by Erica Taylor
“You’re still going to explain it to me.”
Sarah sighed. “My grandmother is one of five women in society who sort of rule the ton. The Patronesses of Almack’s may think they have a hand in what passes for popular and proper, but in reality, these five women merely allow the patronesses to think that about themselves. Everyone knows whose approval you truly need.”
“And your goal is to become one of those five women?”
Sarah nodded. “Or rather, it was. Once we were both widowed, Lydia and I vowed to remain unattached and grow old together, taking up the reins as it became our generation’s turn to rule.” She looked up to William almost sheepishly. “We were dragons in the making. We took this very seriously. We emulated those five women with precision. Grandmother was fully supportive, going as far to suggest someone ask our opinion on something, declaring us the heirs apparent. But, it would seem, life had other plans for Lydia. And me, as a matter of fact.”
“You no longer wish to be a dragon like your grandmother,” William asked with a grimace. “There is a sentence I thought I would never say. Now I’m just imagining you breathing fire.”
Sarah chuckled. “That’s essentially what the role entailed. A dragon must be fierce and intimidating, passing judgment as if we were judge and jury, executing the laws of the land to how we saw fit. But over this past year, it all has seemed rather . . . pointless. It has become something exhausting, and everyone assumes I mean to criticize everything all the time. I’m quite weary of it.”
“And now you’re in too deep,” William suspected.
“Indeed. But then I met you, and well . . .” Sarah shrugged again. “Now we’ve both decided to hang up our dragon ways and live away from the judgments and vindictiveness the ladies of the ton spit at each other.” She took another sip of her champagne before continuing. “I’ve accepted a midwifery training position. It’s a six-month training program. I’ve been corresponding with Andrew’s physician. His cousin is a midwife in a village near one of the estates, and she is in need of an assistant.”
William stared at her, warmth spreading through him, but he couldn’t put a name to the emotion. Pride? Awe? Admiration? Respect?
Love. Damnation, she made him love her even more.
“There is a fair, down at the Thames,” William blurted, the words seeming to come from nowhere.
Sarah blinked rapidly, as confused at the change in conversation as he was.
“Would you like to go?” he asked, recovering slightly. He had intended to ask her about the fair all evening. “The river has frozen over, they say. Sounds like something that should not be missed.”
“You know it is not in either of our interests to be seen out and about together,” she chided.
“That’s where my ingenious idea comes in,” he continued. “Tomorrow, if the river is still frozen, I shall send a nondescript carriage for you. If you wear one of your simpler, livelier-colored gowns, perhaps something from ages ago before you were widowed, and I wear something that would befit a Scottish surgeon, then maybe we could stroll along the frozen river, and not be us for an afternoon.”
She was intrigued by the idea, he could tell as her eyes searched his, and he watched as she mentally convinced herself against it.
Sadly, she shook her head. “Will, we can’t be together like that. It’s not . . .” She sighed and looked down into her empty champagne glass. “Besides, I’m heading to Ensbrook Manor tomorrow.”
“Whatever for?”
“I had a letter from Lady Ensbrook asking if I would visit.”
“I had the same,” William admitted.
“She knew who you were the whole time, didn’t she?”
Sarah asked.
William nodded. “She said she had a talent for recognizing faces, though I had never met the woman before. I don’t know how she knew me.”
“I plan to drive up tomorrow and stay through the end of the week. I’d like to check in on the children, and on Lady Ensbrook. Offer what support and condolences I can.” Glancing at William, she added. “You should visit sometime.”
He meant to comment, invite himself along, but the sight of someone at the other end of the room caught him off guard. His breath hissed as he sucked in air, shock radiating through him.
Sarah’s eyes snapped to his face, curious about his suddenly stiff posture. Wordlessly, she followed his gaze towards the woman on the opposite side of the drawing room, chatting with their host.
The young woman glanced in his direction, and though her smile didn’t falter, he could read the surprise in her eyes.
Before William had time to react, she had extracted herself and was headed his direction.
“William?” the young woman asked cautiously, peeking at him from under her long lashes, artfully darkened with black soot. Miss Jillian Heyer had matured from a fickle sixteen-year-old into a radiant woman, not quite losing her girlish charm. She was as lovely as he remembered, glistening strawberry blonde hair, round blue eyes, lush lips, though what lay beneath her false smiles was much uglier.
“Miss Heyer,” William said, bowing over her hand.
“Oh, it’s Mrs. Faversham now, William,” the young woman corrected, a condescending glint in her sparkly green eyes.
Cutting William off before he could correct her, Sarah turned sharply to William and asked, “Do I detect another Scot? You must introduce me, your grace. Scotland is so terribly small, you all must know each other?”
Sarah’s tone was artificially light, and he wondered what she was playing at.
“Lady Radcliff, please meet Mrs. Jillian Faversham. She was Miss Jillian Heyer when we knew each other as children,” William said. Sarah’s face betrayed no recognition of Jillian’s name, but he could tell in the way her eyes narrowed just slightly that she realized the connection.
“What a delightful reunion for you, your grace,” Sarah said pleasantly.
Jillian’s brows pulled together like fabric on a string. “Your grace?”
“Oh, you probably hadn’t heard!” Sarah cooed, doing her best to look abashed, but William knew her game. The daft woman was coming to his defense. “Old Foxton died this past fall, I suppose the news didn’t travel as far north as Scotland yet, what with the weather and it being so terribly far from London. Bradstone’s duchess simply insisted on this little dinner party for everyone to meet the new duke.”
Jillian’s brows didn’t drop as she looked from Sarah to William. “But I thought . . .”
“Of course, his grace did have an older brother,” Sarah continued, smiling sweetly. “But he met an unfortunate accident just before Old Foxton passed on. So terribly sad, you know, and not the way a younger son hopes in inherit a dukedom, but, well, there you have it.” Sarah shrugged and continued as if William were not there. After all, the show was for Jillian, not him. Leaning into Jillian, Sarah whispered conspiratorially, “You know, he was Lord Palmer Hastings before all of this inheritance business? I remember stories about Lord Palmer during my come out. So handsome and wealthy, destined to be the catch of the season, I was told, before he up and disappeared.”
Sarah glanced at William, and her smile widened, determined to set this girl in her place. “His skills with a sword were practically legendary. No one knew where he got up to, he was virtually a myth amongst the ton. And to think he was up in Scotland with you all this time! Now he’s a duke, and married, which is such a shame for the rest of us. Wouldn’t you agree?”
Looking rather stunned at Sarah’s gossiping declarations, Jillian quickly agreed. “Oh yes, such a shame he’s off the marriage mart before he was truly on.”
Sarah giggled lightly and tapped Jillian teasingly with her hand. “Oh how clever you are!”
Glancing between the two, Jillian asked curiously, “Is your wife in attendance this evening? I should like to make her acquaintance.”
“Sadly, no, she remained home this evening,” William replied. “S
he has reached her confinement and parties have become rather taxing for her.”
“Congratulations to you, your grace,” Jillian said with a forced smile, but her eyes flickered to Sarah again, the smile turning suggestive, insinuating. “And what a wonderful friend you are for keeping his grace company this evening, Lady Radcliff.”
William did not like what Jillian was implying but bit back a remark. Sarah was much better at set downs as it was.
“When one is new to town is it most important to make friends of a certain quality, don’t you agree?” Sarah asked, a challenging tilt to her head. “It would be so terribly dreadful to be in town with no friends. Can you imagine? No invitations, no entertainments?”
“Yes, that would be terrible,” Jillian agreed, paling as the rebuke hit home.
“My brother, the Duke of Bradstone, has quite enjoyed cultivating a friendship with his grace over these past few months,” Sarah continued. “Foxton and his wife even spent Christmas with my family in Kent. It’s quality people you choose to be friends with that truly become like family.”
“Quite,” Jillian replied. “I would hate to dominate your company for too long. Good evening, my lady, your grace.” She dipped into a small curtsy which Sarah and William both returned with a nod.
Once Jillian was out of ear shot, Sarah turned to him, her eyes wide, one dark brow arched above her blue eye.
“Don’t, Sarah,” he warned.
“That was Jillian Heyer?” Sarah asked in a conspiring whisper. “The Jillian Heyer? The great heart-breaker of your life?”
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh, Will, it is immensely funny! Do you know who she is? I mean who she is now.”
“Enlighten me.”
“It is well-known that Mrs. Faversham is enjoyable to spend an evening with, if you have the right blunt and jewels to keep her engaged. She’s a mistress, Will. A kept woman.”
“I get it, Sarah.”
“There is doubt a Mr. Faversham ever existed, though she says he died tragically in a carriage accident. And,” she continued, clearly about to enjoy this last bit, “there are at least three little Favershams from gentlemen who were not her husband at the time of conception or birth. William, she’s entwined in the exact thing she harassed you for.”
William managed to chuckle at the irony.
Sarah linked her hand though his arm, her glove resting above his elbow. Her warmth was comforting.
“Come now,” she said and pulled him towards a group of people. “It’s time you get to know these aristocrats you so fear. I assure you, they’re all just as flawed as you are.”
It was some time later when Sarah managed to extract herself from introducing William to the members of the ton Andrew and Clara had invited for the dinner party.
Part of Sarah couldn’t believe she’d allowed Clara to convince her to attend the event, much less agree to leading William about, introducing him to the party guests.
“I know you and Foxton have a complicated relationship,” Clara had told her. “But oftentimes you must put your feelings aside and do what is right.”
“And hosting a dinner party for him is right?” Sarah had asked, her brow raised in skepticism. “And since when were you the one to lecture me about societal decorum?”
“Since you’ve been a ninny about facing Foxton again.”
“Fair enough.”
“We are simply helping him find his footing in society,” Clara explained. “You are a dragon in the making, a well-respected marchioness. You can handle one night of close proximity for his benefit, can you not?”
Sarah chuckled. “Close proximity seems to be what leads us astray,” she admitted. “But I can endure for one evening, I suppose.”
It was a strange grouping of people, ranging from dukes and baronets, to poets, a composer, three members of the House of Commons, a ship owner, and two wealthy bankers. They all took to William like butter to toast. He was warm and approachable, and each person ate up such attentions, eager for the ear of the new Duke of Foxton. No one seemed to hold the ugliness of his father against him, particularly since William was proving to be a valuable replacement.
Sarah turned out of the parlor, the group having finished dinner and moved on to port and tea after dinner. The gentlemen had yet to rejoin the ladies, but Sarah was in desperate need of a retiring room, and most importantly, a chamber pot.
It came as no surprise that Mrs. Faversham took that moment to seek her out, cornering her as Sarah stepped into the retiring room.
“Lady Radcliff, might I have a word?”
Can you do it while I relieve myself ? Sarah wondered, glancing longingly behind the woman at the curtain and the chamber pot she knew were positioned on the other side.
Sarah rose an eyebrow, indicating the woman should continue.
Mrs. Faversham swallowed tightly. “I feel as though I should warn you,” she began. “The Duke of Foxton is not what he claims to be. In fact, he should not be the duke at all.”
“What are you suggesting?” Sarah asked, her eyes narrowing a fraction.
Wringing her hands together, Mrs. Faversham whispered, “Foxton should not have been allowed to inherit.” She looked pointedly at Sarah, clearly not wanting to say the offending word out loud.
Sarah’s eyebrows rose, and her stare hardened into granite. “Your tone suggests you believe what you say to be of importance. Allow me to disclose a little secret: everyone knows Foxton is not his father’s true son. For anyone who has seen both of them, it’s not a tightly kept secret. But, no one cares. He was born to the duchess and acknowledged by the duke; therefore he is legitimate. If you, a slip of a nobody, go about trying to ruin the ton’s new favorite duke, the one in ruin will be you.”
“I can’t believe that no one cares that Foxton is illegitimate.”
Sarah shrugged. “I don’t know how they do things up in Scotland, but down in London, we are quite progressive. Loads of people have illegitimate children; some even hold titles if they’re legally able to. The king has illegitimate children. You have illegitimate children. Old Foxton claimed his wife’s child as his own, end of discussion.”
It was rather harsh of her to disparage the woman so, but Mrs. Faversham had caused William great pain in their past, and was attempting to do it again. If anything, Sarah would always stand up for the people she cared for.
“Yes, but I don’t flaunt mine about town,” Mrs. Faversham snapped.
“Listen to me carefully,” Sarah said slowly, punctuating her words carefully. “If you even attempt to bring Foxton down with such slander, it will be the end of you. The houses and horses, carriages and gowns you so desire will cease to exist, and your line of suitors will scatter. No one will respond to your calls. You will have nothing left but to high tail it back to Scotland, three bastards in tow.”
“You don’t have that much power,” Mrs. Faversham scoffed, but worry laced her eyes.
“I am the Marchioness of Radcliff,” Sarah reminded her. “And I have two dukes and an earl who will back my word. Lady Norah Macalister, the darling of the ton, is my younger sister. I also have the ear of the Marchioness of Radbourn.”
Mrs. Faversham’s eyes popped open wide at the mention of Sarah’s grandmother’s name and she considered her options.
“And if I say nothing?” she asked.
“Then you go about your life as if nothing is amiss,” Sarah replied. “With one exception: you stay clear of Foxton.”
The two women regarded each other a long moment, Sarah’s glare boring into Mrs. Faversham. Realizing she could not win, Mrs. Faversham conceded, nodding and glancing away.
“And if anyone comes to you asking for validation on anything disparaging against his grace, you will remain tight lipped about your past with him,” Sarah continued. “Denial is the key to your happiness, Mrs. Faversham. I will know if you slip up.”
Mrs. Faversham nodded again. “Good evening
to you, Lady Radcliff.”
“And to you, Mrs. Faversham.”
Finally, Sarah was alone. For a long moment she stood motionless, her eyes closed with weariness, before remembering the reason she had come in search of the retiring room.
The following morning, earlier than she would have liked for having been up late the night before, Sarah stood in the front hall, a traveling valise packed for her quick stay at Ensbrook Manor. Lynette handed her one glove after another, slipping the buttons into their loops along the hem of the glove, the leather warm and soft.
“Your bonnet, Lady Sarah,” Lynette said as she handed over the accessory. Grey. All things grey.
Not for too much longer, Sarah thought to herself, pulling the hat onto her head, careful not to disturb the curled coiffure Lynette had pinned up earlier. She had decided that once she left London and stepped into her new life training to be a midwife, she would not wear grey any longer. Knowing there was an end to her days in mourning made the intermediate ones all that more bearable.
“Good morning, your grace,” came Howards voice as the door opened, and Sarah was surprised to hear William’s deep voice reply.
“Ah, good, you have not left,” William said as he spotted her in the foyer.
“I am about to,” Sarah replied. “Why are you here?”
“You invited me,” he answered. “To visit with Lady Ensbrook.”
“I did no such thing.” Sarah slipped her arms into the pelisse Lynette was holding for her. “I suggested you should visit on your own.”
“This seemed more practical,” William concluded with a shrug. “And now you won’t have to travel alone.”
“I am not traveling alone,” Sarah rebutted. “Lynette is accompanying me, along with my coachman.”
“Yes, I’m acquainted with your coachman,” William replied. “And while Mthunzi is quite an imposing chaperone, I doubt he will mind if you offer me a ride. Again.”
Images of their time together, in the inn, against a tree, clashed through Sarah’s mind, though she doubted that was the ride he was reminding her of.
