,” Kit said with a sigh that revealed far more to Sarah than she thought he meant to. Then he tilted his head and examined her face. “I suppose you do, too. Your mother passed not that long ago.”
She caught her breath. “Nine months,” she admitted softly, and the pain shot through her like it was yesterday.
He shook his head. “I admit I hadn’t thought much about that until you reminded me of that fact after my father’s funeral. Under normal circumstances, you would still be in mourning.”
Sarah felt her cheeks brighten further. “Well, we do not get to choose our circumstances sometimes,” she whispered.
“I suppose not,” he said. “But you seem to make the best of it. You take very good care of Phoebe. I hope you know I recognize that fact.”
Sarah’s lips parted in surprise as she stared up into his face. For the first time in years he was not holding himself away from her, letting her know he hadn’t forgotten her bad behavior. In that moment he felt all the more…human. Their loss had connected them in ways she never would have expected, nor hoped for.
“I’m very glad to be here for her,” she said. “She has become so dear to me.”
His expression softened further. “I see that when you’re with her. And how dear you are to her. Even in the past few days, only you can coax a smile from her. Make her seem like a little girl again, not just a lamb lost in sorrow.”
“Time will…well, I won’t say heal. I hate that saying,” Sarah admitted. “But it will soften her heartbreak.”
He ducked his head. “I hope that is true. For her and for me. Do you—”
He broke off his question and she tilted her head. “Do I?”
He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I was going to ask you a forward question. One that has an answer I’m certain I am not owed.”
She could have left it at that. Could have nodded and found an excuse to walk away from what felt like a potentially dangerous situation. Only she didn’t. She examined his face a bit more closely. His jaw was clenched, but it wasn’t in anger or disgust with her. It was with pain. His dark eyes had flitted away from her. But he broke the connection because it was too much for him, not because of a judgment he was making against her.
She saw his anguish, the one that mirrored her own, and found herself saying, “Ask the question, Your Grace.”
He flinched. “I hate being called that. My father was His Grace. And yet this is what it is.”
She nodded. “I’m certain someday it will not seem so foreign or distressing.”
“I hope so,” he whispered. Then he met her stare again. “Do you have any suggestions on how to…how to manage the grief?”
She caught her breath. That was not the question she’d ever thought he would ask of her. And not with such clarity and gentleness. There seemed to be no ulterior motive, just a real desire to discuss the subject with her because he had realized she was the closest one to it in his circle.
She understood that need to call out and find comrades in loss. She’d so wished for her own not that long ago. Now one was standing before her. Dashing and confusing and…just…there.
“Well,” she said, shifting beneath his intense regard. “In my case, I had little choice but to swiftly move on. I think my…my situation was known to most. I had to procure a position as soon as possible, for money was nonexistent after her death.”
“That must have been difficult,” he said, his brow wrinkling like he hadn’t truly considered that before.
She shrugged. “It was. But in some ways it was also…helpful. Searching and eventually finding my place here was a distraction that I desperately needed. Still need, truth be told.”
“Well, I certainly have a
great deal of distraction in front of me,” he said. Then he shook his head like he’d heard his words and how they sounded like he meant she was the distraction. “I, er, mean with all the duties I must take on.”
“Of course,” she whispered, breaking her gaze from his for it now felt too intense. “But…”
“But?”
She worried her lip. “You cannot try to forget all your pain. It will not be possible.”
“You’ve tried?” he asked.
She felt that very pain rise up in her chest. “Oh yes. But any time I walk too far from the grief, try to ignore it is behind me, when it snaps me back it is all the worse. Almost unbearable. So I recommend that you do not try to pretend it away, no matter how busy your duties make you.”
“You mourn in the midst of your life,” he said.
The turn of phrase brought her up short. “Yes,” she said. “That is exactly right. I mourn my mother, in my own way.”
“How?” he asked. She blinked, for the sting of tears had begun in her eyes. For a moment she struggled with it, and he turned his face. “My apologies. It was another impertinent question.”
She shook her head. “No. It helps me to speak of it, and perhaps it will help you to hear it. My mother’s favorite flower was yellow primrose. When I came here I saw that your garden was filled with them.”
He bent his head. “I admit I am no expert in flora.”
She smiled a little. “No, I would think such mundane things would not interest you.”
The moment she said the words, she wished she could take them back. They revealed too much of her. Revealed that she’d watched the man over the years, been aware of his keen mind.
He held her stare for a beat. Two. “It is a failing, I think. My father loved flowers.”
“He did,” she said, ducking her head a little. “One afternoon he was walking with his nurse in the garden and saw me there amongst the primroses. He asked me about my interest and when he heard why I was drawn to that particular flower, he kindly told me I could make myself a bouquet for my room any time I liked. So one way I remember my mother is to pick a few of the flowers for my chamber each week.”
His lips parted, and for a moment she thought he looked…upset. She shifted a little. “If you do not wish to allow that now that you are duke, of course I will not continue. I can enjoy the flowers while out on walks with Phoebe. I do not need a bouquet by my bed.”
“You think I would deny you that small pleasure?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I am in your employ, am I not? You do not owe me any pleasures.”
His mouth set in a thin line and there was no mistaking his irritation this time. He held her gaze a moment, then shook his head. “You may continue, Miss Carlton. I would not stop you from picking a few flowers now and then. The garden was meant to be enjoyed.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. She stared at him a moment. He was so very difficult to understand, to read. After all, he’d spent years watching her with such judgment and now he was here, pressing her on personal matters. It was a strange thing. One that didn’t give her any sense of increased stability when it came to her future.
“I also re-read her last letter to me,” she said, bringing the subject back to her mother.
He frowned. “I’m sure I have letters from my father around,” he said. “But I have been here for months—I do not have a letter that says a goodbye.”
She shook her head. “Perhaps it doesn’t need to be goodbye. I think a letter that is just something normal would be more comforting in some way.”
“Hmmm,” he murmured.
“And then I have a mourning ring.” She shifted, raising her hand slowly so he could see the little ring on her right hand. The crystal decoration was cheap, but beneath it was a lock of her mother’s hair.
“The color is like yours,” he said softly as he reached out and took her hand to look closer.
Sarah jolted. Kit had never touched her before. And now he held her hand in his, no gloves to separate them, and an odd shiver worked through her entire body.
“Does this comfort you?” he asked, releasing her and taking a step back.
For a moment, she thought he meant his touch. Oddly, the answer leapt to her mind and screamed yes. But then the moment passed and she somehow she found her breath. “Yes. All these things make me feel…closer to her. I’m sure you will find details that will do the same for you.”
He inclined his head. “Well, thank you for the advice. I’m certain it will be of assistance during these trying days.”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
He nodded once, a swift and cold dismissal, then turned and walked away, leaving Sarah to blink after him in confusion. She was no more certain of what would happen next than she had been when he’d approached her. But dizzied by the strange encounter and the odd sensations the handsome new duke created in her.
Chapter Four
Kit stood along the terrace wall, staring down at the dim shadows in the garden below. After his conversation with Sarah, he had come straight here. He needed escape. From his well-meaning friends, but also from the odd feelings his talk with her had created.
He didn’t like Sarah. He had reasons for that. And yet when he spoke to her he’d felt…comforted somehow. He’d let go of the past and just…been.
Her words about the nature of grief, of forgetting and not forgetting, had sunk deep into his soul. She’d spoken to him of distraction and all he could do was look at her, so pretty in her mourning attire, her blonde hair bright against the dark, her blue eyes filled with empathy and understanding.
“Do you want to be alone?”
Kit stiffened and turned to find that Baldwin, Duke of Sheffield, had stepped out of the parlor and was standing by the door, watching him. Kit shrugged. “If I said yes, would it matter?”
Baldwin lifted his brows. “Of course it would. I would not force my presence on you. At least not right now.”
“Later then,” Kit said with a dry laugh.
“If any of us thought you had spiraled into your grief for too long, probably any of us would seek you out to bring you home to us.” Baldwin sighed. “But you have only recently lost your father. You are allowed to want to be alone. So I’ll leave you.”
“Wait,” Kit said, gripping his hands against the rough stone wall and returning his gaze to the garden. “I’m sorry I am…difficult.”
“You aren’t,” Baldwin said as he moved to stand beside Kit. “The situation is difficult. I know what it is like to lose a beloved father. It may have been many years ago, but the pain is still there.”
“So I can look forward to feeling this way a very long time,” Kit murmured. “That is not comforting.”
Baldwin was quiet a moment. “Our situations are not the same,” he said softly. “I loved my father, and he was connected to us in a loving way. But from almost the moment he died, I discovered all his lies, his debts, things that would destroy our family. My mourning for him was truncated, intruded upon by the betrayal I felt in his bad actions and the responsibility that fell on my shoulders to correct all of them.”
Kit shook his head. “I cannot imagine how devastating it must have been to discover your father’s weaknesses so soon after his death. You suffered alone for a long time.”
Baldwin sighed. “I created a prison for myself far more than he ever did. And then Helena set me free. As did the kindness of my dearest friends.”
Baldwin squeezed his arm gently and Kit nodded. The group as a whole had taken part in helping their friend invest a loan. In just two years, Baldwin had already paid them back in full, so Kit knew some part of the answer to his next question.
“Your new investments are paying off, aren’t they?”
Baldwin nodded. “Yes. Thanks to all of you and the suggestion that I invest in Mr. Danford’s ventures, my coffers are refilling every month. And that helps, of course. The pressure is coming off.
But it is really my life with Helena that has helped me most in my grief.”
Kit flinched. He was happy for his friend, of course, but this statement didn’t help him. He had no woman in his life to offer comfort. His mind flitted to Sarah, but he pushed that away.
“I’m glad she offers you succor,” he said softly. “She is a wonderful woman and you deserve your happiness.”
“She is the best of women,” Baldwin mused, staring up at the stars for a moment with a faraway smile. Then his attention snapped back to Kit. “I saw you speaking intently to Miss Carlton.”
Kit shot him a side glare, for the statement felt rather accusatory. “She is a member of my household staff.”
“And that’s why you were holding her hand,” Baldwin said.
Kit walked away a few steps, trying not to remember how soft Sarah’s skin had been. How that lilac scent of her hair had filled his nostrils and softened the harsh edges of his emotions.
“I was looking at her mourning ring,” he muttered. “I don’t even like her.”
Baldwin tilted his head and his gaze narrowed. “Yes, so you’ve been saying for years. You’ve made quite a study of watching the young woman as she navigated her final years in Society.”
Kit shrugged. “I don’t think so.”
Baldwin lifted both eyebrows. “Every time you saw her, you pointed out her presence. I saw you watching her. If you didn’t keep telling everyone you didn’t like her, I might have even thought you had a tendre for her.”
Kit faced him with an outraged snort. “For Sarah Carlton?”
“Yes. Honestly, Kit, I’ve never heard a good explanation for why you feel as you do toward her.”
Kit shook his head. Despite his words to Sarah that night long ago, he’d never made any attempt to destroy her. Partly because Meg had asked him not to intervene. Partly because he didn’t want to be the one to…to hurt Sarah.
He blinked at that realization and hardened himself to it and to her. “I keep my reasons to myself, but trust they are there. They no longer matter, though. Miss Carlton is in my employ, and that is how she will be managed. I don’t need you lot getting bored and trying to create a situation that simply isn’t there.”
The Last Duke (The 1797 Club Book 10) Page 4
