by Erica Taylor
How long they stood there in each other’s arms, lips but a hairsbreadth apart, she didn’t know, but Sarah took everything in, soaking up the memory to last her through her years. William’s blue eyes, his lighter shade so different from her own, the blue halo folding to the ring of brown in the center. His dark lashes, contrasting to his golden-blond hair, the curve of his lips, lightly swollen from the intensity of this kiss and the soft stubble that had appeared despite his morning shave. Sarah wanted to remember every moment with him, prayed the memories would stay with her forever.
Slowly, his arms eased from their embrace, and she slid away from him, hoping to keep her head clear for just a few moments longer. The sooner she got away from him the better. It was not healthy to pine after something she could not have.
“I don’t agree with you, Sarah,” William said gently, looking away from her gaze and the spell was broken. “But I will not press the issue. Not when you are so against it. I will always want you, Sarah. This—” he moved his hand to cup her face, tracing his thumb across her lips. “This will not go away. It’s more than lust, and you know it.”
I know it. God, did she know it. But she couldn’t tell him that, couldn’t admit how deep her feelings went for him, how pushing him away was killing her.
It would kill her more to be his mistress.
Sarah clamped her jaw tighter together, fighting against her contradictory desires. She had to do this. It was right, for everyone involved.
She gave him a final nod, not trusting her voice.
“Then I bid you good day, madam,” he said with a bow. He disappeared from the room, the door closing with a soft click.
Sarah stood in the middle of the room for a moment longer before shaking herself alive. She had letters to write to Dr. Lennox, and hope the next path for her life looked brighter than anything was right now.
William did not agree with Sarah’s decision, and he was determined to change her mind.
A small voice in the back of his head whimpered, reminding him his current unhappiness was what he deserved for his mother’s adultery. He was a bastard, and such bad luck was surely a result of that.
With a mental shake, he pushed the thoughts away, having conquered those demons years ago. He did not need them seeping back into the present, not when he required all his faculties to figure this out.
“Your grace,” came a sweet voice from an open doorway, and William paused in his escape from Bradstone House.
“Your grace,” he said to the Duchess of Bradstone with a tip of his head. “I am just on my way out. I thank you for your hospitality.”
“Might I have a quick moment of your time?” the duchess asked, stepping back from the doorway and indicating he was to join her. He didn’t seem to have much choice in the matter.
It seemed his interview was not to be conducted by the duchess alone. The Earl of Westcott stood just inside the door, leaning on the wallpaper paneling near a fireplace.
“Good afternoon,” William said, forcing himself to be pleasant.
The duchess smiled sweetly, her angelic nature enchanting.
“I wanted to tell you: Andrew and I wish to throw you a dinner party,” the duchess said. “As a way to welcome you to town. Get your feet wet in society.”
“That is most generous of you, your grace,” William began, “but I could not ask you to do such a thing.”
“You are not asking,” she replied. “We are insisting.”
“But in your condition—”
“Sarah acted as my husband’s hostess before he was married; I am sure she is up to handling the task for one more night.” The duchess’s smile was quite disarming. How did anyone ever say no to this woman?
“Has your interlude with Sarah gone well?” she asked, rather bluntly. Apparently, it was no secret he had been alone with Sarah in the drawing room. Hopefully, no one overheard their conversation.
“It did not,” William replied. “Sarah and I are at an impasse.”
Westcott’s green eyes sparkled as he and the duchess shared a knowing look.
“It has not escaped our notice that you and Sarah have a bit of an interesting history,” Westcott began.
“We wish to help smooth your path,” the duchess explained. “Give you some insight into this family.”
“The Macalister siblings are a rare bunch,” Westcott began. “Loyal, stubborn. You’ll never find a better ally or champion.”
William frowned. “I am not in need of a champion.”
“They tend to take up your cause even against your wishes,” he replied. “You’ll be happy for it in the end, I assure you. Best not to fight it. Once one of them has you in their sights there is no other option.”
“I am not certain I understand the reason for this conversation,” William stated.
Westcott and Clara exchanged another glance.
“This family has a great capacity to love,” the duchess tried to explain.
“They have a tendency to want to save the people around them,” Westcott added.
“Absolutely,” Clara replied, in agreement with the earl. “They are precious to us. Even the ones we didn’t marry.”
“Except Nick,” Westcott said, turning towards the duchess. “That boy can try even the patience of a saint.”
Clara scoffed and waved her hand at the statement. “Nonsense. Nick is a good boy. He just has some wild oats to sow.”
Westcott rolled his eyes. “Idleness is not working out well for him, and that’s all I have to say on the subject.”
The duchess gave him a scolding look, but William saw that it was full of affection. They stared each other like brother and sister. A comfortable friendship. Family.
A little string pulled at the edge of William’s heart. He had no family, no friendships or relationships like this. He was not close to anyone, save Sarah, and it seemed she wanted nothing more to do with him.
“Sarah loves you,” the duchess said softly. “You must know this.”
William nodded. “I do know that.”
Westcott looked surprised. “She told you?”
“Did you tell her you loved her?” Clara asked.
“Sarah and I are aware of our feelings towards each other, yes,” William replied.
The duchess pulled the side of her mouth to one side, her face thoughtful. The earl scratched the side of his face.
“Hmm. You mean to say that you two aren’t sulking and brooding over not being able to be with each other because you haven’t told each other of your feelings?” Westcott asked.
William shook his head.
“Are there any nefarious plots against either of your lives we don’t know about?” Clara asked.
“If Westcott and your husband are to be believed, there is someone angling to have me killed,” William replied. “But I believe the true obstacle is that I am married.”
“Yes, that does throw a fork into things, doesn’t it?” Westcott asked.
William looked between the two and smirked. “You two think Sarah and I are not together due to some miscommunication between the two of us.”
“Well, what else could it be?” Westcott asked.
“Sarah knows how I feel about her, and yet she is resistant to anything between us because of my marriage status.” William explained. “Not that it is any of your business.”
“What about the annulment?” Westcott asked.
“It is my word against hers, unfortunately,” William replied.
“Islington and Cabot could stand to testify on your behalf ?” Clara suggested. “Surely their claims of what really happened would lend credence to your case.”
William shook his head. He’d already thought of that. “Anna made a rather impressive trail of credibility for herself. Islington and Cabot would not be enough.”
“But she even gave a false name,” Clara insisted. “Surely that could be easily disproved?”
“Ther
e is in fact an Marquess of Lindsay, who has a prolific number of children. They are not all legitimate, but fibbing about legitimacy could be easy excused away. And the Marquess of Lindsay is Scottish.”
“Oh.” Clara’s face fell, rather defeated.
“The story she spun to the solicitor was rather impressive,” William acknowledged with a sigh. “Even with Cabot and Islington giving their statements, the solicitor said I had zero chance, and should I go through with this, I would prove I was every inch my father’s son.”
“Surely there is another option?” Clara asked, her expression tight with near defeat.
“Sarah could become my mistress,” William replied with a shrug. “But she isn’t interested.”
Clara’s face softened, and Westcott’s eyebrows rose. They glanced at each other meaningfully before looking back at him.
“There it is,” Westcott announced. “Clara, we have uncovered the problem.”
“I didn’t realize the problem was hidden,” William retorted.
“Oh, of course it was,” the duchess replied. “Sarah is the most self-sacrificing person I have ever met. She would never ask for her own happiness when others could be put before her.”
“She may say one thing, but this situation is not what she wants,” Westcott explained.
William’s brows pulled together. “It’s not what either of us wants. However, there is nothing to be done about it currently. I don’t even know why I am telling you any of this.”
Clara smiled sweetly at him, as a mother would smile to her child. “Foxton, you are telling us this because you are alone in the world, and you secretly do want a champion, someone to fight for your happiness with Sarah, as it seems all other hope is lost.”
“Sarah would never risk injury to someone else,” Westcott explained. “Not if she could take their place and sacrifice her own happiness. She is the epitome of propriety, even if I didn’t think that someone could strive to be more proper than Susanna. Sarah will do what is right, no matter what, regardless of what personal sacrifices she must make. She rarely asks for anything for herself.”
Sarah’s reluctance suddenly made sense, though William didn’t know why he hadn’t realized it earlier. His need for her blinded any rational thought from coming into play. It had been wrong of him to expect her to become his mistress, and felt ashamed he had asked her to lower herself so.
“Sarah has endured considerable heartbreak in her life, she doesn’t need more,” he found himself saying, his mood darkening. “I do not want to be the cause of her pain, even if she is willing to absolve me of that crime. I can see that my presence here treads on dangerous ground.”
Clara’s brows pinched together. “Foxton, I don’t think you understand what we—”
“You are right, your grace,” William said to her. “Sarah would never do something to cause anyone pain, even if that meant she had to endure a lifetime of pain on her own. But, in this, I cannot remedy her suffering. She would grieve more, I think, if I forced her to abandon every ounce of principle and decorum she has and become the one thing she has come to loathe. I cannot ask that of her.”
It felt wrong in every fiber of his soul, but William turned away from the people he considered friends and wished could be family. He left the room, coming into agreement with Sarah with a finality that squeezed tightly at the breath in his chest.
Westcott and the duchess stood in shock at his departure, glancing at each other in wonderment over what they had done.
As promised, Bradstone and his duchess played host to William’s debut dinner party.
What the duchess had promised would be a small and intimate affair turned out to include at least fifty individuals. William suffered through each introduction, though had no intention of keeping the names of all the people in his head. He could memorize the bones in a per-son’s skull, but the members of the ton were something else entirely. He would need Sarah to draw him up a map later if he was going to survive the season.
Sarah was practically glued to his side, the flawless hostess. It seemed the duchess and Sarah were splitting the hostessing duties, Clara managing the party while Sarah tended to William.
As dinner parties went, it could have been worse.
Plucking two glasses of champagne from a passing footman, he handed one to Sarah. “I thought this was supposed to be a small and intimate event?” William asked.
“Clara assured me it would be,” Sarah replied, taking a long sip from her glass. “‘Not a crush,’ I think were her exact words. Small and intimate indicates less than twenty, but adding ‘not a crush’ doubles those numbers. At least.”
“I will never understand the intricacies of ton life,” William muttered and drank from his champagne flute.
Sarah laughed lightly.
“Am I correct in assuming it would not be wise to ask you to dance?” William asked, with a careful glance in her direction.
Sarah leveled him a glare. “You are correct.”
“I thought as much,” he replied with a swift nod. “Luckily, I am a quick study.”
Lord Islington and Lord Cabot approached with their wives in tow. The ladies smiled demurely, arms linked to their respective husbands.
“We are so grateful for the invitation,” Lady Islington said with a spring in her voice and her step as she seemed to bounce in place. She was petite and brunette, a contrast to her husband who stood at least a head taller than her.
“We are very happy to welcome you to town, your grace,” Lady Cabot replied, a bit taller than her friend, lithe and blonde. “Heathmont was so dear to us. We celebrate tonight in his memory.”
“Aye,” William said, nearly draining the last of his champagne. What he needed was a glass of brandy. He remembered why he avoided society and anything ton. He did not belong, and it was not his lowborn status that factored in, for once.
He didn’t know these people, had no interest in whoever they gossiped about. The talks of Parliament and land ownership bored him completely, not least for the way that not a single man seemed remotely interested in understanding anything from a common citizen’s point of view. He had been away from society for his entire life, had spent his academic years at a university far from London and his formative years on a battlefield stitching up war wounds. Everyone was polite and eager to know him, but he would never fit in with these people; no matter his new rank, he would never truly belong.
“Lady Radcliff, you are radiant this evening,” Lady Cabot said to Sarah. “That shade of silver is very becoming.”
Sarah’s gown was grey—no surprise there—but with a shimmer woven into the embroidery. She outshone every woman in the room, despite the dullness of color.
“I thank you,” Sarah said with a little nod. “It was wonderful of you to join us. A bit of pre-season entertainment, something to help prepare his grace for the whirlwind that is the social season. This idea of my sister-in-law’s was inspired; ’tis is the perfect opportunity for his grace to dip his toes in, wash some of the country green from behind his ears.” Sarah glanced up to him, her eyes twinkling.
Lady Cabot and Lady Islington laughed, though what Sarah had said wasn’t truly all that funny and he doubted she was trying to be clever. Nonetheless, Sarah smiled pleasantly but did not join in their laughter.
“Best not to bombard him with everyone just yet,” Cabot agreed.
“Though everyone is quite interested to meet the new Duke of Foxton,” Islington added. “You must let us show you about the clubs, Foxton. Heath would despair if he knew we weren’t doing right by his little brother.”
“Aye,” he replied, not really wanting to say anything else.
“I am sure it is comforting for his grace to have a familiar face in an unfamiliar crowd,” Sarah added.
“Quite so,” Cabot replied. “Best we can do after that other bit of unpleasant business.”
William took that to mean Anna. Seemed a bit belittling to p
ass his shackle of a marriage off as a “bit of unpleasant business.” She’d lied and connived and was now getting exactly what she wanted.
Five sets of eyes were watching him, expecting some sort of response, explanation, confirmation that all was well after all. Except it wasn’t. Nothing about any of it was as it should be. First and foremost on that list was Sarah. She belonged beside him in life as she was tonight, and not as some hostess stand-in.
“It is a shame her grace could not be here this evening,” Lady Islington said, commenting on Anna’s obvious absence. “It should be her come-out as well.”
William had not given her the option to attend, informing her that he would let everyone know she had not felt well. Despite remaining his duchess, he didn’t need to treat her as such. Not yet.
“I suspect she will arrange something of the like during the season,” Sarah supplied when William refused to answer. “Having spent some time with her over Christmas, she is a lovely young woman, despite how misguided her motives may be. She will make Foxton a fine wife in the end.”
She looked at him expectantly and, almost belatedly, he replied, “Aye.” It seemed the only thing he could manage to say all evening.
The smiles on the ladies’ faces faltered a bit and both blinked a little too rapidly. Had they wanted a wittier response? Some gossip to slog about? For him to drag Anna through the mud?
Lady Cabot recovered first. “Of course her grace would want to make her own entrance into society.”
It was all so false—every word having a double meaning—that William couldn’t keep up.
With wary smiles, and promises to call upon Anna and see about her health, Lord and Lady Cabot and Lord and Lady Islington excused themselves and moved on to another grouping of guests, shooting guarded glances their way.
“Why do the ladies all look at you with polite caution?” William asked, realizing it was Sarah they were cautious of, not him.
Sarah scoffed. “Oh, that. It’s nonsense really.” She glanced up at William and offered a shrug of her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter any longer.”
