Anna leaned closer. “Go on.”
“In any case, the Alwin family stayed with one of the emperor’s councilmen during their tenure in Rio de Janeiro. Rumor has it that of this councilman’s ten children, our Lady Alwin was quite taken with his eldest son. So taken, in fact, that she begged her father to let her stay when it was time for her family to return to England.”
Clearly unconvinced, Anna said, “I’d never known Lady Alwin to put on such a display. You must be mistaken.”
“Perhaps,” Justin allowed. “But after Sebastian discovered she was with child, and well, we all know what happened next. She attempted to return to Brazil. Only, her father denied her leave and swept her and her mother away from the Continent.”
“Her reputation might have been saved had she stayed, and had Sebastian”--her blue eyes stole a quick glance at the source--“married her as he should have.” Looking at Justin, she said, “I, too, never believed Sebastian would allow a woman’s reputation to be ruined so contemptibly. Even if the child wasn’t his. And I’m not saying that it wasn’t. But even if it wasn’t, the right choice would have been for him to accept the child as his own. The ton would have been none the wiser, and Lady Alwin’s reputation would still be intact.”
“You seem to have thought this over.”
“I have!” She covered her mouth with her fingertips. “I have,” she repeated. “Haven’t you?”
“Sebastian’s my best friend, Anna. What do you think?”
“Then if you have thought it over, as I have--many, many times--then do you not agree with me? That Sebastian should have accepted his fiancée, faults and all, and claimed the child?”
“The father of the child was half native Brazilian, Anna.”
Anna’s lips parted.
“Which was made perfectly clear when the child, a male child, was born with naturally bronzed skin and hair the color of black coal.” He shifted his gaze to Sebastian, who was now contributing to Sara’s and Cavanaugh’s conversation. Thank goodness. “Seeing as Lady Alwin had red hair, and I can’t imagine our Lord Beaufort fathering any offspring who isn’t born with a mass of gold curls, I’d have to conclude that the child was, indeed, not Sebastian’s.”
When Anna did not respond, Justin added, “I do not believe Lady Alwin’s reputation would have stayed any more intact had she remained in England and married Sebastian, than it is now. I hear she’s made a fine home for herself, and her child, in France.”
Anna did not say a word, only stared at Sebastian as if she were looking at him for the first time. Even as dinner ended, and Justin escorted her to the drawing room, she was speechless. The shock of it, of Sebastian actually having told the truth, had apparently taken her by surprise. In fact, Justin thought her to be close
to fainting until Caroline, speaking over the guests as they were taking their seats, asked her to select the first reading.
“Oh,” she said, snapping out of her hypnotic state. She stood, chose a random book from the shelf, and read the spine: “The Sonnets by William Shakespeare.” Satisfied, she announced confidently, “I’ll be reading number one hundred and sixteen.”
Justin took the empty seat next to Sara, as Anna began her reading. “Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments. Love is not love ...”
“Grace be to God for Shakespeare,” he whispered. “If that book had been anything but, Anna might have been in a bit of a predicament.”
Sara leaned into him. “She doesn’t read much, I gather.”
“Gossip papers, mostly. Did you enjoy dinner? Caroline’s cook always makes the finest lamb in mint cream.”
“Yes, it was lovely.”
*** *** ***
Sara closed her eyes. He smelled wonderful, the remnants of soap and aftershave and outdoors. His thigh brushed her knee, and Sara had the most peculiar urge to put her hand over his. She’d almost forgotten they’d argued.
“Lovely.” He leaned closer. His sleeve nudged her bare arm, his breath tickled her cheek. “Lovely was the tune you sang for us before dinner.”
Sara blinked, suddenly aware that her face was growing warmer. Her response came out a feeble whisper. “Thank you, my lord.”
“Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks within his bending sickle’s compass come ...”
“I would very much enjoy hearing you sing again,” he murmured close to her ear.
The warmth in her cheeks spread down her neck, to her chest. “Her Grace asked that I sing once more before our stay has come to an end.”
“Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,” Anna read on, “but bears it out even to the edge of doom ...”
“I was thinking more of a private recital, my lady,” he said, and Sara could almost hear him smiling. “Perhaps when we are alone.”
“Oh.” It was all she could think to say. He wanted to be alone with her. A simple request. She’d been alone with him several times now. But something in his tone promised the next time would be different. Only how, she did not know.
“Perhaps when you permit me our day together.” His voice was so seductively smooth the tiny hairs at the base of her head prickled. “When I can have you all to myself.”
“If this be error and upon me proved,” Anna read, and Sara, turning her eyes to the other guests in effort to keep her blush at bay, swore her heart was on the verge of leaping from her chest.
Even Sebastian looked enraptured, his lips parted, eyes focused solely on Anna as she finished what was, in every circle of society, comparable to the Holy Word.
“I never writ, nor no man ever loved.”
Justin drew back and clapped with the other guests as Anna smiled and curtsied. All the while, Sara was paralyzed. Oh, she managed to clap--the sonnet was one of her favorites--but her hands shook so badly she had to fold them together and push them into her lap.
Justin wanted to be alone with her. She’d known this, hadn’t she? This was one of the stakes of their bet, which had been a stupid thing to do now she thought about it. Proper young ladies didn’t make bets with gentlemen. But she had, and he wanted a day with her. And a night, she reminded herself, a twinge of nervousness settling in her stomach.
“Tomorrow,” he said, as Caroline chose one of the dowagers for the next reading.
“Tomorrow?”
“We’re fishing tomorrow down by the river. You should join us. The duchess usually arranges for a picnic, al fresco. Granted, she won’t be attending. She and the rest of the female guests usually stay inside, playing cards and gossiping over tea.”
The nervousness in her belly began a slow rise to her throat. She blinked several times.
“You’ve made other plans.” His brow furrowed. “You’ve decided to take tea and gossip with the ladies?”
Sara shook her head.
“Then what is it?”
She closed her eyes, opened them. “Cav invited me to go fishing tomorrow.”
That did it. He frowned. His eyes, which had but a few minutes earlier been alight with warmth and mirth turned cold, the pupils receding from the irises.
She hadn’t just disappointed him. Disappointment wasn’t what she saw there, casting a shadow on his flawless face.
She’d hurt him.
“Justin,” she whispered, barely. “I--”
“Don’t.” He held up a quieting hand. “Just ... don’t.”
“But I--” she began, but he was already standing.
His hands curled into fists, relaxed. For a moment, he stared ahead unseeingly, and she wondered what he might be thinking. If he was really that angry with her, if she’d genuinely hurt this steel-of-a-man by promising to attend an event with someone else. It was just fishing, after all. Couldn’t rightly place it in the same category as an event, so to speak, much less consider it a grand occasion.
But Cav had invited her. She’d told Justin the truth about him, that he’d asked for her hand in marriage. What could she have rightfully expected his rea
ction to be? She would’ve been just as angry had he invited Lady St. Clair to something of equal import to her.
Blast. He’d sat next to her, talked with her, laughed with her, and she’d ruined it. She’d managed to be happy with him, fight with him, nearly make amends with him, and ultimately break his spirit all in one day.
This had to be some sort of record for feministic deficiencies.
He cleared his throat. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
All Sara could do was stare up at him, and then after him as he, without so much as muttering another word, stalked from the room, resembling more of a raging lion than her pride-wounded fiancé.
THIRTEEN
The River Severn ran at the bottom of the hill, just below the gardens of Worcester Hall. Though the duchess, when hosting her annual house party, spent most of her time having tea and ladylike conversation with the other female guests, she always made certain her male guests were well taken care of, particularly when they fished. And as tradition would have it, the gentlemen spent the first full day of the house party doing just that.
From where she stood at the top of a steep incline, Sara could make out a sideboard filled with food and drink as well as a few small round tables, covered in white linen and nestled beneath the bows of a side-by-side pair of grand oak trees. The men were spread out along the bank of the river, their coats draped over the backs of their chairs. Anna joined her side, and together, she and Sara strolled down the hill.
“He’ll recover,” Anna told her. She bit off a piece of apple. “His pride is only wounded, and you know how men are about their beloved pride.”
Sara shrugged. “I’m not so sure. You should have seen his face. If I’d been blessed with more than half a brain, I would’ve never mentioned Cav at all. He didn’t ask that I accompany him, only that I join him at some point during the day.”
“Which is what we’re doing,” said Anna. “And don’t say you only have half a brain. You’re quite the smartest young woman I know.”
“Thank you. But I should have just kept it as so. You and I, having no interest in partaking in feminine conversation today, deciding to watch the men fish.”
“Which, by the way, I’m very happy we chose to do. Especially since Lady St. Clair made an appearance. Heavens, I despise that woman. A menace, if ever there was one.”
“I can’t say I very much like her either,” said Sara. “She stares as if I have the plague.”
Anna nearly choked on her apple. “How morbid!” But then, with the faintest smile curling her lips, “Sounds like something I would say. Indeed, Lady St. Clair looks at everyone in that manner. Down the line of her pointy nose, though the rest of her is rather plump in comparison. I never understood what my brother saw in her.”
“Experience perhaps?”
“Decisively overrated.”
“Your brother doesn’t seem to think so.”
“My brother doesn’t know what he thinks. Besides, I believe all this Milly business is a moot point.” Her eyes glimmered as she glanced aside at Sara. “I believe he is quite taken with you. Hopelessly besotted, if you ask me.”
Sara felt her cheeks flush. “How can you tell?”
“The way he looks at you, silly! How else?”
“Hmm.” Sara felt her heart give a little flutter as she spotted the back of Justin’s dark head. He and Sebastian sat side by side, heads bent in discussion over a lure.
“But I also believe this is a splendid idea,” Anna went on, “you keeping your fishing date with Mr. Cavanaugh. Justin needs some incentive to realize just how enamored with you he really is. A little jealousy will do him good.”
“I don’t want to make him angry,” Sara said. “Last night he was–”
“Last night was last night. Goodness, Sara, don’t you know anything about men?”
“Apparently not.”
“Well, I’ll tell you. They get angry, they sleep on it, and they get over it. Today will be about you visiting with your handsome friend, Mr. Cavanaugh, whilst my brother learns a valuable lesson.”
“And that is ...?”
“Never allow yourself to be at odds with your intended. He needs to apologize for being an arse about Cav.”
“Anna!”
“What? Well, he was an arse, was he not?”
Sara paused. “Well, yes, but you needn’t be so vulgar.”
“Oh, all right.” Anna tossed her apple core into the grass. “We shouldn’t be so vulgar. Perhaps we should say something else. Some sort of code word for when someone is being ...”
Sara lowered her voice. “An arse?”
“Precisely. Oh!” Anna clapped her hands together. “I have it. We’ll call them a toad.”
“A toad?” Sara raised her eyebrows. “That’s not exactly a nice word either. At least not when one is referring to a person rather than an amphibian.”
“You’d rather we called them arses?”
Sara groaned. This must’ve been how Lana felt when Sara was spouting off curses in Gaelic. “Of course not. But we’re comparing men to amphibians.”
“Men are amphibians when they’re being arses,” Anna pointed out. “Mindless, slimy creatures.”
True enough. “Toad it is,” Sara conceded, and Anna smiled triumphantly.
“Just so you know,” Anna whispered as they drew near the river, “even though my toad-of-a-brother and his toad-of-a-best-friend love it, I absolutely detest fishing.”
Sara snickered. “Then I will regard this as an extreme favor. Look, there are tables and chairs under the tree. You can sit back and relax, away from the fish.”
“They only catch and release. A novel concept to prove how manly they are, who can catch the bigger fish. But seeing as it is Mr. Cavanaugh who has invited you today--” here, she nodded toward Cav, who was standing, fishing pole in hand, on the riverbank “--and he has left his seat unattended, I believe I’ll sit closer to the river.”
Sara looked. The only empty seat was beside Sebastian. “But you’ll have to sit next to Lord Beaufort. And there are plenty of chairs here beneath the tables. One of the attending footmen would gladly--”
But Anna was already marching gracefully down the hill. She favored her brother and Sebastian a wide smile as they stood and murmured their greetings. Clearly she and Sebastian had come to some sort of truce; she remained standing with him even after Justin had sat back down to rethread his lure. Within seconds, they were laughing and talking as if nothing disagreeable had ever transpired between them.
“May I offer you some lemonade, my lady?”
Sara turned to the footman and politely shook her head. “Not right now, thank you. Are there any extra fishing rods?”
“Of course, my lady,” he replied, looking a bit surprised. “Shall I thread and bait it for you?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “I can manage.”
He looked even more surprised, but remained silent, picked one of the smaller poles resting against the sidebar, and handed it to her. “The gentlemen are in possession of all the lures, my lady. Shall I select one for you?”
“Thank you, kind sir,” she responded, “but I can manage that too. You’ve been most helpful.”
He bowed, and Sara descended the hill, not missing the glare of Justin’s dark eyes when she failed to acknowledge him. Let him stew a bit. Anna said a little jealousy would be good for him, and judging by the way his eyes roamed from her to Cav as she approached the riverbank, it was working.
“Your fiancé’s giving me the evil-eye,” Cav muttered to her, but of course he was smiling.
She spared the smallest glance over her shoulder at Justin. He was visibly clenching his teeth, his eyes all but darting spears.
“I hope me getting killed isn’t part of your little ploy.” Cav cast his line. “I am here on business, you know. Da won’t be happy if I end up dead before this deal is worked out with Worcester.”
Sara attempted to look shocked. “Whatever do you mean? What pl
oy?”
He cocked his head to the side. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You could’ve just declined my offer, you know, instead of using me to spark the devil in your fiancé.”
“I agreed because I wanted to spend time with you, Cav. We haven’t seen each other for quite a while.”
“Months.” His emerald eyes shifted to the rod in her hand. “Want me to bait that for you?” He glanced past her, toward Justin. “That should sting him a bit.”
Sara bit back a smile. “Why I’d be delighted, Lord Cavanaugh.” She handed him the pole.
Careful not to disturb the water, he set his own pole on the ground, holding it in place with his foot while he worked on Sara’s.
“You always did tie the best lure,” she murmured, watching as his fingers skillfully made a loop here and a knot there.
The side of his mouth twitched. “Don’t play girlish games with me, Sara. I may be willing to lend aid to your little scheme, but I’m far from immune to female attention.”
Her lips parted, and she nearly caught her breath when he gave her a flashing gaze beneath the sheath of long lashes.
She’d forgotten how handsome he was.
“I’ll have you casting your line whilst that prim bottom of yours sits on my lap, if you don’t behave,” he murmured. “I’m certain that would get an ample rise out of Lord Carrington.”
“Cav!” The outright impertinence! “Have you lost your senses?”
His shoulders shook with laughter. “I’ve lost plenty, sweet.” He handed over her rod, perfectly baited with a spinning minnow lure. “My senses, however, are still intact. Now, cast your line. Or shall I do that for you too?”
She narrowed her eyes. “No, thank you.”
He shrugged, picked up his own rod. Recast it with all the elegance of a skilled fisherman. “So, tell me. Are you enjoying England?”
“I like it just fine, thank you.”
Betrothed Page 16
