The Earl of Heartbreak

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  That said, the notorious Cyprian had made it clear she had her sights set on becoming Rayne's countess - however improbable that might be - even going so far as to happen by Madame LaVallier's exclusive dress shop and request to look at some of the newest fashion plates from Paris so that she might begin planning her new, post-nuptial wardrobe.

  Given that Rayne had been seen in Sarah's company in the weeks before, Sarah didn't think it was merely a coincidence that the wretched woman just happened to appear in the modiste's shop the very same day that Sarah was also inside being fitted for the last of her own summer wardrobe. Nor did she think it coincidence that Miss Crestwood had delivered some rather sharp remarks about aging Society virgins, shocking just about everyone within hearing distance and abruptly being asked to leave by none other than Madame LaVallier herself.

  No, none of those events were accidents, but they still cut Sarah deeply, and gave her every reason to suspect that Rayne had gone scurrying back to the bed of his former mistress. For if a man was bedding his old mistress, then it was unlikely that he could be bothered to send a note to the innocent he had just kissed senseless on her family's London terrace.

  It was also not just Sarah who believed the same thing. Much of Society had believed the rumors as well. Including the ever-present gossips. With no note and no information regarding Rayne's whereabouts, Sarah had been unable to contradict those who laughed at her, snickering behind her back that she had been utterly foolish if she had thought that she had been the one to finally catch the attention of the infamous Earl of Heartbreak.

  With no word from Rayne himself, Sarah had nothing more than her usual cool reserve with which to defend herself. And she had done her best, to the point where, just before the Season ended, sympathy from the ton had been squarely on her side and thus, her reputation saved - for what it was worth. The Tattler, along with several other gossip rags, had repeatedly bestowed high praise upon Sarah for maintaining her dignity in the face of such horrid behavior from the man many had come to view as her betrothed. Those were actions befitting The One, at least according to Society, but that was little comfort to Sarah who knew that Miss Crestwood and the gossips were correct - in a way.

  No matter what Sarah did or said, no matter how she dressed or acted, she would never attract the attention of a man like the Earl of Raynecourt. Or any man of the peerage, for that matter. She was not the sort of woman aristocratic men desired and likely never would be. It was time for Sarah to face the reality that she was destined for spinsterhood and should begin making plans for what would be her final Season on the Marriage Mart.

  The simple truth was, if Sarah couldn't marry Rayne, then she would not marry at all. She had long felt that way and at her advanced age, her feelings on the matter were unlikely to change. Since, after the kiss, Rayne didn't seem to desire Sarah's company any longer, the decision she had wrestled with for so long - namely what to do about her feelings for the Earl of Heartbreak - seemed to have been made for her.

  It wasn't as if she had to marry anyway. Long ago, Sarah and Frost had made a pact that he would not force her to marry a man she did not love and was not certain would treat her with respect. Their mother knew nothing of the agreement, of course, and never would. It was a private matter between Sarah and her brother, atonement for events gone horribly wrong so long ago, and both of them made it a point not to dwell upon the matter. It simply was.

  Instead of marriage, Sarah could retreat to one of the many Chillton properties scattered throughout England. She could even choose the dower house at Hallowby Grange if she so desired, even though she would never do something so scandalous. When she finally made her decision to retire from Society, Sarah would be given her dowry monies, the fortune left to her by a great aunt years ago, and an extremely generous stipend that would last her for the rest of her days. She could travel as she pleased, hire any staff she might require and go about her life precisely as she wished. The only thing that Frost had asked of her in return was for Sarah to announce ahead of time that she was entering her final Season, giving any man who might wish to court her time to do so.

  It was a little thing to ask and Sarah was more than willing to fulfill the request. However, preparing to become a spinster, especially a wealthy one, would require planning. That was why when a desperate letter from Aunt Elizabeth, her mother's sister who resided in a small village just outside of Bath, had arrived at Chillton House a sennight before Sarah, her mother and her sisters were to depart for Hallowby Grange, Sarah had offered to venture on to the country estate alone, with only the most basic staff accompanying her. The time away from her family would give Sarah an opportunity to plan for her future and decide what sort of life she wished for herself. Without the interference of her well-meaning mother who could never understand why Frost would not force Sarah to marry.

  Provided she had the time, of course.

  A day or so before Sarah was scheduled to depart, her mother had decided that the time alone in the country would provide plenty of time for Sarah to begin planning the grand wedding ball in Frost and Lavinia's honor that was to be held at Hallowby Grange in late August, just before the harvest season began. Although Lavinia's grandfather, the Duke of Annandell, was hosting his own wedding ball and ceremony at Castle Dunlein in the north, the now-dowager Viscountess of Chillton refused to be outdone where her only son was concerned. Such an extravaganza would take weeks, if not months, of planning and with the dowager occupied in Bath with her sister, that left no one at Hallowby to see to the beginning of the preparations.

  No one but Sarah, of course. After all, her mother had gently reminded her, she was to become a spinster now and planning grand parties for others were often among that tasks assigned to such women who had once been a full and vibrant part of Society. If this was truly the path Sarah wished to tread upon, her mother had informed her, she had best become accustomed to the life she would lead as a spinster.

  Given how hurt Sarah still was over Rayne's actions, she didn't care if she ever set foot in London or danced at another ball ever again.

  So like a dutiful daughter, Sarah had packed her trunks and set off for Oxfordshire with her maid Colleen, two carriages full of assorted servants, a loaded-down wagon, several outriders, and enough gowns to last three women a Season or longer. All so she could open up Hallowby Grange as the family always did at the end of the London Season and prepare for August's grand ball. Just as a spinster would.

  Officially opening Hallowby Grange for the summer, letting the local gentry know that the Tillsbury family was once more in residence and overseeing estate matters were all things that Frost should have done, of course. He was the viscount after all. However, he also could not be located at present since he was on his honeymoon in the north and their mother was not one to be kept waiting when she desired something. She was also, Sarah knew, an expert in manipulation, and had likely requested that Sarah venture on to Hallowby for reasons that Sarah herself could not even guess at, nor would wish to do so.

  Whatever her mother's plans, Sarah had given the matter some thought and decided that perhaps returning to Hallowby alone for the time being was the best course of action for everyone involved. She didn't wish to remain in London any longer, especially as Miss Crestwood was still swanning about, mentioning Rayne and their imagined future together with every other breath that she took. Sarah also didn't wish to venture with the rest of her family to Bath, either. For as much gratitude as she felt towards Aunt Elizabeth for caring for her sister over the years, the woman was often too direct by half, quizzing Sarah and her sisters endlessly about their romantic prospects - among other embarrassing topics.

  Dory, Sarah's twin, and their younger sister Aurelia still had stars in their eyes when it came to the notion of love and beaux. Sarah no longer did. Her sisters could speak for hours about the men - one each, in particular - they were enamored of and fancied themselves in love with. After Rayne's post-kiss silence, Sarah had seriously considered
walloping him a good one - if she ever saw him again. That was not the sort of behavior a lady might display towards a man she fancied herself in love with. No, not at all.

  Which was why Sarah was presently sitting alone in her grandmother's favorite parlor - one that her mother intensely disliked and never used for unknown reasons - with quill in hand, stacks of papers spread out in front of her, estate reports from Frost's steward on another small table beside her and a rapidly cooling tea tray that she had not touched just within reaching distance.

  For Sarah, it was either this - return to Hallowby and undertake many of the season opening tasks typically reserved for the viscount - or face a barrage of questions she could not answer from Aunt Elizabeth. Sarah preferred the solitude. And the tasks. They made her feel useful, if nothing else.

  With a sigh, she tossed her quill aside and picked up a biscuit, taking a small bite. As usual, it was delicious, though she would expect nothing less from Mrs. Dowdy's kitchen. The woman had long been in the family's employ, beginning as a serving girl at a young age. Now significantly older and married, the woman was a masterful cook and controlled the kitchen at Hallowby so thoroughly that Sarah wondered how, if she moved elsewhere, she would ever survive without the woman's raspberry tarts. Another cook might be taught to make them, but they would lack Mrs. Dowdy's special touch. Of that, Sarah was certain.

  Chewing slowly, Sarah studied the back lawn and gardens that stretched out before her, Mrs. Dowdy's tarts reminding Sarah that sooner rather than later, she would have to select a place to live. Much as she loved Hallowby, her mother was meant to occupy the dower house here, not Sarah. The last thing she wished to do was deprive Lady Clara Tillsbury of the small and snug old manor home that had been her refuge for so long. It had been the one place she could hide from the brutality of her husband when it became necessary, taking her children with her until the previous Lord Chillton's rage passed.

  So no, Sarah could not remain at Hallowby, at least not after Frost and Lavinia returned to take up permanent residence. There were other options, however, such as Sayton Abby in the north and Violet Hill in Sussex, not far from the infamous Seldon Park. Of the two, Sarah thought she might enjoy Violet Hill, for if she grew bored, she could always visit her friend Eliza who now called Seldon Park home as the newly wedded Duchess of Candlewood.

  Deciding to think upon the matter further, Sarah reached down and scooped up one of her two cats. The white puffballs went wherever she did, much to her sisters' collective annoyance, but Sarah didn't care. Over the years, both Toffee and Taffy had listened to Sarah's girlish hopes and dreams more nights than she could count with little more than a soft meow of protest and a rather large amount of lap snuggling. Toffee, whose brown tipped ears were really the only way to tell her apart from her long-ago littermate, gave a small chirp of protest as Sarah placed the cat on her lap, but settled in quickly once she realized that there were ear scratches to be had. Taffy, who was the more reserved of the two, settled on Sarah's feet and began to purr contentedly, clearly ready for a nice, long nap.

  Sarah had no idea how long she sat there, petting her cat and thinking upon her future, but it could not have been all that long. Her tea - freshly poured after she had dispensed with the previous and rather cold cup - had barely begun to cool when she heard a banging sound in the hallway beyond the parlor and the loud bellow of male voices, including that of Wilson, Hallowby Grange's ever-efficient butler. If someone had gotten past that usually stalwart man, then they had to be quite dangerous indeed.

  Placing her cat safely under the escritoire in her favorite basket where Taffy had retreated a few moments before and was already snoozing, Sarah rose and began to make her way to a small panel hidden in the wall where she knew Frost kept a small pistol. Despite her ladylike upbringing, Sarah was a crack shot, just one more facet to her personality that few people knew about - and would likely dismiss as even possible from a lady known as The One. However she was unable to make it to the hidden panel before the door to the parlor flew open with a loud bang and a man, his chest heaving as if he had just run the entire length of Hallowby's enormous drive, stood in the doorway, his hair mussed and his cravat completely undone.

  "Sarah! Thank God I have found you! I feared you dead or worse! Honestly! What were you thinking? Or were you simply not thinking at all?"

  For the briefest of moments, Sarah stood frozen in place, her gaze fixed on the Earl of Raynecourt who had all but broken down the parlor door for no reason that she could ascertain. Then she noticed his muddy riding boots and dusty clothes, as well as a coat that was more brown than the bottle green it had likely been once upon a time. Or perhaps it had been blue. There was so much dirt on it now that it was all but impossible to tell any longer.

  "Rayne," Sarah snapped, heedless of the huffing and puffing Wilson who had now appeared behind the earl. Didn't the idiot know that her butler was not a young man any longer? "What on Earth are you doing here, acting as if I am in some danger? And why should you even care? Shouldn't you be...elsewhere?" She wasn't precisely sure where he should be at that exact moment, but she was also fairly certain it was not her grandmother's favorite parlor looking as if he had been drug through a hedgerow backwards.

  Instead of answering her question, Rayne shook a well-worn piece of paper at her as if she was already supposed to know the contents. "What in God's good name do you think you're doing, woman? Gallivanting around the English countryside as if you haven't a care for your family or your reputation? Think of your sisters with the scandal you have created, even if you don't have a care for yourself!" He snorted and Sarah noted that he had not answered any of her questions. How typical of him. "I thought I knew you better than this!"

  Instantly, Sarah was more furious with him than she had ever been in her life. Even after the kiss. From beneath the escritoire, Toffee, who had awoken Taffy with her angry tail swishing, hissed loudly at the intrusion. She knew precisely how her cats felt.

  "How dare I? How dare you, Brook Ellesmere Bexley?" Sarah snapped and she watched him blanch as she used his full and proper name. "I have not been 'gallivanting,' as you call it, anywhere! If you think that I have, that simply proves that you truly do not know me at all, just like back in London! Haring off on me without so much as a note! I am, as you can plainly see, at my family's estate, and that is hardly a scandal." Now it was her turn to snort in disgust. "It is not as if I am some libertine lord taking up with his whore of a mistress who does not even have the good sense to know that she will never become a countess no matter how many pretty frocks she buys and yet opens her mouth as if her words are gold anyway!"

  "I am not a libertine!" Rayne roared back at Sarah as he stalked towards her, his amber eyes flashing dangerously and his fingers clenching and unclenching as if he wished to strangle someone - likely her. "And you have still not answered my question! Why in the bloody hell are you here alone and not in Bath like any proper Tillsbury woman should be?"

  "Because my mother sent me here so that I could begin preparations for Frost and Lavinia's wedding ball! And as you can once more plainly see, I am hardly alone, you bloody stupid idiot!" Now nose to nose with Rayne, Sarah had to do her best to leash her fury and bite back any more angry words, lest she come to regret them. She did not swear as a rule, but for this man, she would make an exception.

  When he had all but exploded into the parlor, her first instinct had been to run to him to see if he was injured in any way. Her next instinct was to rail at him for not even sending her so much as a note. Now, she wished that she might be able to deliver that walloping she felt he so richly deserved after all. In fact her hand clenched into a fist and she had to remind herself that proper ladies did not strike gentlemen - no matter how idiotic they were being. Or how much they might deserve it.

  That seemed to bring Rayne up short and he paused for a moment. "Not alone?" He twisted around to see Wilson standing a few paces behind him. He also noticed the faces of Sarah's maid, Colleen, the
London under-butler Metford who was roughly the size of two normal-sized men, several footmen he had seen many times at Chillton House before, and Mrs. Dowdy, the estate's cook and general housekeeper when the family wasn't in residence.

  So, no. Not alone then. Which was...unexpected.

  Swallowing hard and his anger cooling, Rayne turned back to Sarah, knowing that a blush was likely creeping up his cheeks. It seemed that only Tillsbury women could make him blush as of late. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out and he found that only served to make her angrier than she already was.

  It wasn't as if he didn't deserve her anger. He knew that he did. All that she was showing now and likely more

  "You go haring off to who knows where without so much as a word to anyone, including your mother who was worried sick about you," Sarah snapped icily, "and you have the temerity to come bursting in here as if you own the place and lecture me about my behavior? I am not the one at fault here, Lord Raynecourt," she hissed, dropping the temperature of the room a few degrees despite the merciless heat outside. "You are."

  This was a side of Sarah that Rayne had not seen before but one he should have anticipated after that kiss - and his immediate disappearance afterwards. He had his reasons for not contacting her. They were not particularly good reasons, but they were reasons just the same. Still, he had been worried for her safety when he had come charging through the door as if he expected to find her hosting a scandalous house party - or worse, being debauched by some rogue. Certainly she could see that. If only she would listen to reason. She was not a woman given to over-emotion and in that moment Rayne was certain that if he could but explain himself, all would be forgiven - at least regarding this matter. He hoped.