Sleepless at Midnight

by Jacquie D'Alessandro

  Yet as awful as he felt right now, tomorrow he knew he’d find out what heartbreak really felt like.

  That night’s dinner turned into an impromptu celebration to commemorate the end of the house party. Food and wine flowed freely, and Sarah tried her best to hide her misery and partake of the festivities. Luckily everyone else, with the exception of Matthew, whom she tried her best not to look at lest she lose her composure, appeared in high spirits, so it wasn’t necessary for her to do more than nod, smile, and toss in an occasional comment.

  As was her habit, she spent most of the meal observing those around her. Lady Gatesbourne and Lady Agatha were deep in conversation with Lord Berwick, both ladies clearly sizing him up as potential husband material, much the way an undertaker sized up one for a coffin.

  Emily and Julianne were engaged in lively conversation with Lord Hartley, while Carolyn was laughing at something Matthew said. Lords Surbrooke and Thurston were chatting about horses, a conversation to which Jennsen, who sat next to her, appeared to be listening.

  She was proven wrong, however, when Jennsen said to her in an undertone from the corner of his mouth, “You’ll have my undying gratitude if you rescue me from this deadly boring horse talk.”

  Sarah couldn’t help but chuckle. “And here I thought you were fascinated.”

  “Hardly. I was merely attempting to appear so in my quest for bettering my manners.”

  “Is there something wrong with your manners?”

  “You haven’t noticed?”

  “Noticed what?”

  He regarded her through very serious eyes. “It’s a good thing you’re sitting down because what I’m about to tell you may come as a shock.” He leaned closer. “I’m an American. From America.”

  Sarah feigned surprise. “Never say so. You? An upstart colonist?”

  He held his hand over his heart. “I swear it’s true. Which means I must brush up on my manners—of which I apparently have none. Especially if I hope to entice a certain young lady to visit me when next she is in London.”

  Given the steady way he was looking at her, there was no mistaking whom he meant, and a blush heated her cheeks. “I…I don’t know when that might be.”

  “Whenever your time might allow,” he said lightly. “It is an open invitation, for both you and your sister, or whoever else you might be traveling with.” His gaze rested on hers. “I’ve very much enjoyed your company and would like to see you again.”

  “I…I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t be.” He flashed her a wicked grin. “After all, I’m just one of those uncouth Americans.”

  “I’ve enjoyed your company as well,” she said. And she had. But she had no wish to give him false hope, and she knew that once she arrived home, it would be a long time before she and her broken heart would be ready to leave again. “But—”

  “No buts,” he said softly. “There’s no need for excuses or explanations. Like you, I am observant. Just know that I wish you every happiness, and should you return to London, I’d be delighted to escort you around the city. You’ve only to ask.”

  Sarah’s blush fired hotter. She wasn’t certain what his observations had told him, but she suspected he’d fathomed that she held more than a passing interest in Matthew. “I thank you for your offer of friendship.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He didn’t add that the offer could be for more than friendship, but he didn’t need to—it was there in his eyes for her to see. Sarah reached for her wine and took a sip to hide her dismay. Until she came to Langston Manor, no man had ever looked at her twice. Now two men had made it clear they cared for her.

  If only her heart wanted Logan Jennsen instead of Matthew. But that was as useless as saying if only they’d found the money.

  She had one last night with Matthew, a few stolen hours that would have to last her a lifetime. She intended to treasure every moment.

  It was after midnight by the time the party broke up and everyone made their way toward their bedchambers. The instant Sarah entered her room, she quickly removed her clothes and dressed in the one thing she wanted most to wear—Matthew’s shirt that she’d borrowed for Franklin, who was dismantled, his clothing returned to the rightful owners. She would return the shirt to Matthew tonight—after he removed it from her body.

  Several minutes later a soft knock sounded on the door. Heart pounding, she watched the door swing open. Matthew entered, holding a small bouquet of lavender. After he’d closed and locked the door, she emerged from the shadows.

  He stilled when he saw her, his gaze moving slowly down her form, his eyes filled with a combination of heat and tenderness that stole her breath. With his gaze steady on hers, he walked toward her, halting when less than two feet separated them.

  “You’re wearing my shirt,” he said.

  She nodded. “You’ll recall that I said I’d return it.”

  “Yes.” He reached out and rubbed a bit of the material between his fingers. “But I think you should keep it. On me it looks quite average, but on you, it looks…extraordinary.” He held out the bouquet. “For you.”

  Sarah took the flowers and lifted them to her nose to breathe in the lovely fragrance. “Thank you. They’re my favorite.”

  “I know. And they’re now mine as well.”

  Looking at him over the top of the purple blooms, she said, “The bouquets in the dining room and foyer were magnificent.”

  “I wanted you to know I was thinking of you.”

  While taking another deep breath of the flowers, she noticed something shiny nestled between the blooms. She reached in and stilled at the sight of the object she withdrew.

  A brooch. In the shape of a single, perfect iris, the deep purple enamel flower and emerald green leaves edged with gleaming gold.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her fingers tracing over the vivid colors.

  “It was my mother’s,” Matthew said softly. “I hope you’ll wear it. And remember me fondly.”

  Fondly? Dear God, if only such a lukewarm word could describe her feelings for him. Blinking back the hot moisture pooling behind her eyes, she said, “Thank you, Matthew. I’ll treasure it always. I have a present for you as well.” She walked to the escritoire, laid down her flowers and brooch on the polished surface, then picked up a rolled vellum scroll tied with a ribbon. When she returned to him, she handed him the gift.

  He wordlessly removed the ribbon then slowly unrolled the pages. He looked at the first sketch, which depicted two plants whose heart-shaped flowers dripped from curved stems, and smiled. “Straff wort and tortlingers,” he said, reading the words she’d written beneath the imaginary plants. “I somehow knew they would look exactly like this.”

  He turned to the second sketch and stared at it for a long moment, a muscle ticking in his jaw. When he finally looked up, the emotion in his gaze made her heart skip a beat. “You…as Venus. It’s absolutely perfect. Right down to Venus wearing spectacles. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He carefully re-rolled and tied the sketches then crossed the room to set them on the escritoire next to her flowers. Then he walked back toward her, but when he reached her, he didn’t stop, just picked her up and with her toes dangling above the floor brought her to the bed, setting her on the edge of the mattress.

  Without a word he knelt before her then reached out to unfasten his shirt, which she wore. After sliding the linen off her shoulders and down her arms, he trailed a single fingertip from the hollow of her throat to her navel.

  “Lie back,” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

  After she’d done as he bid, he parted her legs with his hands then lifted her thighs and set them on his shoulders. Her modesty dissolved at the first stroke of his tongue along her sensitive folds. Never in her life had she imagined such intimacy. He made love to her with his mouth, his lips and tongue caressing while his fingers danced over her flesh with wicked perfection. When her climax overtook her, it dr
agged a cry from her that seemed to come from the very depths of her soul.

  Limp and languorous, she watched him remove his clothes. Then he covered her body with his and the magic started all over again. She tried to memorize every touch. Every look. Every sensation. For she knew they would be her last.

  And when she awoke in the morning, he was gone.

  Matthew was two hours down the road heading toward London when he reined Apollo to a halt and leaned forward to pat the gelding’s brown neck. The mauve of dawn that had stained the sky when he left Langston Manor had given way to a pale blue dotted with fluffy clouds. His guests wouldn’t be departing his home until early this afternoon, but he’d been unable to stay. Couldn’t bear to say good-bye to Sarah in front of everyone. He wanted his last image of her to be of her sleeping after they’d made love, her hair spread around her like a curly brown halo.

  Just ahead the road split, the left fork continuing southwest toward London, and right fork heading…not toward London.

  He stared at the roads for several long moments while myriad images flashed through his mind. Images that he knew would haunt him until he breathed his last breath.

  He knew what he had to do. He couldn’t turn back.

  But before he went to London, he realized there was somewhere else he needed to go first.

  Pressing his heels to Apollo’s flanks, he turned and headed up the right fork.

  Chapter 18

  Sarah stood in her bedchamber and stared at the bed, every crevice of her heart and mind crowded with memories. Pale streaks of late morning sunshine, weak courtesy of the thick cloud cover, cast ribbons of lackluster color across the counterpane that perfectly matched her mood. A footman had just removed the last of her belongings. All that was left to do now was wait for the carriages to be loaded. And then she’d be on her way home. Back to the life she’d always known. The life that had always been enough.

  Until she’d come here.

  Until she’d fallen hopelessly, recklessly, profoundly in love. With a man she couldn’t have. She’d known from the onset the extreme likelihood that things would end this way, but a tiny flame of hope had burned in her chest, unable to be extinguished, that the money would be found. That Matthew would therefore not have to marry an heiress. That he could marry whomever he wanted. And that someone would be her.

  Foolish, ridiculous dreams that she should have known better than to pin her hopes upon. She’d known, of course, that she risked her heart. But somehow she hadn’t anticipated that when it broke it would hurt this much. Hadn’t realized it would leave such a gaping, raw, hollow space in her chest. Hadn’t known her very soul would be lost along with her heart.

  She walked to the window and looked down at the gardens below. Did the money Matthew’s father claim to have hidden there truly exist? Or were his words simply the ramblings of a pain-ridden delirious man drawing his last breaths?

  Reaching into the pocket of her gown, she withdrew the slip of paper on which she’d written Matthew’s father’s last words. She held the list toward the meager sunlight and studied it for what felt like the thousandth time. Fortune. Save estate. Hidden here. Garden. In garden. Golden flower. Fern. Fleur-de-lis.

  Surely there was a clue she was missing. She again mentally ran through the Latin names of every golden flower and species of fern she could think of, but nothing offered a new suggestion. After staring at the words for another minute, she blew out a sigh, refolded the paper and tucked it into her pocket.

  With a final glance around, she quit the room, closing the door behind her, the soft click reverberating through her soul like a death knell.

  In the foyer, she was greeted by Danforth, who, after a tail wagging greeting, resumed what appeared to be a vigil by the window nearest the front door. Tildon, who also greeted her when she entered, explained, “Danforth takes up residence in that spot whenever his lordship is away.”

  And when he returned, he’d have a new bride with him. Stop. Stop thinking about it. Yes, she needed to stop thinking about it. Because when she did, it hurt so much she could barely breathe.

  Sarah moved to the window and scratched behind Danforth’s ears. The dog looked up at her with dark, adoring eyes that seemed to say, Oh, yes, that’s the spot.

  “Good-bye, my friend,” she whispered. “I’ll miss you.”

  Danforth tilted his head and issued a rumble in his throat, as if to ask, What’s this? You’re leaving, too?

  “I’m sorry you weren’t able to meet my Desdemona. I think you two would have gotten along like bacon and eggs.”

  Danforth licked his chops at the mention of his two favorite foods, though as far as she could tell, all foods were his favorites. She gave his head a final pat, then, after bidding farewell to Tildon, she left the house.

  There was a beehive of activity in the curved drive. Footmen carrying trunks and smaller luggage items to the various waiting carriages, others securing them to the vehicles, the travelers standing about in small groups, saying their good-byes, waiting to depart. Sarah spotted Carolyn, who was speaking with Lords Thurston and Hartley. When she approached, she heard her sister say, “Will you gentlemen please excuse me? I need to speak with my sister.”

  Although both gentlemen seemed reluctant to relinquish her company, they moved off, joining Lord Berwick and Jennsen, who stood nearby.

  “You quite saved me,” Carolyn said in an undertone after she and Sarah had walked several yards away. “Heavens, I believe Lord Hartley was about to propose!”

  “Propose what exactly?”

  A short huff of laughter came from Carolyn. “I’m not quite sure, but I didn’t wish to hear it, no matter what it was.” They halted near Carolyn’s carriage, which bore the Wingate crest on its black lacquered door, and her sister gave her a searching look. “Are you all right, Sarah?”

  Before Sarah could answer, Carolyn hurried on, “I would have thought you’d be anxious to return home, but you’re pale and your eyes…you look so sad.”

  To Sarah’s mortification, tears pooled in her eyes. “I’m tired,” she said. Her conscience slapped her, because while the statement was certainly true, it was hardly truthful.

  Carolyn reached out, clasped her hand and offered her a smile surely meant to be encouraging. “Tonight you’ll be sleeping in your bed. You’ll rest better in your familiar surroundings.”

  Sarah swallowed the lump of misery that rose in her throat at the prospect of her own bed—in which she’d lie alone. And not sleep.

  Carolyn gently squeezed her hand. “I’m grateful to you for these last several months, Sarah. I couldn’t have faced reentering society without your help and support.”

  Sarah returned the gentle squeeze. “Yes, you could have. You’re much stronger than you think.”

  Carolyn shook her head. “Finding the desire to go on without Edward has been…difficult. But after three years, I felt that he would have wanted me to embrace life again.”

  “Of course he would have. He loved your smile, as do I. It is a gift to see it again.”

  “Attending all those soirees with me when I know you would have preferred being home, pursuing your own interests…I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “There is no need as you are my dearest interest. I would attend one hundred soirees if it would make you smile.”

  “One hundred?” Carolyn said in an amused voice.

  “Yes. So please don’t ask me to.” Sarah gave an exaggerated shudder. “I believe I’d go mad.”

  “I promise not to take advantage of your good nature. Especially after you so kindly formed the Ladies Literary Society of London for my benefit.”

  “Not for your benefit,” Sarah protested, but Carolyn shook her head.

  “My benefit. And I love you for it.” An impish grin curved her lips. “I’d say our first venture into scandalous literature was a huge success. I can’t wait to begin our next selection.”

  “Nor can I. Based on my research of the subject, our n
ext foray promises to be a thrilling adventure tale with enough scandal attached to it to make any matron reach for the hartshorn.”

  “Which is precisely why we chose it,” they said in unison, then laughed.

  “I imagine you’ll relish getting back to your own garden,” Carolyn said, “although the gardens here are spectacular.”

  Sarah nearly drowned in the wave of sadness that washed over her. “Yes, they are.”

  “Did you have a favorite spot?”

  “It would be difficult to choose, but perhaps the area where the statue is.” Where I had my first conversation with Matthew. “It was like a hidden garden within a garden.”

  “Yes, that was a lovely section. Which goddess was the statue?”

  “Flora.” Sarah frowned. “Flora…” she repeated slowly, her words to Carolyn tickling something in the back of her mind. Hidden. Garden within a garden. And Matthew’s father’s last words…Garden. In garden.

  Her heart seemed to skip two beats. Could Matthew’s father have literally meant garden in garden? Could he have meant the area where the statue of Flora was located?

  She closed her eyes and pictured the area. Were there any golden flowers surrounding Flora? Golden flower, golden flower…

  Golden flower.

  An idea hit her so hard she gasped. Good lord, was it possible? Her eyes popped open to find Carolyn staring at her.

  “Are you all right, Sarah?”

  She was so excited she could barely stand still. “Yes, I’m fine. But I must go—I, um, left something in the garden.” A statement she prayed would turn out to be true.

  “One of the footmen can retrieve it for you—”

  “No! I mean, that’s not necessary. We’ll be cooped up in the carriage for so long, I’d enjoy a quick walk. I’ll be back as quickly as I can. Don’t leave without me.”

  “Of course not—”

  But Sarah didn’t wait for her sister to finish. She had already turned and was striding back toward the house, her mind racing. Behind her, she heard amidst the buzz of conversations a male voice ask, “Where is your sister off to in such a hurry, Lady Wingate?” And her sister’s reply, “She left something in the garden…”