by Erica Taylor
“The sixth born son of a duke championing a marquess would matter to the other boys at school?” Sarah asked, certain the woman hadn’t thought this through.
“It’s not as if Spencer has much wealth to build his own influence, with you and the other pulling a widow’s cut per quarter.” Mrs. Coltrane scoffed. “All he has is his title, and it doesn’t account for much these days. The other boys know it; I’m sure their fathers talk to them about it, saying all sorts of malicious things about my Spencer.”
Sarah doubted the other boys’ fathers sat around during term breaks gossiping about the young Marquess of Radcliff.
“Mrs. Coltrane, it is not as though the estate is destitute,” Sarah replied. “Are you monitoring the estate manger’s reports each month?”
“That fool?” Mrs. Coltrane mocked. “I sacked him months ago. Wanted to invest funds into steamships. Steamships, can you imagine? Spencer would be a laughing stock.”
“Quite,” Sarah replied, biting her tongue. “Well, I do not know what can be done about Spencer. He will just have to learn to stand up for himself.”
“How can he after you abandoned the boy?” Mrs. Coltrane asked. “Mrs. Coltrane, I hardly abandoned him,” Sarah replied.
“Yes, you did, you and that other one,” she replied, shaking a beefy finger at her. “You two married those brothers, and it was awfully convenient for them to die and leave you a hefty portion of the estate. You know what happens when you keep chopping away at a loaf of bread? Eventually all you have left is crumbs. And that’s all my Spencer has. Three dead brothers, two errant sisters, and crumbs.”
“What would you like me to do about it?” Sarah asked. How had the happiness of Spencer Hartford become her responsibility?
“You should remarry,” Mrs. Coltrane declared. “It has been three years since Geoffrey died, I say its time you moved on with your life.”
If only Mrs. Coltrane knew how hard she was trying to do just that.
“Yes, well,” Sarah replied, not really having an answer. “I will do my best, I suppose.”
“And you will talk to your brother about defending my Spencer?”
With a sigh, Sarah nodded. “I can write to Charlie and . . . see what he thinks.” Really, it was the best Sarah was willing to give. Spencer was not her, nor Charlie’s, responsibility.
“Very good,” Mrs. Coltrane replied. Glancing down at the nearly empty tray of scones she added, “These scones were dry. Barely choked them down. I would have Brad-stone’s new duchess speak to the cook.”
Judging from the crumbs on the front of Mrs. Coltrane’s dress, it didn’t seem as though the woman had any trouble in choking them down.
“I will speak with the duchess about the scones,” Sarah replied evenly.
Mrs. Coltrane took her leave, and one more scone, and Sarah was thankful that interview was over.
Mrs. Coltrane had been a thorn in her side ever since Dalton had died in Africa, leaving the title to then eleven year-old Spencer. The product of Old Radcliff ’s third marriage, the young marchioness had passed just after Sarah’s marriage to Geoffrey eight years ago. Geoffrey had ignored the lad, never really putting much effort into looking after his youngest brother. With three much older and healthier brothers ahead of him, Spencer never anticipated inheriting the marquessate. He was either the luckiest young man in England, or the most cursed.
“My lady?” Howards called from the doorway. “You have another caller. A Mrs. Maria Townsend.”
Sarah’s eyes clenched shut, not wanting to deal with her husband’s mistress this early in the afternoon.
“Yes, please, see her in.”
Within moments Maria Townsend was before her, though the misses was not quite truthful, as Sarah knew. The woman was neither married nor a widow.
Maria was about the same height as Sarah, with long black hair and dark brown eyes, her bronze skin betraying her Spanish roots. Sarah didn’t know much about her background, only that she had shared her husband with this woman for most of her marriage.
“Good afternoon, my lady,” Maria said with a curtsy. Sarah didn’t necessarily despise the woman, but she couldn’t bring herself to like her. During the time of the affair, the two had formed a mutual understanding of indifference. Each was aware of the other—neither saw any cause to interact. A shared existence that seemed not to end with Geoffrey’s death.
“Good afternoon, Mrs. Townsend,” Sarah replied. “To what do I owe this visit? I trust you and Anthony are well?”
Maria took a seat opposite Sarah on the same settee Mrs. Coltrane had vacated.
“Anthony and I are well,” she replied. “I’ve come with a . . . a proposition.”
“You have me intrigued,” Sarah admitted. “Tea?”
Maria shook her head. “I would like a payment,” she began. “In exchange for my silence on salacious information I’ve learned about you.”
“That’s less of a proposition and more akin to blackmail,” Sarah responded, sipping her tea, less taken back at the threat and more that it was Maria issuing it. Maria, who was gentle and timid and not in possession of a backbone as far as Sarah had seen in their near decade acquaintance.
“Call it what you will,” Maria replied with a shrug.
“What is it you think you know about me?” Sarah inquired.
“I know about your affair with the Duke of Foxton.”
This time Sarah was taken back, blinking rapidly to clear away the shock of what Maria had just uttered. “I beg your pardon?”
“I know you are having an affair with the Duke of Foxton,” Maria repeated. “And unless you pay me to keep quiet, I’ll tell the gossip sheets about it.”
For someone who prided herself on remaining scandal free, Sarah was rather proud of herself for being threatened twice with the same scandal. It made her feel rather bold. Daring.
“I am not having an affair with the Duke of Foxton,” Sarah replied. “And if I were, you are not one to comment, since you were my husband’s mistress.”
“I am not judging,” Maria replied. “I am merely using the knowledge to my benefit.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes, wondering what Maria was up to. Maria’s position as Geoffrey’s mistress, and mother to his illegitimate child, wasn’t exactly a secret, though Sarah had never mentioned her existence to anyone. Someone would have to go digging through Geoffrey’s past to unearth Maria. And it seemed unlikely anyone would care enough about a dead marquess’s wrongdoings five years after his death.
Maria would have no reason to suspect an affair with William. He wasn’t known yet in London, having just inherited and not been through a proper season yet, or even presented at court, as far as Sarah knew. He was a nobody, for now. How did Maria even know he existed? How had she come by this knowledge, and what was the motive of the person who had given it to her?
“No,” Sarah said softly.
“No?” Maria asked.
Sarah’s shook her head. “Mrs. Townsend, you cannot blackmail me out of something I had already planned to give you.”
Maria sat back, her eyes widening in shock. “I do not understand.”
“I suspected you would not,” Sarah replied. “It is simple, really. You are in need of funds, or you wouldn’t have resorted to blackmail. I had already decided to give you what Geoffrey left me when he died. I’ve already written to a solicitor to begin the transaction.”
Maria’s expression tightened in confusion. “I still do not understand. Why are you doing this?”
“Geoffrey did not do right by either of us,” Sarah answered. “You have a constant daily reminder of that injustice. Geoffrey should have written something in his will to provide for you and his son. I suspect he thought he was above an untimely death.”
Maria’s lips quirked, and she nodded lightly in agreement. “Sounds accurate.”
“I am making some changes in my life. And as part of them, I want to be free of anything ha
ving to do with him,” Sarah continued. “It made sense to give you my widow’s portion. After all, you are more his widow than I am.”
“You were his wife.”
“And you loved him,” Sarah replied. “I mourn him because I am socially required to. You mourn him because you regretted his passing.”
Looking down at her hands, Maria sighed. “You are correct, I did love him. Despite his horridness to you, he was quite good to me. But in his death, it was clear I was no more important to him than a flea. He bequeathed you everything.”
“Not quite everything,” Sarah corrected. “The terms of my marriage entitle me to a third of the holdings and profits from the estate each quarter. Which I intend to pass to you. I haven’t touched any of the Radcliff funds since Geoffrey’s passing, so everything I inherited remains for you. It is enough to provide you and your son a comfortable existence long into your lives.”
Maria regarded Sarah with curiosity. “You’re going to give me Geoffrey’s money, without argument?”
“Yes.”
“And the business with that duke?”
“Is none of anyone’s business,” Sarah replied. “But should your informant try and goad you into another round of blackmail, just know I can rescind the transfer of funds at any time. I will not be manipulated. Had I not already set this into motion, I would have sent you packing without a cent. Do I make myself clear?”
Slowly, after taking a good long minute to think about it, Maria nodded. “Yes, my lady.”
“Good,” Sarah replied. “I know where to contact you to conclude the transaction. I think it would best if you were on your way. Take some of these scones with you.”
Maria scooped two scones into her skirts before curtsying and escaping out the door.
Sarah leaned into the sofa, relaxing her spine into the cushions.
If she ever remarried, her portion of the Radcliff estate would cease, and Maria would be left without additional funds.
If she never remarried, her portion would continue, potentially to the ruination of the young marquess.
It seemed no matter what she did, there was no way for everyone to be happy with her.
“Lady Radcliff, his grace the Duke of Foxton to see you,” announced Howards from the doorway before retreating into the hall.
Of course he is, Sarah thought with a sigh, sitting up again, her posture returning to its proper position. She’d forgotten how trying it was to have a day at home for callers.
It was almost comical how forlorn William appeared, filling the doorway to the drawing room, almost as though the room could not contain him.
“You look so desolate, Will,” Sarah noted, his wide shoulders almost slumped in defeat. “Things not going according to your plans?”
William glared ahead of him, not really seeing her. “No,” he said curtly. “They are not.”
She gestured to the various settees and chairs in the room. “Please, sit.”
He complied, his eyes dark. He waved off her offer of tea.
“Does this visit have something to do with the annulment you came to London to pursue?” Sarah was certain it did, and even more certain of the outcome.
His frown deepened. It was annoying that he was so handsome even when his face was so highly displeased.
“It seems I have no basis for an annulment.”
Sarah nodded knowingly, trying her best not to say, “I told you so.”
“I don’t like this situation,” he continued.
“Forgive me, but I think this is one thing you cannot fight your way out of,” Sarah said, sipping at her tea.
“She tricked me, Sarah,” William growled. “She lied about everything. I married her under false pretenses. It should be grounds for an annulment, but—”
“But she is with child,” Sarah finished, knowing this would be the end result all along, even if he’d refused to believe it. He had to see this course through to the end, he would not have seen reason otherwise.
He nodded. “I cannot prove it is not my babe. And Anna claims she will not tell the truth and allow the marriage to be annulled. In the end it is her word against mine.”
“It seems that it is settled then,” Sarah replied evenly.
“Nothing is settled,” he countered. “How can you be at peace with this?”
“What choice do I have?” she asked, fighting to keep her tone even but it was always difficult with him so near. “You are married, and it is not to me. There is nothing more to be said.”
“I want you, Sarah,” he said gently, leaning towards her. Though he was not touching her, warmth ran down her arms and she clenched her hands so tightly around the tea cup she thought it might crack beneath her fingers.
“But it seems you cannot have me.”
“What if . . .?”
She stopped him before he could complete the thought. “I will not be your mistress.”
He stood abruptly and paced the length of the room, his usual response to anything confounding or irritating. The man liked to pace.
“I’m sending Anna to live in an estate far from me,” he announced. “I don’t want to be anywhere near her. She and the baby can live away from us.”
Sarah rose to meet him in the middle of the room.
“I will not agree to this.”
“Think about it, Sarah,” he pleaded. “We can live in the country; no one will know who we are. Foxton has numerous estates. I can be a country physician, and you my doting—”
“Mistress,” Sarah stated. “No matter how you wrap it with a bow, I will still be your mistress. I won’t do that. Not to you, not to Anna, and not to myself. It is not right.”
“What Anna did is not right.”
Sarah frowned and crossed her arms across her chest. “And compounding the wrong won’t cure it. My husband’s mistress is still the bane of my existence, and your illegitimacy should sway your reasoning with this.”
“My need for you overwhelms any reason I have left,” he admitted.
She smiled softly at him, wanting him just the same but knowing it was helpless. “And that is why I get to be the voice of reason. Setting up house with me and shuffling your wife off to the country, out of sight out of mind . . . that’s cruel, Will. You are not a cruel person.”
“What do you propose we do, oh voice of reason?”
Sarah had thought about this, long and hard. Through the hours she spent recovering in bed from her wounds last month, through the long carriage ride returning to London, through the countless hours they spent apart. He and her together—it just could not be. There was no way around any of it. The only way was through it.
She cupped his face with her hand, her thumb tracing across his cheek
“You are married to Anna,” Sarah said gently. “You need to be married to Anna.”
His blue eyes searched hers and she took a steadying step away from him. Distance was better.
“Will, make an effort to actually form a relationship with your wife,” she continued. “For better or worse, the vows you took are binding and you cannot shuffle them away because you regret the decision. Anna is your wife and she will soon have a child. Blood or not, it will be your child.” Sarah ran her hands up and down her arms, hoping to stave away the cold that washed over her every time she had practiced this conversation. “And if the two of you cannot make something from this, and must live separate lives, you must do so amicably. A child’s life is a stake. You’ve seen what the hatred of a mother can do to the child when the father refuses to let the past be the past. I’m not saying you should trot off and fall in love with Anna, simply that you have someone else’s life to think about, and I cannot be a part of any it.”
“Sarah, you cannot believe what you are saying,” William said, taking a step towards her and reaching out for her but she stepped back again, away from his reach.
“This was always to be the outcome,” Sarah told him. “You knew this.
I knew this. There was never a different conclusion.”
“But I thought—”
“There was never going to be an annulment,” Sarah said quietly. “And I will never be your mistress.”
“Never is a very long time, Sarah,” he replied. “You’ve already broken your ‘no liaisons’ rule once. What’s to say you won’t do it again?”
“I won’t say that we made a mistake in any aspect of our relationship,” she admitted. “That would be an injustice to everything we have shared. But from here, we need to remain in agreement. You owe it to yourself to make something of a terrible arrangement. You deserve to be happy.”
William turned away from her and paced across the floor, running his hand through his hair. “Sarah, this is madness. Can you honestly say you want this?”
Sarah paused and took a steadying breath. Almost there, she reminder herself. Stay strong for just a bit longer.
“Yes,” she lied. “We may be fond of each other, but that does not mean we should continue any longer. It is time we put an end to this.”
“I’d say we are more than fond of each other,” he muttered darkly. “But I cannot agree to this, not entirely. I do not want a relationship with Anna; I want a relationship with you.”
He came quickly to her, taking her in his arms and pulling her close, his mouth on hers before she could react. Everything in her head screamed to push him away, and she ignored it completely, wanting everything he was willing to give. She could be his mistress, right? For a moment, she tried to convince herself that it wouldn’t be bad, that no one would talk. That it wouldn’t harm her family, her sisters, her own soul. She could do this, she could forsake everything she stood for, for the love of this man and to remain in his arms forever.
Sarah turned her head away, breaking their kiss, both breathing heavily.
“I know you are not unaffected by me, Sarah,” he said huskily, his lips near her ear.
“I have always been affected by you,” she admitted. “You take away all my good sense and I’m left reaching for reality and balance. But this is wrong, Will. You cannot have me in your arms and then return home to Anna. I won’t do it. I won’t be that woman.” She turned to look at him, strength and fire burning through her blue eyes, her jaw set as she met his gaze, his fierceness matching her own.
