by Erica Taylor
“I’m in no condition to dance at the moment,” Lydia replied, a broad smile stretching across her face as she met Sarah’s eyes. “Because of fatigue from the journey to Kent. You must stand up with his grace, Sarah. Such a handsome duke, you never know what good friends you could become.”
William held out his arm, watching her expectantly.
Burning with frustration, Sarah slipped her hand onto his forearm, careful to give as little pressure as possible, hoping to avoid contact any unnecessary. With a dark glare towards Lydia, who simply winked at her, Sarah turned towards the dance floor where the strains of a waltz were wafting over the crowd, a grouping of twenty or so people coupling up for the dance.
“You look lovely this evening, Sarah,” William said softly, so only she could hear.
She forced her features into coolness and detachment. “Thank you,” she bit out more bitterly than she wanted to sound. She faced him as the dance began, fighting back the anger and hurt this dance would cause her. It was all there, bubbling beneath the surface, fighting within her as he took her hand in his, his other hand around her waist.
“You don’t have to be that way with me, you know,” William said after a long moment as they moved across the room.
“What way is that?”
“Disconnected. As if nothing distresses you.”
Sarah’s jaw tightened, but her face remained unchanged, for which she was grateful. She didn’t want him to see how he affected her.
“You’re not the ice-cold queen you have everyone fooled into believing you to be,” William said, his voice low as he pulled her a touch closer, dancing the line of what was proper for a widow to be dancing with a married duke.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sarah replied evenly.
“I think you do,” William replied with a low chuckle. His thumb moved up and down along her back, his hand not moving but the pressure of his thumb sending tremors of heat down her spine.
“The weather seems to have turned for the worse again,” Sarah said lightly, trying to ignore how warm his hand was, or how wonderful he smelled, or how it felt so blissful to be in his arms once again. “Will that delay your departure?”
“I expect not,” William replied. “If the weather is clear in the morning, we will leave. Anna is eager to return to London.”
It was a stupid thing to do, but Sarah tilted her head up to meet his eyes. “And you?” she asked, hesitantly, not truly wanting him to answer. “Do you want to leave?”
His gaze was charged with a fervor Sarah could feel down to her toes, but she did not look away. This man holding her in his arms, turning her about the ballroom, was everything she had ever wanted. Gentle, kind, handsome, capable—not to mention, he made her laugh and forced her to face the world when she doubted she had the confidence to do it on her own. And she couldn’t have him, all because of some cruel trick of fate, dangling happiness before her like a carrot in a race, and all she was allowed was to look at it. Never again touch, never embrace as her own, never to find solace in his arms again.
“Please tell me you want to leave,” Sarah whispered, blinking away the pain. It was all too much. Lydia’s pregnancy, William’s marriage. The pity she felt for herself burned but she would not allow herself to wallow. She was more than the sum of her misfortunes.
“I could never admit to something so utterly false,” William replied, his voice gentle. His eyes darted to her lips, breaking their connection and Sarah pulled herself away.
Run, she told herself, stepping out of his embrace.
Run, she repeated as she left the dance floor and fled the ballroom, thankful the music didn’t stop at her hasty retreat. The guests she passed on her way out the door didn’t say anything to her, but they looked at her with surprise. Even if this was the most supportive audience imaginable—consisting other family, members of the local gentry, people she had known all her life—they still stared. Like they had for years.
Sarah was done. Done with proper, done with family obligations, done with pretending like this damn man hadn’t ripped her heart to pieces and torn her life apart.
Susanna caught up to her in the hall, catching her arm as Sarah began to ascend the stairs.
“Sarah, what is wrong?” her sister asked. “Goodness, you’re shaking. What has happened?”
“Please Susanna, let me be,” Sarah said quietly.
“Sarah, please tell me what has upset you,” her sister asked, sweetly. “You were dancing with Foxton, was that not agreeable?”
“None of this is agreeable,” Sarah retorted. “I cannot be in the same room as that man, much less pretend everything is wonderful. The truth is that nothing is wonderful.”
“Sarah?” came her brother’s voice and soon Andrew was in the front foyer with them.
“I will be in my room,” Sarah snapped. “Please excuse my rudeness.”
“I’m less concerned about your rudeness, and more concerned about you,” Andrew said, following her up the stairs. “Did Foxton say something to upset you?”
“It is none of your concern,” Sarah replied, stomping up the stairs, her brother and sister following.
“Sarah, you have us terribly worried,” Susanna said.
“Please tell us what is wrong,” Andrew pleaded.
Sarah rounded on them. “That man is wrong. His marriage is wrong, him being here is wrong, everything about the past two months has been wrong.”
“I do not understand,” Andrew said quietly.
“I met Foxton prior to his arrival here before Christmas,” she admitted. “And the last time he danced with me, he asked me to marry him. Then he disappears, and for two months I have been wracked with worry and anger, only for him to arrive on your doorstep with a pregnant wife. I simply cannot pretend any longer. I cannot bear to look at him when . . .” Sarah tipped her head back as she prayed for composure, swallowing down the swell of emotion that was overwhelming her. “When I cannot have him. Forgive me. I’m going to bed.”
Sarah turned, storming up the rest of the stairs, and didn’t see her siblings exchange an astonished glance, laced with worry.
William watched Sarah walk away, frozen for a brief moment in fear.
She doesn’t love you, pierced through his mind, the pain of the words throbbing through his thoughts.
A roar of sound came rushing back to him and he became aware of the music of the waltz and the dancing couples around him. How long had he stood there, struck dumb in the middle of the ballroom? Ten minutes? An hour? Half a second?
He escaped to the confines of the crowd, intent on following Sarah out of the room. She was angry with him, and he didn’t blame her, but she needed to say the words to him. She needed to yell and punch and take her anger out on him before it consumed her from the inside out. He could see it happening already, the light and laughter he had seen in her during those days in the country had begun to dim. His chest tightened, his heart beating heavily beneath his ribs, constrained and confined.
“Palmer,” Anna said, stepping into his path. He bit back a nasty reply; Anna didn’t deserve his bile. It wasn’t her fault Heath had died, leaving her in such a state. It wasn’t her fault his father had forced him to take Heath’s place at the altar.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” William said, moving to step around, her but she stopped him.
“Where are you going?” Anna asked, her plump lips turned down in a frown.
“I need to step out for a moment,” he said, his hands fisting at his sides. “Not to worry.”
“What just happened with Lady Radcliff ?” she asked, her eyes laced with worry.
“Just a misunderstanding,” he said.
“Don’t embarrass me, Palmer,” Anna said, sucking in a breath. “That was a lover’s quarrel if I ever saw one. Have you been carrying on an affair with Lady Radcliff ?”
A few sets of eyes glanced their direction and William met each glance with disdain
ful scorn.
Pulling Anna to the edge of the room, he said gruffly, “Keep your voice down, Anna. What you saw was nothing. I am not having an affair with Lady Radcliff. Her brother is our host, for heaven’s sake. What sort of heathen do you take me for?”
Tears welled in Anna’s large doe eyes. “Well, I don’t know what to think.”.
“Do not worry yourself over Lady Radcliff,” William said, handing over his handkerchief. “It was a misunderstanding. I am simply going to apologize and make certain she and her brother do not take offense. Sit here and rest. You really should be off your feet.”
Anna lowered herself down onto the bench, and—rather than sitting properly with her back straight—rested in an unladylike pose against the wall. When standing, the cut of her dress did a decent job of obstructing her pregnancy, but now, slumped against the wall, her pregnant belly was unabashedly visible.
“I don’t like her, Palmer,” Anna said softly. “She’s just so . . . unemotional . . . and proper.”
William held back his defense of Sarah’s behavior, knowing it would make matters worse. “You promise there is nothing between you and Lady Radcliff ? I am your wife, Palmer, and even though I was not your choice, I still hold that position.”
“Lady Radcliff and I are simply friends,” William replied, regretting lying to her. But what could he tell her? He and Sarah, as complicated as their feelings may be, could be nothing more than friends now that he was married to Anna.
Spotting Tobias, William waved him over.
“Your grace, is everything all right?” his cousin asked, bending over beside Anna.
“I am fine, Tobias, simply tired,” she replied, rubbing a hand over her swollen stomach.
“Tobias, stay with Anna for a moment,” William instructed, grateful his cousin was here to step in. No matter the months since their marriage, Anna still felt like a stranger to him. Try as he might, he could not muster the sort of protective instincts one should feel for one’s wife. Truth be told, he barely liked her, and she was the last sort of woman he would have ever chosen for himself. Anna was young and pretty, but also shallow and bit . . . vapid. She found the oddest things amusing and sometimes William wondered over her mental acuity. She just seemed to have air where her brain should have been. He was appreciative he could hand Anna off to Tobias from time to time.
“I am better, Palmer,” Anna sighed. “Go make certain your friend is well.”
William left the ballroom, determined to find Sarah and finish this argument, once and for all.
What he did not expect to find was Sarah reduced to a puddle of tears.
William stood at the nearly closed door to what appeared to be Sarah’s bedchamber, watching the scene, wracked with worry and guilt. He had done this to her. He knew her anger towards him had not dissipated, much as she’d tried otherwise, and he knew he’d hurt her, but to see it for himself, made the impact on his heart tenfold worse.
Bradstone and Lady Westcott stood just inside the frame, watching as Sarah wept, slumped on the floor against her bed, her body wracked with thundering sobs.
“She won’t let me comfort her,” Lady Westcott said to him, glancing his way. “Whatever did you say to her to upset her so?”
William didn’t respond, simply pushed passed Sarah’s siblings, moving to the bed and pulling her into his arms.
“Foxton, what are you doing?” Bradstone asked but Lady Westcott stopped him from interfering.
“Sarah, darling,” William cooed, wiping the tears from her face with the pads of his thumbs, pushing the mess of dark curls back from her eyes. One look in her sorrow-filled blue eyes told him everything he needed to know—he had completely destroyed her. His brave, strong pillar of strength, tenderhearted Lady Sarah was wrecked. He had managed to break something that he thought infallible.
Sarah blinked at him dumbly before burying her head against his chest, her body shaking in anguish. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly to him, fighting the tears that he wanted to shed, for what he had done, for the life together they had both been robbed of.
“What is going on?” he heard Bradstone ask quietly.
“Can you imagine, Andrew,” Lady Westcott said softly beside him, “that Sarah is heartbroken? The Duke of Foxton broke her heart.”
“I don’t see how that is possible,” Bradstone rebutted. “I thought they just met?”
Lady Westcott shook her head. “No, Sarah said they had met before, danced, and were to be married. Don’t you remember when Sarah returned from the north just before All Hallows Eve?”
“She was . . . happy,” Bradstone acknowledged with a sigh. “Incredibly so.”
“She was in love,” Lady Westcott corrected. “You know what that is like, Andrew. Didn’t you notice how she was painfully aware of everything, as if she was anticipating something?”
“She watched the mail for days, weeks even,” Bradstone replied.
“Every time there was a knock at the door, Sarah was on alert,” Lady Westcott continued. “She was always looking out the window at the street, searching for something or someone whenever we would go out. But her joy turned to pain. She mourned for someone. He was gone from her life and she felt the loss as though he had died.”
“And then he appears here, married no less, and it is as if she has endured that loss all over again,” Bradstone concluded.
“Can you imagine, Andrew?” Lady Westcott inquired. “Can you imagine if you lost Clara before you even had the chance to start a life with her, what that would do to you?” There was a long pause which seemed to answer her question. “I couldn’t imagine what losing Ian would do to me.”
“I wouldn’t be able to breathe,” Bradstone replied quietly. “That sort of pain . . .”
William turned his head to regard Sarah’s siblings. “She wouldn’t want your pity.”
Lady Westcott smiled, sadly. “We don’t pity her,” the countess explained. “Our hearts are broken for her. For both of you, it would seem.”
“I cannot make this right with her,” William said softly. “I don’t know what to do.”
“You’re doing it right now,” Lady Westcott said. “It seems you are the only remedy for a pain you created.”
William tightened his arms around Sarah, burying his face in her hair. “I’m so very sorry, Sarah,” he whispered to her. “I broke you. And I don’t know how to fix it. Tell me how to make this right.”
After a moment, Sarah pulled away from him. The tears were still streaming down her face, but her breathing was deep and eerily calm. Her blue eyes, though filled with tears, were spitting fire.
“Don’t presume you have the power to break me,” Sarah stated, rising to her feet. “I may be upset, but I am not broken. My heart may be in shreds, but I’m not so weak to be reduced to nothing by you.”
“Sarah, that’s not what I meant,” William said as he rose, reaching for her, but Sarah stepped out of his grasp.
“I do not need the attentions of a gentleman to determine my worth or secure my happiness,” she snapped at him.
“I am well aware,” William agreed, crossing his arms. “But you must admit this torturous situation between us is far from ideal.”
“Admit what?” she asked, moving about the room. “That I fell hopelessly head over heels in love with you over those three days? Fine, Will, I admit that, as much as it pains me to say it now, I love you. In that short amount of time, you became the most important person in my life, dearer to me than anyone. That doesn’t make sense and shouldn’t be possible, but it is the truth.”
“Sarah, what in the hell—” Bradstone started, stepping further into the room, but Sarah cut him off.
“Andrew Macalister, you will stay out of this,” she snapped, the command in her voice palpable. For a split second, William had a glimpse of a younger brother being set down by his older sister, but Bradstone recovered quickly.
“I am the Duke
of—”
“I don’t care if you’re the king himself, you’re just as mad if you think you have any part of this. This conversation is between Foxton and myself. You will leave.”
“Sarah,” Bradstone began, but Sarah cut him off again.
“Leave,” she said with such force that even William felt obliged to comply.
With a dark glare in William’s direction, Bradstone quit the room. Lady Westcott said nothing, sending a reassuring glance to her sister before following their brother out the room, the door closing quietly behind them.
“Remind me to never get on your bad side,” William stated, but Sarah turned her glare onto him.
“You are already there,” Sarah snapped, infuriated. “I have tried, for two months, to feel nothing towards you. For you to appear here, at my family seat of all the places you could have gone, and for you to have a pregnant wife, is astonishing. It is heartbreaking. For two weeks I have tried to not be irritated with you.” Sarah laughed, crossing her arms. “How can I be cross at you for doing what was right? For duty and loyalty? Will, I love those things about you. But I am so angry with you—with our circumstances. I simply cannot do this with you any longer.”
“Do you think you are the only one who has suffered?” William demanded, furious and wrecked by the whole situation. “I fell in love with you, too, Sarah, against every rational thought. And when my father asked the impossible of me, I wanted more than anything to refuse him.”
“Then why didn’t you?” Sarah cried. “You are a grown man and you were not beholden to him. Why did you jump when he asked you to?”
“Because I don’t deserve you!” he snapped. “Because I gave you up when he asked me to. I was in Hastings House for two days before my father died, and it was torturous. I’ve lived my entire life reminded that my mother’s affair makes me less valuable as a person, unworthy. I fought for years against his words, made something of myself despite what my father thought I could achieve, and yet stepping over the threshold erased all of it. My father made it clear that was exactly how he still viewed me. How could I think you viewed me any differently?”
