by Erica Taylor
“Palmer?” Sarah asked out loud, confusion racing through her. As everyone turned to look at her curiously, she smiled and fumbled over an explanation. “I thought he was Foxton?”
William met her gaze briefly before looking away. “Before inheriting, I was Lord Palmer, among other things. The habits of using old names are hard to break once one inherits a title, I am afraid. Though, as I have yet to become comfortable with Foxton, any name will do, I suppose.”
“We are all friends and family here, so you will find we are usually less than formal,” Clara explained sweetly.
“Then please, I ask you to call me Anna,” William’s wife said. “It will be so confusing with all these ‘your graces’ with two dukes and two duchesses in residence.”
“Quite right,” Clara said. “Please, call me Clara.”
“My cousin, Mr. Tobias Byrne,” William said, introducing the gentleman standing a step behind William’s wife. Mr. Byrne was nearly as tall as William, but not as broad in the shoulders. He was handsome enough in his own right, with light golden-brown hair and bright green eyes, a thin nose, and a pleasant smile.
“Welcome,” Clara said to him, and he bowed.
“I say, your grace,” Mr. Byrne said, glancing at something behind her. “Why is there a tree in the sitting room?”
“Oh, such a silly thing, indeed!” Clara said with a laugh and launched into an explanation that Sarah tuned out.
Fury coursed through Sarah. Traitors, all of them. How dare they welcome this man and whatever was on his arm into their home. True, no one knew of her liaison with a mysterious man she had met at a coaching inn, and no one would make such a leap that he and she were acquainted, but Sarah felt betrayed all the same. And now he was here, making polite conversations with her sister-in-law, a duke with a duchess on his arm, pretending as though he didn’t know her, and all Sarah could think about was how wonderful he looked.
Prior to this moment, the fanciest clothing she’d seen on him had been informal evening wear; she would never have pictured him dressed so fine. His dark brown jacket was well cut, his waistcoat a dark green velvet, and his dark buff breeches were tucked into black Hessians. He was clean shaved, his blond hair trimmed and brushed back from his face. The two of them together resembled a golden pair of Greek gods, Apollo and Aphrodite.
Sarah frowned, remembering Apollo and Aphrodite were siblings. The relationships in Greek mythology we more contorted her relationship with William.
Regardless, she told herself, they looked perfect together, and she hated it.
Her confusion over his appearance and over the existence of his wife mixed unpleasantly with anger but for a brief moment she was blinded by the fact he was here—he was alive. For weeks she’d been wracked with worry, then anger, then resignation, and to have him here, alive and well . . .
Sarah was happy to see him. And she wanted him to leave all the same.
“You needn’t run off as soon as the weather clears,” Clara was saying, and Sarah refocused on the conversation. “We have a full schedule planned until Twelfth Night, and I insist you stay for the holiday season, should you have nothing pressing requiring your return to London.”
William glanced at Sarah, catching her eyes warily. Clara’s eagerness was contagious, but Sarah bit back a snide remark.
“That would be lovely,” Foxton’s wife replied, tightening her hold on his arm. Sarah’s eyes latched onto the movement, memories flooding through their carefully dammed up barrier. William’s arms around her, the mint smell of him as he kissed her senseless, his hands on her and in her, and the ecstasy she had felt with him, the sound of her name on his voice, and his on hers. The way he made her feel—not just sexually, though that was a feat on its own, but the closeness she had felt with him, the attachment she had formed much too quickly. It seemed this was the price to pay. She was Icarus and stupidly flew too close to the sun.
“If you would excuse me,” Sarah said tightly. “I need to speak with Susanna about something.”
She turned away from William’s handsome face, wondering how she was to get through the next two weeks with him in such close proximity.
“Susanna,” Sarah said, motioning her sister further into the room, her voice low. “Foxton’s duchess, does she look pregnant?”
Susanna glanced across the room. “Definitely,” she replied.
Sarah kept her face void of emotion while she mentally counted backwards. “But more than two months, right?”
“She’s probably closer to six or seven,” Susanna guessed. “Judging by how Mamma was and how big Clara is.”
Sarah and Susanna both glanced at their sister-in-law. The poor dear was a thin woman to begin with, but her frame was now encumbered with the burden of a pregnancy that seemed further along than she claimed.
“Clara is likely carrying five babies in there with how big she is,” Susanna chuckled. “Indeed,” Sarah replied tersely. Seeing the curiosity on Susanna’s face, she quickly changed the subject, forcing a pleasant smile onto her lips. “Have you heard from Ian?”
The mention of her new husband did the trick to distract Susanna, and she smiled brightly. “I had a letter from Ian just this morning. He has returned to England and is on his way. He promised to be here this evening, but I doubt he will make it with this storm.”
“Susanna, I don’t think much could keep that man from being by your side. Ian’s love for you is unconcealed.”
Nodding, Susanna replied, “I know he loves me, but sometimes I worry his love will override his common sense. The weather isn’t exactly the best for traveling.”
Patting her sister reassuringly on the shoulder, Sarah refrained from commenting on her firsthand experience of Ian’s proclivity for traveling in concerning weather.
Speak of the devil, Sarah thought, spying her new brother-in-law in the doorway a moment before Susanna did. Susanna suddenly stood up straighter, her face breaking into a brilliant grin before turning to see her husband maneuvering towards her. Ian stopped before her, oblivious to anyone else around him, smirking as he bent into an overly formal bow.
“You made it,” Susanna said softly.
“Told you I would, didn’t I?” he asked, kissing her offered hand, his hair still damp from the snow outside. He sent a delayed glance towards Sarah. “Sister Sarah, might I borrow my wife for a moment? I have, ah, something important I wish to discuss.”
Sarah wasn’t a fool; she knew what they were up to, and she nodded her permission, not that she really needed to grant a married couple permission for time alone. The two only had eyes for each other as he linked his fingers through hers and led her none so discreetly from the room.
“Was that the mysterious Westcott with your sister?” William’s voice cut into her and she took a steadying breath, hoping he didn’t notice. Did he not know he had broken her heart? And now, he was here—with his new wife—and she was expected to play act as if nothing were amiss?
Sarah had spent five years of a marriage pretending everything was perfect, twelve years pretending the deaths of her brother and father, and then her mother, hadn’t irrevocably altered her, and she faced a lifetime ahead of pretending to be someone she was not, and yet, the prospect of spending a fortnight pretending what she and William had together had never happened might do her irreparable harm.
“Indeed,” Sarah replied, glancing at him but not meeting his gaze. His wife had gone to admire the tree with Mr. Byrne. “It turns out Mr. Westcott is Ian Carlisle, the Earl of Westcott. Apparently, he had been courting my sister Susanna while I was away. Or not courting; it’s all rather confusing. They wed earlier this month.”
William’s appearance set her heart racing into a thunderous turmoil. It was strange to see him dolled up in finery, much less standing in her brother’s sitting room. It didn’t sit with her image of him knee deep in mud, pulling young children from a wrecked carriage.
“Not many earls would stop for
a carriage accident,” William said.
“Not many dukes become surgeons and physicians,” she replied.
“My role as duke is not one of my choosing,” he retorted. “I did not want to be the duke.”
Sarah looked blankly at him, stating, “Well, that’s silly. Everyone wants to be a duke.” But even as she uttered the words, she knew they were not true. Her brother had never wanted to be the duke, and yet he was forced to take up the reins. She didn’t know how or when William had inherited his dukedom, but something told her it wasn’t something he had stepped into lightly.
William smirked. “If you say so.”
Sarah thought all the losses she had experienced in her life meant she was prepared for anything. But this sort of loss was one she was not certain she could handle for the next two weeks.
“I suppose the dukedom itself wasn’t what I was averse to, but what my father’s name represents,” William continued. “Nothing good has ever come from my father. If I was smart, I would run away and let the title die. Though my hesitations had little to do with not wanting to do right by my father and more to do with a certain lady I met on my journey to town.”
Sarah’s eyebrows rose, and she fought for breath. Lord, she would give anything to be alone with this man right this moment, to have him take her in his arms and make her feel loved, just for another moment longer. She was angry with him, to be sure, and confused by his appearance and by his visibly pregnant wife, but despite all of that, she still loved him. And she had missed him.
Gazing down at her, intensity building in his blue eyes, Sarah managed to control her emotions, lest she do something she would regret. Like kiss him in the middle of the sitting room, or make a hideous scene and call out his duplicity. Maybe she should take a page from her brother-in-law’s book and “borrow” William for a few minutes while they discussed something in the hall. But she didn’t want to hear what he had to say. Not now. Not yet.
Sarah gazed at him, fearful every emotion she was feeling was coursing across her face, knowing he could read what she was feeling even if no one else could.
She felt like the worst sort of coward. Was there anything he could say to make everything that had happened between them acceptable? Probably not, she admitted, swallowing back a rush of tears that threatened to burst from her. Nothing could be as it once was. In this instance, it seemed the only way past it was to trudge through.
“Excuse me,” she said as she dipped into a quick curtsy, fleeing his presence, demanding distance between them. Goodness, could that man make the room smolder. It didn’t help that images of his naked torso and backside were running through her head.
“Sarah, dear, are you well?” Clara asked as she approached the doorway.
“Yes, I am well,” Sarah replied. “Everything is lovely, Clara.”
Clara’s face softened. “Thank you, Sarah. That means a great deal to me.”
“I feel a bit of a migraine coming on,” Sarah lied, touching her forehead. “I think I will step upstairs for a rest. Christmastime is such a sad time for me, after all.”
Clara smiled sadly and nodded. “Yes, of course. I cannot imagine how difficult a joyous holiday would be without members of the family present.” Clara paused, searching Sarah’s face. “And Andrew mentioned Christmas Eve was also the day your husband passed. You must miss him terribly.”
Sarah sucked in a tight breath, but her face managed to remain unruffled. Impassive. Indifferent.
The words hung between them awkwardly and she could see Clara regretted her words. Clara had the sort of eyes where every emotion and thought in her head was written clear as a summer day in their brown depths.
“Yes, well,” Sarah managed, not allowing her sister-in-law to apologize, not wanting to hear her pity. “It has been a trying day for us all.” Her eyes found William’s across the room, and she felt her resolve start to crumble.
With a reassuring smile and a gentle hand on Clara’s arm, she turned away from the lovely duchess, from William and his wife and the Christmas joy in the room, from that damn tree glowing with candles and walnuts strung on string. At the moment, she had nothing to be happy about.
Had William been told the story of the past two months as if it were someone else’s life, he would have had a good laugh and felt sorry for the poor bugger. As it was, he could not find anything comical in his own predicament.
How had he stumbled across Sarah’s brother’s house, of all the homes in Kent?
He’d recognized her a heartbeat after she recognized him, the sight of her turning his blood cold. What she must think of him, with a pregnant wife at his side, suddenly appearing on her brother’s doorstep?
He cringed inwardly at the thought of her in such a position. It felt so wrong, all of it. Not that he’d had much choice when he’d arrived at his father’s London mansion two months earlier, only to learn his world was about to be flipped on its axis. The first blow had been the news of his brother’s recent death—making Will the heir to the title. And then had come his father’s request. His father’s penchant for surprising him should not have come as a shock, and in his grief over his brother’s death, William could only agree to everything Old Foxton had asked of him.
“Palmer insisted we stop,” Anna was saying, and William suppressed the urge to glare at the woman. He had not been Lord Palmer Hastings in over twenty years but could not bring himself to correct her. William Gordon had no place in this new life of his, desperate as he was to run back to Scotland and reclaim the life he had chosen and built for himself, he would not abandon his brother’s bride and their child she was carrying. As has been his father’s wishes, he had stepped in to fill his brother’s role—both as the new duke, and as Anna’s groom.
He accepted his father’s terms, not out of loyalty to the old rat, but out of duty to his brother. Heathmont had died before he could marry Lady Anna; the least he could do for his brother was make certain his child didn’t have the sort of childhood William had endured, condemned for an indiscretion that was no fault of his own.
His mind had been set. Everything that had transpired on his journey south had been pushed to the back of his mind, locked tightly in a box of happiness that he could never touch again.
Until a downed tree blocking the snow-covered roadway had led them on a merry detour through the Kent countryside. When turned away from four coaching inns, he, Anna, and Tobias had approached the first house that showed any signs of life in such dreary weather.
Of course it had to be Sarah’s brother’s house where they found shelter. Fate would be that cruel.
William watched Sarah, surrounded by the siblings she had spoken of with such love. That love shone on her face, though she was not as animated and carefree as she had been during the days he had known her months ago. Back in her greys, her hair pulled tight at the back of her head, she looked older in her widow weeds than her true age would suggest, more matronly. More off limits than ever before. He ached for her, in every way, more than he had since their departure from each other. Time had not released him from his feelings, and seeing her here threw him deeper down the dark hole he had fallen down when he first met her. And now, Sarah would barely look at him.
I don’t blame her, he thought, seeing the pain in her gaze as she stepped away to speak with her sister, the way her jaw tightened as she forced a smile onto her face. No one else seemed to realize the anger that was coursing through her, the pain she was in, though perhaps he only took notice because it reflected his own emotions.
A gentleman appeared in the doorway, and he was quickly by Sarah’s side, gazing at her sister with such adoration it was almost embarrassing to witness. The gentleman looked familiar as he passed through the room, pulling Sarah’s sister out the doors. No one seemed to have anything to say about it.
He had to speak to Sarah. He had to say something before he burst.
“Anna,” William said to his wife, barely glancing at her.
“Have Tobias show you the tree he seems so interested in.” William passed Anna off to his new-found cousin who was more than happy to oblige.
“It’s such a curiosity!” Tobias was saying to her as they moved closer to the tree with the Duchess of Bradstone.
Sarah was standing alone, and William seized the moment, wishing more than anything he could just explain away the past two months, but he knew there were no words to make any of this better.
“Was that the mysterious Westcott with your sister?” William asked, reaching for an entry into a conversation and finally realizing where he’d seen that gentleman before. Her face was pleasant as she gazed up at him, betraying little of what she was truly feeling. He doubted any of her siblings took notice. They all seemed too caught up in themselves to see the pain she was in.
“Indeed,” Sarah replied, not meeting his gaze. “It turns out Mr. Westcott is Ian Carlisle, the Earl of Westcott. Apparently, he had been courting my sister Susanna while I was away. Or not courting; it’s all rather confusing. They wed earlier this month.”
“Not many earls would stop for a carriage accident,” William said.
“Not many dukes become surgeons and physicians,” she replied.
“My role as duke is not one of my choosing,” he retorted. “I did not want to be the duke.”
“Well, that’s silly,” Sarah said. “Everyone wants to be a duke.”
He knew the falsity of that statement, and he could see that she realized it herself. He had never wanted anything to do with this blasted dukedom, but with the death of his brother and father there really wasn’t much choice. He could ignore Foxton completely, go back to being a surgeon in Scotland, but the people who depended on Foxton would suffer. They’d suffered enough at the hands of his father; he wouldn’t ruin their lives further.
William smirked, striving for some form of levity. “If you say so. I suppose the dukedom itself wasn’t what I was averse to, but what my father’s name represents. Nothing good has ever come from my father. If I was smart, I would run away and let the title die. Though my hesitations had little to do with not wanting to do right by my father and more to do with a certain lady I met on my journey to town.”
