by Erica Taylor
Though with the way his smile had stretched into a wicked grin, she might not be far from the mark.
“Can you not ride your horse?” she asked, grasping for something to keep him out of her carriage.
“Alas, Fergus refused to be saddled this morning,” William replied.
“Don’t you have your own carriage?”
“Broken,” he replied with a smirk. “All six of them. When I discovered it was impossible to provide my own conveyance, I came here in search of passage, as I know your knack for aiding waylaid travelers.”
Sarah hated that her mouth twitched. Hated that he still had the ability to pull a smile from her.
“What about your wife?” she asked cautiously. She must keep Anna in her mind, must continually remind herself he was no longer hers.
“Not due for another six weeks, if my math is correct, which it always is,” William replied. “She will survive a few days without me.”
Sarah eyed him, not wanting to agree to him sharing her carriage, but realizing there was no way she could deny him anything. The argument was lost, from the moment he walked through the door, windblown and handsome.
“What do you say, Sarah?” he asked, closing the distance between them. “One last carriage ride?”
It was lucky that Howards took that moment to sneeze, for Sarah had quite forgotten they weren’t alone in the foyer.
Dropping her eyes from William’s captivating gaze, she looked to the butler. “God bless you.”
It was a compulsory saying for when someone sneezed, but Sarah said it with much more meaning.
“Thank you, my lady,” Howards said with a nod. “Will you be requiring anything else before you depart?”
Sarah glanced back at William. “It seems his grace is most insistent about joining us. Please make certain there is ample room for his luggage.”
William’s eyes twinkled in the morning sunlight, but he didn’t comment further, bowing as he took his leave from the foyer.
“I will ride with Mthunzi, if that is suitable for you, my lady?” Lynette asked.
“Don’t be silly,” Sarah chided. “It will be much too cold up there for you. You will ride in the carriage with his grace and myself.”
“Begging your pardon, my lady, but I’d rather not,” Lynette admitted, her face worried. “If it’s not too cold for your coachman, it’s not too cold for me. Besides, his grace . . .” Lynette stopped herself and shook her head.
“Say what you intended to say, Lynette.”
With a sigh, Lynette completed her sentence. “His grace frightens me.”
Sarah laughed, caught off guard by Lynette’s fear.
“Very well,” Sarah said. “Ride up with Mthunzi if it suits you. But I assure you, Foxton is nothing to be frightened of. He can be amiable when he chooses to. Go fetch your heavy cloak.”
“Yes, my lady,” Lynette said, as she bobbed into a curtsy, scurrying out the foyer and up the stairs.
Still amused by Lynette’s timidity around William, Sarah stepped out into the cold February morning, the air still frozen from the drop in temperature the night before. William stood talking to Mthunzi, patting one of the matched mares on the hitch, his face turned away from her. Sarah set her valise into the carriage, but before she could climb into its cabin, someone waiting against the front gates caught her attentions.
Maria. Sarah fought the scowl that seemed to always follow any appearance of Geoffrey’s mistress. Of course Maria had chosen this moment to appear again.
With a glance to William, confirming he was still engrossed in conversation, Sarah stepped around the carriage and to the front gates.
“Your ladyship,” Maria clipped.
“Good morning, Mrs. Townsend,” Sarah said with a sigh. “What can I help you with on this fine morning?”
“You know why I am here,” Maria replied, her hands wrapped in half gloves, twisting around the iron of the gate.
“I do,” Sarah acknowledged. “And as I told you a week ago, these things take time.”
“I suspect you could speed things along,” Maria replied. “Should you choose to.”
Sarah sighed, and pinched the bridge between her eyes, hoping the twinge of pain was not an oncoming headache. “Mrs. Townsend, I’ve already been generous enough. This isn’t something that can just be accomplished overnight.”
“Do not go back on your word, Lady Radcliff,” Maria threatened. “You know what I can do to you.”
“I’m about done hearing your idle threats,” Sarah snapped at her, her voice low. “I will give you what I’ve promised. But it cannot be done overnight. I’m doing my best to right Geoffrey’s wrongs. You must give me time to do so.”
Maria heaved a long, weary sigh, a reflection of what Sarah felt about the whole situation. “Yes, I know,” she replied. “This winter is just so very cold.”
Sarah fished a few coins from the pockets deep within her pelisse. “Here, take this, make sure you don’t freeze to death. Keep Anthony warm and dry.”
The two women regarded each other for a long moment, something passing between them. Not hatred, or dislike, but an understanding they had both been wronged by the same bastard who claimed to love them both.
“You will hear from me soon,” Sarah promised.
Maria nodded and accepted the coins. “You’d best be going. Your coachman and that tall gentleman are looking over here curiously.”
“I suspect so,” Sarah replied. “Keep warm. Be well.”
Maria nodded again and disappeared around the tall brick wall.
William was looking at her peculiarly as she returned the carriage, but Sarah didn’t offer him an explanation.
“Shall we be off ?” she asked, accepting his assistance as he handed her into the carriage. Abe was already sitting comfortably on the rear facing bench. Sarah was not even surprised to see him.
Moments later William was folded onto the seat across from her, the sight of him in her carriage familiar and welcome, a comfort after the pain of having to deal with Maria.
William didn’t ask her anything about Maria as the carriage rolled through the frozen streets of Mayfair, his silence stretching until they had reached the outskirts of the city.
“The woman you saw,” Sarah said finally, as the coach rolled through the first toll out of the city, the horses finally having clearance to stretch their legs. Abe settled on the floor between the two benches, his breath warm against Sarah’s boots. “That was Maria. She was Geoffrey’s mistress.”
“The one who had his child?” he asked, and she nodded. “You looked rather friendly with your husband’s mistress.”
“It wasn’t friendship you saw, but a mutual understanding between two women who were both abused by the same man,” Sarah admitted. “When his . . . desire for me waned in the years I was unable to conceive, he sought solace in her bed, proving he was not the problem in our childless marriage. He doted on her during her pregnancy and after their son was born. But soon after, Geoffrey inherited the marquessate, and he realized his son would not inherit anything after him. Everything was entailed, there was no property to will to him, and my barrenness meant he would not have a rightful heir. He took this out on the both of us. I could not bear him a child to pass on his title, and Maria bore him a child who could not inherit. We both suffered, but I was the only one to receive recompense. When he died, I received the amount of my dowry, plus a lump sum and a percentage of the estate profits each quarter. Maria received nothing.
“At first, I hated her,” Sarah said quietly, gazing out the window. “Her existence lead to Radcliff ’s harsher treatment of me. I’ve since moved past that animosity, realizing we were both wronged. I’m in the process of setting her up with an allowance from my portion of the Radcliff estate, something she can live comfortably on with her son, Anthony.”
“Then why is she bothering you now?” he asked.
“A week ago, when I returne
d from Kent, after convalescing there longer than I intended, she called and threatened me, attempting to blackmail me for money,” Sarah confessed.
“What did she have to blackmail you with?” he asked. “You’re fairly saint like. I cannot imagine you’ve done anything that could warrant something to hang over your head.”
“Can you not?” Sarah asked, looking at him pointedly. “Do you truly believe there is nothing in my past I could have leveraged against me?”
Brows pulling together, William frowned. “Me? She knew about me?”
Sarah nodded. “I don’t know how, but she knew about our affair.
“I would hardly call it an affair,” William muttered.
“It doesn’t matter,” Sarah replied. “Maria knew of it, and I knew what damage that could cause.”
“You sent her packing, right?” William asked. “Tell me you didn’t give her a cent.”
“Quite the opposite actually,” Sarah admitted. “It was then that I told her of my plan to give her my widow’s portion.”
“Sarah!”
“Not because she was blackmailing me, Will,” Sarah countered. “But because I didn’t want it anymore. My inheritance from my parents is more than enough to sustain me. Keeping Radcliff ’s money made me feel dirty. I didn’t want to rely on him any longer. I had already decided to sign everything over to her son when she approached me with the extortion.”
“I’m sure now she thinks she can just return to the tap whenever her well runs dry.”
“It is not like that, Will,” Sarah said defensively. “We discussed it, I explained my reasoning. Maria needs his money; I do not.”
“Why was she at your gate this morning?”
“Desperation?” Sarah mused, looking back out the window. “It’s a cold winter. She has a six-year-old boy to keep warm and the paperwork is moving more slowly than she would like. I asked her to be patient, gave her some coin for food and wood, and she went on her way.”
She looked again to William, who was looking at her as though he doubted her sanity.
“She doesn’t bear me any ill feelings, I assure you,” Sarah said. “She is just out of options. She will have it all soon enough. And it is written into the transferring contracts that if she ever reneged on our agreement to keep quiet, the entire fortune reverts back to the Radcliff estate. She won’t say anything, or she loses it all.”
“You’re much more cunning than I originally thought.”
Sarah shrugged. “I am through being committed to Geoffrey’s memory and acting as his perfect widow. I had to act his perfect wife during his life; in death I will play the part no longer. This is the first step to being rid of him.”
“You know, you’ve never told me about him,” William said.
“Of course I have.”
Shaking his head, William replied, “Not the entire story. I’ve just had bits and pieces, assumptions I’ve made based on minute information.”
Sarah sighed. “It not a pleasant story.”
“We’ve time. And kissing to make things better afterwards.”
“If I tell you this, there will be no kissing,” Sarah warned. “I doubt you would want to after.”
“I’m certain I will always want to kiss you.”
Sarah regarded him for a long moment before speaking. “I was eighteen when my parents died,” she told him. “It was the year of my debut, actually. Since I was the eldest sister, I was thrust into raising my siblings. Mara was but one year old. At first it was a responsibility I undertook with a sense of duty. I retreated from society then, for a few years, telling myself my place was with my family during such a trying time. Eventually, striving to be my mother took a toll, and I wanted an escape: from my family, from being responsible for them, from the reminder of our losses day in and day out.”
Turning her face from William’s watchful gaze, she blinked away her tears. “During our courtship, Geoffrey was sweet and kind. I might have been a little susceptible to his charms. I was twenty-two years old, and he was the escape I so desperately sought. Andrew agreed to the marriage and off I went, the new Lady Geoffrey Hartford.” Sarah glanced at William. “He didn’t inherit until a year after we married. For the first couple of months, everything was wonderful, but when I still hadn’t conceived after six months, he became colder, more hostile. As each month passed with no conception, he grew angrier and angrier. Geoffrey blamed me, and I began to blame myself. My mother had ten children who survived delivery, and numerous other babies not carried to term. I have an abundance of aunts and uncles and cousins and then me, the giant failure of a wife. I couldn’t even provide my husband with the heir he needed. The fault was clearly with me.”
Sarah paused and looked at her hands, twisted tightly around the edges of her pelisse. “He never struck me, but he was increasingly rude and unpleasant, and our relations became rougher and less frequent. Each month I dreaded my monthly courses, knowing they would come and his mood would turn even fouler against me in a heartbeat. For a time, he stopped coming to my bed all together, but after his mistress became pregnant, he redoubled his efforts, determined to beget an heir. And still, no baby came.”
“Oh, Sarah,” William said softly, brushing the wisps of hair from her face. “Things might not have been different had you been able to give him a child.”
“I know that now,” Sarah admitted. “But even birthing a daughter would have been better than month after month of trying with nothing to show for it. I was to blame for our childless marriage. For whatever reason, I am barren.”
Sarah grimaced. It was such an ugly word. Barren. Unproductive, fruitless. Infertile. Empty.
“When he died,” Sarah continued. “I was relieved, how horrible is that of me? I was so happy he was dead, that the nightmare was over. I fled back to my brother’s house, desperate to feel safe again. When Andrew and Clara married last year it threw my life out of orbit. The little nest of security I’d built for myself felt apart and I was displaced from my own home. Except it wasn’t my home, and it hadn’t been for years. I no longer had a place in the world.” She looked away from William, her gaze resting on the horizon as the sadness she fought so hard against settled around her heart.
“I’ve spent the last eight months simply running, going from house party to house party, avoiding my family, though I missed them terribly. Lydia and I have traipsed about, wasting as much time as we can, going anywhere we can go, always on to the next visit or party, never staying in one place long enough to get bored. But I am terribly bored of it all and yet scared I don’t have anywhere to go.”
“Did Andrew or anyone in your family know?” William asked. “About your husband’s mistreatment?”
She shook her head. “How could I tell them?” she asked. “Andrew would have been furious and would have done something awful. I couldn’t allow my shame and failure to taint him in any way.”
“Sarah, darling, you know your husband’s behavior was not your fault,” William said, softly, tugging on her hand until she lifted it and allowed him to entwine his fingers around hers.
She nodded. “I know, and I think I knew that then, but I was so emotionally battered I couldn’t think clearly. I had thought myself in love, though really, Geoffrey was a means to an escape from my family. As it turned out, I could never truly escape them. They are a part of me, and denying them entry into such a dark time in my life only made it more difficult to bear.”
At his silence, Sarah turned her head away from the window to find he was gazing at her with . . . something. Love, perhaps, but she didn’t want it to be love. She needed him to move on from her, find his own happiness without her. It was the only way she could move on from him.
Their arrival at Ensbrook Manor was met with happy cries from Grey and Gracie who raced down the stairs and into Sarah’s arms as she stepped over the threshold. They were a little warier of William, mostly because of his size and because the last time they had seen him
when he was akin to a drowned bear. The children were particularly thrilled to see Abe again, and most of their attention was on making certain the dog was well after being cooped up in the carriage for six hours.
Gracie’s small little arms tight around Sarah’s neck filled her with a joy she couldn’t place, her happy little hands holding Sarah’s tightly as she chatted about the new kittens they’d been gifted from the blacksmith in town.
“I’d rather have a puppy like yours though,” Grey said, his attentions on Abe.
“A dog is a great responsibility,” William told the young earl. “You have to feed him and walk him and train him up right. Is that something you think you can handle just yet?”
Grey turned his face up to William and nodded firmly. “I am the Earl of Ensbrook now. There are a great many things I have to be responsible for.”
“And a dog would be just one more thing to add to your plate, lad,” William answered. “But if your uncle isn’t opposed, and you do well in your studies, perhaps we can talk your Gran into acquiring a puppy for you.” The late Lord Ensbrook’s younger brother had moved his family into Ensbrook Manor to help oversee the estate until Grey, now the young Earl of Ensbrook, was old enough to manage the earldom on his own.
“Gran, you wouldn’t be opposed, right?” Grey said to her, his eyes pleading.
The elderly countess’s stern face melted under her grandson’s attentions. “I’m sure his grace means well, but it is something that will have to wait.”
Grey’s head snapped back to William. “His grace? Sir, are you a duke?”
William nodded. “I am. I am the Duke of Foxton. But I wasn’t a duke when I was last here.”
Glancing at Sarah, Grey asked, “And is Lady Sarah your wife?”
“No, darling,” Sarah said, smoothing his hair. “Foxton and I are simply friends.”
“When I am grown up, I hope I have friends that are as pretty as you, Lady Sarah,” Grey said quite matter-of-factly.
“Quite right, lad,” William replied. “And I should have married her months ago before it was too late.”
