by Erica Taylor
“A solicitor?” she asked out loud, wondering if her mind was still clouded by the laudanum. “Isn’t Mr. Byrne your solicitor?”
“He is, but not the type I need,” William replied. He sat forward and took her hand, lacing his fingers through her own. “Anna deceived me when we wed. She told me her name was Lady Anna and that she carried my brother’s child. Both have turned out to be lies. I mean to have the marriage annulled.”
“Will, that would be condemning her child to a horrible fate,” she reminded him.
“I will settle a substantial amount on the pair and send them off without a backward glance,” he said, rather malevolently. “I don’t want her in my life, Sarah. She means nothing to me.”
Sarah’s face softened at his tone, recognizing the anger that masked the pain. “Except her child could be Heath’s. There is no way to know for certain. Could you knowingly condemn your brother’s child?”
Shaking his head he replied, “It’s not Heath’s baby, no matter what she claims. Though you are correct, we will never know for certain. But what I do know is that I was led into the marriage under false pretenses, lies that convinced me to wed her against my better judgment, against the wishes of my own heart.”
Sarah shook her head softly. “Will, don’t sentence an innocent child to a life of taunts and second-class status because you were vengeful towards his mother.”
“You will not change my mind on this,” he said, standing. He learned forward and kissed her forehead. “You need more rest, Sarah, so don’t worry yourself over this. I will make it right.”
With a sigh, Sarah leaned against her pillows. He was a dog with a bone, unwilling to see past what he believed to be true. In time he could come to the realization there was nothing to be done about his marriage status, and therefore the future held no promise for the two of them. The sooner he realized this, the sooner he would move on with his life and forget all about her.
Sarah woke again sometime later, the light from outside having dimmed into the glow of a gloomy sunset, casting grey shadows across the room. The fire had died into golden embers, but it still provided heat.
After a moment of staring across the greying room, Sarah realized she was not alone.
A slim figure sat in the chair William had occupied earlier in the day, assuming it was the same day.
“Lady Radcliff ?” came a young woman’s voice, Anna’s voice. William’s wife.
Without prompting, the duchess lit a match, holding it to a candle wick. The wick flamed brightly as it caught fire, the young woman’s face lit up in stark shadows. She set the candle on the side table and scooted the chair forward.
“Your grace,” Sarah said. “I trust you are well?”
“I am better,” the duchess replied. “My husband assures me I will survive the journey to London as he has plans for us to leave on the morrow.”
“I wish you a safe journey then,” Sarah said, not sure what else there was to say. Since William’s arrival at Brad-stone Park, Sarah had done her best to avoid being alone with his wife, not wanting to look at her, or think about her in that position in William’s life. It seemed, however, that the Duchess of Foxton had something she wished to say.
“I wanted to speak with you before we left,” Anna began. “It has been difficult to find a time to speak with you alone; my husband seems to have taken up residence in your bed.”
Sarah’s eyes popped open wide. “Your grace—” Sarah began but the duchess held up a hand to cut her off.
“I can tell you have been injured, so I know there has been nothing untoward happening in the past few days. However, that is not to say there hasn’t been anything indecorous between you both prior to that. I am not a fool, Lady Radcliff.”
“Sarah, please.”
The duchess narrowed her eyes. “I am not a fool, Sarah,” she repeated. “Palmer has eyes only for you. He has never looked at me how he looks at you, and I don’t expect him to. Palmer might not be in love with me, but he is married to me. For now, while our marriage is in its infancy, I ask you to respect that union. I am here to ask you to stay away from my husband.”
Fair enough, Sarah thought, but didn’t say the words. “I assure you, I have no intentions towards your husband. Though I have no control over how William—Foxton— looks at me.”
“But you have not dissuaded him,” Anna said, tilting her nose in the air. “I daresay you have even encouraged him.”
Sarah studied the duchess, her pale complexion a little waxier than what was healthy. Her face was thin, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Rouge had been applied to give the impression of good health, but Sarah could tell she was still ill.
“Will you promise to not enter into a liaison with Palmer?”
Could she promise that? Could she pretend William did not matter, that nothing would ever happen between them?
Shaking her head, Sarah uttered a small “No.”
Anna sucked in her breath through her nose, her body straining with agitation. “You will regret it if you do.”
“I cannot promise something like that because I cannot see the future,” Sarah replied. “Can you? What happens when your ambitions to live as his wife fall through? You coerced him to marry you on a lie, your grace. That’s a flawed foundation for a relationship.”
“Not if he is still harboring a tendre for you,” Anna rebutted. “You need to let him go.”
Sarah knew she was right, but the words still stung. “And if I don’t?”
“Then I will tell everyone of your affair.”
“There is no affair,” Sarah countered. “And you have no proof.”
“I do not need proof,” Anna replied. “All I need is a few anonymous comments to the gossip rags and the hot sheets will be overrun with speculation. It will be the story of the season. The new Duke of Foxton tossing over his duchess while she is still pregnant, for one of the most proper ladies of the ton, from such a loved and prominent family. The tongues will wag.”
Sarah looked away, knowing the duchess had a point. The gossip sheets didn’t need proof to print their slander, they just needed a source, someone to give them something to go on. She and William’s every movement would be watched like a hawk. If she left under those circumstances, it would make the gossip even worse. The damage it could do to her family—to Norah or Mara—could not be ignored. She would not risk the fall out. She’d had her chance at marriage, family, happiness; she would not do something to deny her sisters the same opportunity.
“I have not and will not encourage Will—Foxton—to engage in anything inappropriate while he is married to you.”
Anna eyed her curiously. “Why do you call him William?” she asked.
Sarah crossed her arms. “Has he not shared the story with you?”
Anna shook her head.
A tiny, vindictive part of Sarah wanted to throw all the lurid details in her face, make the woman squirm. But Sarah was a lady, and ladies did not kiss and tell.
“When he was traveling south in response to his summoning, we were both stranded at the same coaching in due to a thunderstorm,” Sarah explained. “I offered him a place in my carriage en route to London. We only traveled together a few days but quickly formed . . . an attachment. When we separated in London, he made promises to me that he would call in a few days’ time and we would resume our relationship. Obviously, that didn’t happen.”
“So, when we arrived at Christmas it was the first time you had seen each other since that parting?” Anna asked, thinking through the information.
“Correct,” Sarah replied. “He did not know who my brother was, and I didn’t know who his father was. It was a complete coincidence that you came to Bradstone Park.”
A wide smile spread across the duchess’s face, which was curious as Sarah didn’t see what could possibly be amusing about this entire conversation.
“I thought . . .” Anna laughed, her hand over her mouth, try
ing to contain her glee. “I though you two formed your attachment during our time here! But it was months ago?” Anna was laughing quite ardently now, and Sarah frowned. “His marrying me prevented him from marrying you! Oh, that is grand!”
Sarah crossed her arms before her, much to the complaint of her shoulder. “I don’t see how any of this is amusing.”
“Oh, you wouldn’t, would you?” Anna said, her voice turning to a sneer. “You must understand, this couldn’t be more perfect if I’d arranged it myself. You and your fine trappings, fancy carriages, lofty titles, your perfect life, and it is measly little me who gets to claim the one thing you truly want.”
Sarah was too shocked to manage anything to say.
“And Palmer, the bastard son, forced to return into the family he despises, into his brother’s role, and he can’t even marry the woman he wants! He is stuck with me and forced to raise his brother’s son. Oh this is rich.” Anna laughed again. “Truly, the best sort of revenge.”
“What could you possibly want revenge for?” Sarah asked. “What has William ever done to you?”
“He has done nothing to me personally,” Anna acknowledged. “But what his brother did to me was enough to force the entire family to pay. And pay he will.”
Sarah wanted to rave at the woman, berate her for her cruelty, for her coercion and manipulation, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was in the way she clipped her vowels, her accent slipping a bit in her laughter, but Sarah realized Anna was much lower born than she wanted to let on.
“Are you from London?” Sarah asked, and the duchess nodded, not noticing Sarah’s curious silence in her laughing fit.
If Anna was from London and was lowly born, that could explain her desire to hurt the Hastings. As a representation of everything aristocratic, higher born, wealthy, the Hastings were all the things she did not have. Anna knew enough of high society to pass for one of them, but something had always seemed off, as if she was impersonating a duchess. Perhaps her mother had been a lady’s maid, or a housekeeper for one of the aristocratic families. Old Foxton had been a scoundrel and involved in all things deplorable. He could have been the source of her ire.
A sadness swept thought Sarah, wondering what life must have been like for Anna to hatch such an elaborate, appalling plan. To train herself to be a lady, forcing herself to be flawless, only to put herself in the path of a wealthy gentleman who could take her from her dreary existence. And for Heathmont to throw her away at the first mention of expecting him to follow through.
Sarah leaned towards the duchess, laying a tender hand on her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. The duchess stopped giggling at stared at Sarah, eyes wide.
“I am sorry for whatever hardships you had to endure,” Sarah said gently. “I cannot imagine how Heathmont’s rejection must have hurt, causing your judgment to be forever altered.”
Anna stared at her, jaw slack before remembering her composure. Snapping her jaw shut with a click of her teeth, she blinked away the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.
“Thank you,” Anna said.
“I am no threat to you, your grace. I doubt we will see much of each other again, but if there is ever anything you need, I hope you will not hesitate to ask.”
Anna pulled her hand away. “You cannot expect us to be friends?”
Sarah shook her head. “I doubt we will ever be friends. But there is no reason for us to be enemies.”
Watching her warily, Anna nodded slowly. “You will leave Palmer to me?”
“I will not encourage him in any form,” Sarah replied.
“But I cannot make him love you, or even change his mind where you are concerned.”
“Fair enough,” Anna said, with a nod. “I thank you for proving to be the lady you are said to be. Your character is commendable.”
“Yes, well,” Sarah said, forcing a smile onto her lips. “Would you care for tea? I can ring to have some sent up.”
“No,” Anna said curtly and rose. “I do not wish to intrude on you any longer. Good day, Sarah.”
“Good day, your grace,” Sarah said politely, decorum ever controlling her actions, even when faced with a vindictive, albeit damaged, duchess.
Sarah wasn’t certain how long she remained alone in her room, staring aimlessly at the wall. She didn’t see the greying light turn to night, darkness stretching further into the room until it touched each corner, nor did she hear the bustling of the staff moving about their evening duties. Her maid, Lynette, was in and out, refreshing tea, bringing a warm broth to keep her strength, on William’s orders. The maid stoked the fire, the heat never fading, but never really reaching her thoughts. Her mind raced with the possible implications of Anna’s threat, the urge to do what she could to protect her family.
In the end, it was simple. A plan had already begun to form for how she could exit society gracefully. Lydia’s announcement had prompted the decision, but the threads had been there for months. She could not disappear completely, as she loved her siblings and wished to be a part of their lives. On occasion she knew this would force her into the path of the haute ton. But she could leave behind the life that had been stifling her for years, and pursue something that she thought might bring her actual joy.
She’d always known she’d have to separate from William. Anna’s threats changed nothing there, other than filling her with pity for the misguided woman so desperate for a place in society that she would lie and connive to get it. Perhaps a few years would teach Anna how empty it all was, when viewed from the inside.
Tears dripped down her cheeks and Sarah swiped at them with the back of her hand. She had already made the decision to leave, had already come to this conclusion naturally on her own. It wasn’t until she was forced with having to enact it that the weight of what she was about to do hit her completely. She was going to walk away from William, for his own good, and the worst part was that she had to encourage him to seek refuge in the arms of another woman. The one who had orchestrated the whole mess.
With each day, Sarah wondered what more she could handle, if the next hurdle would be the one that caused her to lose herself, her mind, her composure, lose everything that mattered. But Sarah knew she could do this; she could push William away, for she could not forgive herself if she did not.
As she watched the sour face of Mrs. Coltrane stuff another scone into her mouth, Sarah was beginning to regret leaving Kent. After spending three weeks convalescing at Bradstone Park, she’d been ecstatic when the physician proclaimed her well enough to travel. Her siblings had already left for town, and while the silence had been charming, it had also driven her a bit mad.
Too much means with too much time on her hands. The only logical thing was to write letters.
To Lady Ensbrook, checking in on the countess and her orphaned grandchildren.
To her solicitor in London, requesting he begin to redistribute her Radcliff inheritance.
To Andrew’s physician, Dr. Lennox, and then to the contacts he sent back.
All she did for three weeks was plan her exit, an escape path towards a newer, happier version of herself, only to be thumped back into the past at the arrival of her dead husband’s youngest brother’s maternal grandmother.
Well, that’s not confusing, Sarah thought to herself. Why could her Radcliff troubles not be over?
“I do hate to impose upon you, my lady,” Mrs. Coltrane was saying. “But your sister-in-law was not replying to any of my correspondence.”
Of course she wasn’t. Lydia’s pregnancy had brought about a whole new array of issues, foremost was Lydia’s abdication from anything Radcliff or Coltrane, leaving Sarah to deal with the tiresome matron.
“It is no imposition, Mrs. Coltrane,” Sarah replied, taking a sip of her tea. Her shoulder still ached, but her mobility seemed to be returning to normal. The carriage ride into the city hadn’t been pleasant with her sore rib, but thankfully it had been short, only a few ho
urs. Sarah was not eager to jump into another days-long carriage journey and worried that was what Mrs. Coltrane was here for.
“Spencer is not yet accustomed to his studies at Eton, it being his first year,” Mrs. Coltrane said. “I fear the boys are not nice to him.”
“Oh no?” Sarah asked with mock worry, failing to see how any of this was her problem. “Is there anything I can do to help?” Please say no, please say no.
“Actually, a thought had occurred to me,” Mrs. Coltrane replied, reaching for another scone. Sarah blinked rapidly to prevent her eyes from rolling towards the ceiling. “Your brother,” the woman continued, slathering cream onto the scone. “He’s at Eton still, isn’t he?”
“Lord Charlie is still at Eton, yes,” Sarah replied.
“Well, I think, as a relative, he should take an initiative and stand up for the boy,” Mrs. Coltrane came around to her point and plopped the cream covered scone into her mouth as a reward. Cream dripped from her fingers onto the sofa.
Sarah’s eyes followed the offending cream, reminding herself again to continue swallowing down every bitter thing she had wanted to say to the woman since Spencer had inherited two years ago.
“I don’t see what Charlie can do,” Sarah replied. “And he’s not exactly a relative . . .”
“Spencer is your brother-in-law, and Lord Charlie is your brother,” Mrs. Coltrane said. “That makes them practically brothers. He should show some brotherly support. Teach him how to throw a punch.”
Sarah’s lips twitched at the thought of her book and microscope-obsessed brother teaching someone to punch, or even executing one himself.
“I am sure there is something else that can be done other than instructing the boy to turn to violence,” Sarah said.
“Lending his name at least would go a long way,” Mrs. Coltrane added. “If the brother of the Duke of Bradstone vouched for the boy, the others might take notice.”
