22
Abandon Ship
Juliette Fleming lay in her husband’s arms in their bedroom later that night, still reeling from what had happened at the masked ball. They’d managed to get Sara home before anyone there had been aware of what happened. Harrison had then ordered Sara to her room for the night, with instructions that they would finish their discussion with her in the morning.
“Boy, oh boy, is she your daughter.” Harrison chuckled, kissing her check.
“That’s not funny, Harrison,” Juliette scolded good-naturedly. “And you completely overeacted, by the way!”
“I wasn’t completely overeacting,” he said softly. “I really was furious with that boy!”
“I know and I don’t blame you. But I was worried when Mara told us that Drake was at the ball. And I was so terrified that we’d find Sara with him that it was such a relief to discover her with Lord Bridgeton that I almost laughed!”
“It still wasn’t a laughing matter no matter how you look at it,” Harrison concluded, his brows drawn together.
“I know, I know. But it was better than finding her with Drake! Don’t you agree? I like Lord Bridgeton, and I’m rather pleased that they’ll marry. In spite of the rather shocking circumstances we found them in tonight, I believe Sara’s actually in love with him, but she’s just too stubborn to realize or admit it. Did you notice how angry she got when she discovered he was engaged? She was jealous!”
“Well, Bridgeton is clearly besotted with her.”
“He is, isn’t he?” Juliette smiled in satisfaction. “I was hoping something like this would happen. Oh, not the discovering them half-naked like that, no!” she quickly amended. “I certainly could have done without seeing that.”
“Honestly, I don’t know what was worse, the expression of horror on your face or theirs!”
“It was quite a shock, I’ll tell you,” Juliette said. “I was just mortified for her, that’s all. For both of them, actually. But I liked how protective he was of Sara.”
“I’d have liked it a lot better if Bridgeton had been more protective of my daughter’s virtue in the first place and not seduced her at my sister-in-law’s party,” Harrison grumbled.
Juliette nudged him with her elbow. “Harrison . . . have you forgotten how it was with us? On your ship? We were just like them, only we were lucky. We never got caught by anyone.”
“Sara is just like you, Juliette, you forward little hussy. Headstrong and stubborn and wants her own way. She probably took advantage of him,” he teased.
“Harrison!” Juliette laughed. “You always say that I seduced you, but you know it was mutual!”
“It was at that.” He placed a loving kiss on her cheek.
“They’re both young and so in love with each other they can’t even see it.” Juliette softly sighed. “It’s fortunate that we caught them together, or Christopher Townsend may have ended up marrying that other girl and not Sara.”
“I wouldn’t have thought of it that way, but you may be right,” Harrison admitted. “Bridgeton is a good man and I’ve nothing against him, except for this evening. I actually played some cards with him at the club last night. I like him a lot. I believe he’ll be good for her.”
“Yes, she’ll be safe married to Lord Bridgeton rather than that awful Drake. And I think she’ll be very happy too, if she’ll allow herself to be. I had hoped all along that she’d meet someone she loves better than that awful Drake character.”
“I just think she’ll take the news about Drake better, now that she has Bridgeton,” Harrison added.
“I don’t see how Drake can possibly even be an issue anymore, Harrison. If Mara said that Drake was at the ball, then why on earth was Sara with Lord Bridgeton and not him?” she asked.
“I’ve no idea. I’m just as confused by her behavior tonight as you are.” He shrugged. “I can’t even pretend to understand you women.”
Juliette elbowed her husband again, and he pretended it hurt, while chuckling. “Well, we’ll talk to her tomorrow,” he said. “And I’ll have to try not to seem too happy about her having to marry Lord Bridgeton.”
* * *
Very early the next morning, Sara held Boots in her arms as she stared out the window of her bedroom, watching a misty fog roll across the street below. She’d need to leave soon, before anyone woke up and tried to stop her. Due to the late hour they returned home last night, she’d told Leighton, her lady’s maid, that she needed to sleep and instructed her not to wake her until noon. No one would expect to see her before then. Everyone would be sleeping late as well. Thinking she could send for the rest of her things later, she’d packed only a small valise. It was all she could carry, especially if she had Boots with her. She certainly couldn’t leave him behind.
Kissing the top of his little head, she rocked the tiny Yorkie in her arms.
Her parents had planned to talk to her this afternoon about all that had happened and her impending marriage. Well, they would be in for another shock when they found her gone. Sara had had enough of them telling her whom she should and shouldn’t marry. She was finished with anyone telling her what to do.
She was almost twenty-one years old. She was old enough to make her own decisions about her life. About what she wanted to do and who she wanted to marry, most certainly. She knew her own mind. The time for anyone, her mother, her father, Christopher, Phillip, Uncle Jeffrey, or any of them, telling her how to live her life was over.
Last night had been awful.
Well, most of it.
Having her parents discover her undressed in Christopher Townsend’s arms was not the proudest moment of her life, that was for certain. That she had been utterly mortified was an understatement. Afterward, she and Christopher never even had a moment to talk and her parents hadn’t given her a chance to say a word either. It was as if she wasn’t there and her opinions didn’t count. They’d ushered her out of Uncle Jeffrey’s house, telling her aunts and uncles that Sara wasn’t feeling well, and whisked her home. Grateful for the fact that at least her whole family didn’t know of her shameful behavior, she had remained quiet the entire ride home. As did her parents. Luckily, they spared her the lecture on her shocking conduct when they got back to Devon House, promising her instead a good long talk the next day about the disgraced state of affairs in which she now found herself.
Humiliated, Sara couldn’t even look her father in the eye.
She had to admit that her parents’ knowing about her involvement with Christopher Townsend weakened her case for marrying Alexander Drake. How they seemed to know that Alexander was at the ball was still a bit of a mystery to her. Had her parents recognized him somehow? Had they run into one another? Or was it Mara? She was the only one who could have told them. Would Mara have betrayed her? She hated to contemplate that. But she hadn’t even seen Mara all evening! Where had Mara been? Or perhaps Phillip had gotten it out of Mara and he was the one who told her parents?
In either case, she wasn’t waiting around to find out the answer. Not today anyway.
As for why she had done what she’d done with Christopher, that remained the greatest mystery of them all. She had no earthly justification or rationale to explain what had happened with him in that drawing room last night. One minute the two of them were talking, the next they were arguing. Which they’d never done before. Before she knew it, she was in his arms and they were kissing. And she simply could not stop. Nor did she want to. For some reason, her brain ceased to function properly when Christopher kissed her.
But it didn’t mean that she wanted to marry him either. Especially not when her parents were now telling her that she had to marry him. Besides, he was already engaged! To that ridiculous little Beckwith girl, of all people! At least now Sara understood why the other day in the carriage Christopher said he couldn’t marry her. Well, fine. Bonnie Beckwith could have him. She didn’t need or want Lord Bridgeton!
It was Alexander Drake she really loved and wanted to
marry. He was the one she dreamed of and longed to be with. Yet no one believed her. Marrying him was what she had wanted all along. And that was exactly what she intended to do.
With her little tapestry valise in one hand and Boots in the other, she left her room and tiptoed down the hall. Taking the servants’ staircase, she silently left Devon House in the misty dawn and walked determinedly down the street, headed for the Savoy Hotel, where she had promised to meet her future husband.
* * *
Later that same foggy morning, the Earl of Bridgeton paced impatiently in the overdecorated and gaudy drawing room of the Beckwiths’ grand London town house. Every feature in the place fairly screamed money, as was Mrs. Beckwith’s intention. While his footsteps covered the expensive Persian rug, Christopher glanced at the ornate gilt clock on the marble mantel. He knew it was ridiculously early to be paying a call, but he had no choice. Anxious to get on with it, he wished Mr. Beckwith would hurry and make an appearance.
He had to end this engagement with Bonnie Beckwith as soon as possible.
Her father was not going to be pleased at all. Luckily for Christopher, they’d only been engaged one day. It was doubtful that any of the paperwork was completed and since the engagement hadn’t been announced yet, it should be easy enough to withdraw.
As soon as this was done he had to meet with Captain Fleming. There was no getting around it. Although he’d agreed to marry Sara, he had to disclose his dire financial situation to her father. Perhaps the captain would rather have his daughter wed to a man with better prospects than his. Sara was a girl used to having nice things, and even given their family’s reduced circumstances, being his wife was not going to elevate her monetary position at all.
He’d also made the decision to sell Bridgeton Hall last night, as he lay sleepless in bed reliving the humiliating scene in the drawing room and taking stock of his unbelievable situation. There was nothing else to be done for it. After hundreds of years, Bridgeton Hall would not belong to a Townsend. He’d already written a letter to his solicitor this morning, asking him to begin proceedings to sell the estate.
As much as it pained him to do so, there was also a sense of freedom with the letting go of it. Just as his sister Evie had suggested, maybe it would be better to be free of the burdens of the manor house that had held mostly nightmares for them and start over somewhere new. With what little money was left, he’d find a nice place for his family to live. Then he would get a position somewhere. This morning, since he hadn’t slept all night, he’d managed to write a series of letters to various friends, seeking employment. Although raised to be a gentleman of the nobility, there was no reason at all why he shouldn’t work to earn money to support his family. His two sisters would understand and be ecstatic to learn that he wasn’t marrying Bonnie Beckwith after all. He actually couldn’t wait to tell them the news this evening.
The brightest spot in all of it was Sara.
He would be marrying Sara Fleming.
It still stunned him to think of it. A burgeoning sense of hope and happiness filled him, in spite of losing the estate and the Beckwiths’ money. Even without a cent to his name, he would rather marry Sara than have all the money in the world with Bonnie Beckwith.
“Well, well, my lord . . . What is it that’s so important that I needed to be called from my breakfast?” Alfred Beckwith said as he blustered into the drawing room.
Christopher faced him. “Good morning, sir. I’m afraid I’ve had a change of circumstances regarding our arrangement.”
Beckwith waved his hand carelessly. “Oh, if you need more money, that’s not a problem at all. We can manage to work something out, my boy.”
“No, Mr. Beckwith, I’m afraid that’s not the case. Not this time.” He paused. “Unfortunately, I must withdraw my offer of marriage to your daughter.”
“Are you serious?” he asked, completely baffled by the news.
“Yes, I am,” Christopher said briskly. “We’ve not signed any papers as of yet, so it should be a fairly painless diverging of ways. I thank you for everything and wish you and your daughter only the best in the future. I’m sure she will find someone who will make her happier than I ever could.”
A piercing shriek issued from the doorway. Startled, both men turned to see Bonnie, still in her nightclothes, standing there. She’d clearly overheard their conversation. “No, Lord Bridgeton, no! You cannot do that!”
“Bonnie! Get back to your room this instant, young lady!” Alfred Beckwith commanded, horrified by her presence. “You’re not even dressed!”
Ignoring her father completely, she glared at Christopher with angry brown eyes. “You said you would marry me! You said it!” Furious, she stamped her pink-slippered foot. “You can’t unsay it. You promised to marry me. You have to marry me now!”
Christopher stared at this little woman whom he had agreed to marry just days ago. With a ruffled, high-necked pink robe wrapped around her and her long brown hair falling about her shoulders, she looked like a child. A very spoiled little child having a tantrum.
“I apologize, Miss Beckwith, for any hurt feelings my change of heart has caused you,” he said soberly. “But following much consideration, I don’t believe that we would be well suited after all.” What had he been thinking to contemplate shackling himself to this mini-tyrant for the rest of his life? Money made people do desperate things.
Bonnie began to cry then. Not delicate ladylike tears or a gentle sob, but a full-on wail of grief and frustration and utter confusion as to why she was not getting her way.
Her father went to her, and while patting her shoulder, said soothingly, “Oh, don’t cry. There, there, my sweet darling. You mustn’t cry. We can find someone better for you, I promise.”
“Nooooo, Papa! I waaaaant to marry him! I wanted to be a cooountesssss!” she cried with a great gulping sob, fat tears streaming down her reddened face.
Alfred Beckwith turned back to Christopher with imploring eyes. “Really, Lord Bridgeton, can you not see what you are doing to my daughter? Look at her! She is completely and utterly devastated. Bonnie had her heart set on you! And now you are breaking it. I beg you to reconsider what you are doing here.”
Bonnie paused from her histrionics long enough to stare up at him, to see what impact her father’s words had on him. She cried again, “Lord Bridgeton, you said you would marry me . . . You said you would!”
Christopher had no doubt that Mr. Beckwith would buy his overindulged daughter another man with a title with which to console her. The Earl of Bridgeton was no longer for sale.
He squared his shoulders. “Once again, I apologize to you both for wasting your time and causing you any unnecessary disappointment. Mr. Beckwith, I’ve no patience for scenes like this, so as you can see, I’d not be the kind of husband your daughter would require after all. When all is said and done, she will be much happier without me. Miss Beckwith, I wish you only the best in any future marriage. Good day to you both.”
Tipping his hat to a speechless Mrs. Beckwith on his way out of the drawing room, Christopher left the house as quickly as he could.
He’d never felt more relieved in his life.
* * *
That same morning Lady Mara Reeves rushed over to Devon House just as soon as she could. She had to find out what had happened to Sara last night. Aunt Juliette and Uncle Harrison had whisked her home before Mara had had a chance to talk to her. When she’d seen Lord Bridgeton, he remained tight-lipped as well and left immediately after the Flemings did, leaving Mara to speculate on what had happened. She had just known something terrible was going to happen that night and she had a feeling it had come to pass.
Mara also sensed by now that Sara was angry with her for telling her parents that Alexander Drake was at the ball. Not only did Mara need to find out what happened to her cousin last night, she needed to apologize to her.
The Devon House butler opened the door and let Mara in. “Good morning, Lady Mara,” he greeted her with
his usual solemn voice.
“Good morning, Parkins,” she said rather hurriedly. “I’ve come to see Miss Sara.”
“I don’t believe she’s come down yet, my lady,” he explained. “Lord and Lady Stancliff and Captain and Mrs. Fleming are breakfasting in the dining room already, if you care to join them.”
“Thank you. But I think I shall just go directly up to Sara’s room first.” This was perfect. Mara could speak to Sara privately this way. She fairly flew up the wide staircase and down the hall to Sara’s room.
Knocking softly upon the door, Mara heard only silence from the other side. How could Sara still be sleeping? Filled with impatience, Mara turned the knob and entered the room. Sara wasn’t in there and it looked as if the large four-poster bed hadn’t been slept in. A dreadful feeling began to overtake Mara.
She reached for the long, tasseled bell cord, ringing for Sara’s lady’s maid. While waiting for her to arrive, she looked carefully around the room. Boots was gone, but most of Sara’s things were just where she would have left them.
Leighton, a sweet blond girl with kind eyes, arrived, looking confused at seeing Mara but not Sara. “Excuse me, my lady, but where is Miss Sara?”
“That’s just what I was going to ask you, Leighton,” Mara said, knowing instinctively that Sara had gone to Alexander Drake. “When was the last time you saw her?”
“Why, last night before she went to bed, of course,” the girl said in a worried tone. “She instructed me not to wake her before noon. It’s only just eleven now, your ladyship.”
“She didn’t say anything to you about going anywhere?”
“Not a word.”
“Can you tell me if any of her things are gone?”
The girl looked hurriedly through the wardrobe. “A small valise is missing and some of her personal items.”
“Thank you, Leighton. Please don’t worry. I think I know where she is.” Mara comforted the stricken maid. Then she turned to head downstairs. She had to tell Aunt Juliette and Uncle Harrison that Sara had left.
The Heiress He's Been Waiting For Page 23
