He looked back at the fire, his lips curving of their own accord into a smile. “It’s not just that she makes me comfortable, though she caters to my wishes far too much. There’s a kind of—serenity—about her, and yet, at the most unexpected moments, such fire as well. She’s so easy to be with, almost like a man who knows when to speak and when to be silent. We are friends, as I’d hoped we would be.”
He drained the last of the sherry. “The staff misses her, too. Not a day goes by that someone, from the butler to the lowliest tweeny, doesn’t ask if I’ve had word of her return.” He laughed shortly. “Glendenning positively quivers with disapproval every time he greets me.”
“Why don’t you go fetch her?”
Uncertainty, distress and resentment swirled in him as it had so often this past month. “I don’t know if she’d receive me,” he admitted, and felt a pang at that avowal.
“I see.”
He looked back at her and was shocked to find a little smile on his mother’s face, so inappropriate to the gravity of the moment that anger stirred. Then the smile vanished, and she said, “Would you like me to visit her for you?”
“Would you?” Irritation forgotten, Nicholas strode over and seized her hands. “Would you go to Stoneacres? Her notes say she is recovering, but I cannot be easy about her. Would you check her for me and find out—well, you’ll know how to go about it discreetly—if she’s ready to come home?” He kissed her fingertips and released them. “Tell her I miss her,” he added gruffly.
“Excellent,” his mother said, rising in a swirl of skirts. She returned his sharp look with a guileless one. “Excellent notion, I meant. I’ll be happy to carry a note for you, that you might tell her yourself. And now, you must excuse me. It seems I have a journey to prepare for.”
Nicholas caught her up in a fierce hug. “Thank you, Mama. I know you won’t fail me.”
She touched his cheek with a finger and gave him a faintly amused smile. “Certainly not, dear son. After all, what are mothers for?”
Three days later, when Sarah returned from riding to the village, Briggs informed her the Dowager Marchioness of Englemere had come to visit.
Surprised and curious, Sarah smoothed her windblown braids. She felt a stir of foreboding. What brought Nicholas’s mother all the way to Stoneacres? Had something happened to Nicholas? A shock of fear pierced her. She whirled and ran down the hall.
“Lady Englemere,” she said as she burst into the morning room. “What a delightful surprise! I’m sorry I was out when you arrived. Everything is well, I trust, with you, and—and Nicholas?”
“Sarah, dear. Yes, we’re both fine.” Her mother-in-law came over to envelop her in a hug. Enormously relieved, Sarah returned it warmly.
The dowager looked at her appraisingly. “Have you fully recovered? I was so sorry to hear about the babe.”
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. Even now, it was impossible for her to talk about it. She nodded.
The dowager had been watching her face. Her lips trembled and her eyes brimmed over. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured, and drew Sarah back into her arms.
I will not weep, Sarah told herself fiercely. Weeping cannot change things, and I will not weep.
Despite her best efforts, a few disobedient drops leaked out the corners of her eyes. “Sorry,” she said gruffly, swiping at them with a trembling hand.
The dowager led Sarah to the sofa. “You needn’t apologize, Sarah. I’ve lost three children, you know. A babe, a man, and one before b-birth.” Her voice wobbled. “’Tis the most crushing blow life can deliver.”
Sarah thought of the pain she felt, multiplied by three. Suddenly her grief seemed less overwhelming. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”
“Nicky didn’t tell you? I suppose it didn’t occur to him. Much as he may love his children, a man cannot know how it feels to carry a child under his heart. But men do grieve, you know. Nicky surely is.”
Sarah looked away. “I’m so sorry I—”
“You didn’t fail him, Sarah, though I understand how you might think so. When I lost my first, I considered it the most monstrous injustice in the world. Any ignorant housemaid could carry a child—indeed, unmarried ones had a habit of doing so with alarming frequency. Yet for all my health and wealth and desire, I could not do that for the husband I adored.”
Sarah could sympathize only too well, but dared not say so. “It is difficult,” she said finally.
“I know just how difficult. Time will dull the pain. But Sarah,” she said gently, compassion in her eyes, “nothing will take it away. Not blaming yourself, or hiding away in the country. I don’t wish to interfere, but I tell you from bitter experience, you must accept your loss and go on. God willing, you’ll have other babes.”
Sarah could hardly tell Nicholas’s mother that ’twas the idea of sharing her son in such intimate creation that prevented her doing just that. “I…I don’t feel ready.”
“Nicky is worried. And he misses you, Sarah.”
A dull ache squeezed Sarah’s heart. “Did he send you?”
“Yes. Not that I haven’t been concerned, but I wouldn’t have intruded, had he not asked. He’s suffering, perhaps more than you can guess. You see, he’s taken this absurd notion you can’t tolerate the sight of him.”
“I can’t—” Sarah gasped. She felt a pang of guilt. “But ’tis ridiculous! ’Twas my fault, mine alone!”
“’Twas no one’s fault, Sarah. But if you’re not angry, will you not go back to him?”
You don’t understand, she wanted to shout. I can’t go back and be the meek, disinterested wife he wants. The jealous, possessive shrew I’ve become he wouldn’t want.
She put a trembling hand to her cheek. “I can’t,” she whispered, rebel tears escaping again. “Not yet. He is dearer to me than you can imagine, and I would hate to cause him a moment’s anxiety. You must tell him that!”
The dowager stared at her for a long moment. “Has Nicky ever talked about Lydia?”
“Lydia?” Sarah asked, startled. “His late wife?”
The dowager nodded.
“No, ma’am. Clarissa told me that after she died in an accident he mourned her for years. Nicholas has never mentioned her and I—I didn’t wish to pry. He must have loved her very much.”
Again the dowager sat silent. Finally, with a sigh, she began, “Nicky never speaks of her. Only his two closest friends know, and ’tis not my story to tell, but I think it important that you hear it.”
Mystified, Sarah watched the dowager rise and pace to the window, distress clear in her face. She turned back to Sarah. “Yes, Nicky mourned, but not just for the reasons you think. You see, when Lydia’s carriage overturned, she was leaving Nicholas.”
“Leaving him?”
“Yes. She was unhappy in their marriage, apparently, and left a note saying she went to one who loved her more. He set out after her, and came upon the wrecked carriage.”
Incredulous, Sarah shook her head. “I cannot imagine any sane woman leaving Nicholas.”
That earned her a smile. “Nor can I, darling Sarah. But Lydia,” she spat out the name with distaste, “apparently found some nameless soldier—Nicholas never learned who—more to her fancy.”
She strode from the window to grasp Sarah’s hands. “Can you not see? The situation is scarcely the same, except that once again, someone he cares deeply about has turned him away. He’s my son, Sarah, and I feel his pain.”
Agonized, Sarah gasped. “But I never meant…! How could he think…?”
“You couldn’t have known. And Nicholas does understand, at least in his head, your need to grieve alone. It’s been a month now. Perhaps ’tis unfair of me to ask, but if you truly care for him, could you not try to put aside some of that grief and go back to my son?”
Nicholas, rejected by the wife he loved. Nicholas, betrayed and abandoned. The enormity of it exceeded the bounds of comprehension. But anguish she could understand, and his pierced her to th
e core. “Oh, N-Nicholas,” she whispered, her voice breaking on a sob.
The dowager hugged her close, and when she released Sarah her own eyes were wet. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to distress you further. I won’t press. Consider returning with me, ’tis all I ask.”
She dabbed at her face with a lace handkerchief, started to put it in her reticule and stopped. “I nearly forgot! I have a letter from him for you. And the latest London papers.”
She pulled the articles out of a large embroidered bag beside the reticule. “I’ll leave you in private to read them. Now I should like to rest before tea.”
Sarah remained in the study, still struggling to accept the dowager’s incredible information. Then a shocking thought sent her flying to her feet.
Lydia had left Nicholas—for a soldier. Whatever must he have felt about her reunion with Sinjin?
Even a husband with no particular apprehensions would have been less than happy with the situation. She could not begin to imagine the dismay it must have caused a man whose wife had run off to a soldier.
He’d seemed stiff around Sinjin, but not more than she would expect of a husband dealing with his wife’s former suitor. Other than that, never by word or deed had he displayed the anxiety or resentment he doubtless felt.
Gamester that he was, Nicholas must have accepted the risk inherent in remarriage as the cost of fulfilling his duty. But nothing she had endured in the past or feared for the future could compare to the gamble he had taken in trusting her to behave honorably about Sinjin.
He had shown rare courage and consideration. She owed him no less. Whether or not he would ever love her, despite the situation awaiting her in London, she must return.
Three days later Sarah saw her mother-in-law off to London. During the remainder of her short visit, the dowager did not once refer to the matter of Sarah accompanying her, nor did she show a single sign of reproach when Sarah confirmed she would stay on alone.
Just until the new estate manager, due the end of the week, settled into the job, Sarah had assured her. ’Twould give her at least ten more days to prepare herself.
Sarah wandered into the library and picked up the London paper, but her eyes wouldn’t stay on the page. She’d kept her sorrow close in a sort of righteous anguish. Yet rare was the woman who saw more than half her babes grow to adulthood. Who was she to shut herself away, as if she alone had ever suffered such a loss?
Nor, selfishly wrapped up in her own misery, had she ever thoughtfully considered how Nicholas must feel. No, she’d discounted his grief as mere disappointment. Then, unable to stomach keeping the bargain she herself had made, she’d banished him, compounding one failure with another.
It shouldn’t have taken the dowager’s heartrending history to make her realize how her dismissal could wound her husband. Worse yet, in her selfish preoccupation, she’d ripped open the scars of betrayal. “Oh, Nicholas,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek, “never would I wish to deepen your pain.”
Unquestionably she owed it to Nicholas, as well as to duty, to return to London. Somehow she would just have to tolerate Chloe Ingram.
Chloe, with her hand possessively on Nicholas’s arm, smiling with satisfaction as she patted the magnificent rubies adorning her equally magnificent bosom. Sarah slammed her mind shut against the image.
Her restless fingers rustled the paper in her lap. With a sigh, she scanned it. One name seized her attention.
Sir James Findlay, the entry said, had the pleasure to announce his engagement to Miss Angela Buxley, daughter of Baron Buxley of Windfeld Manor, Kent.
Sarah sat up straight, running through her mind a catalog of the Season’s debutantes. Then a face came to view, and consternation gripped her. She saw a pale, slender girl with long golden curls and a gentle, almost frightened expression that made her look younger than her years. A girl with a gamester father deep in debt.
Sarah closed the paper and looked down to the scar at her wrist. She smelled again the stench of hot candle wax and scorched flesh, felt the agonizing rasp of Findlay’s tongue against the raw wound, heard him warning her to submit. She remembered with a sickening shock the vile practices he’d described to her on her wedding day.
At the time, she’d had only a hazy idea what he meant, but as a bride of several months her images of what Findlay’s wife could expect were revoltingly clear.
’Tis none of your affair, part of her argued. The girl has parents to protect her. But Sir James could be charming when he wished—only see how he’d turned Lady Beaumont up sweet. And if the father were drowning in debt, and the girl had been pressed to do her duty, she might be too frightened to tell them what her suitor was like.
That Findlay had revealed something of his nature to Miss Buxley, Sarah had no doubt at all. He’d feed on the terror he could inspire in her.
A cold calm descended on Sarah. Ready or not, she must go to London the minute her bags were packed.
If her sense of obligation to Nicholas had nearly been enough to push her into returning immediately, this announcement made it imperative. She could not live with her conscience if she let Sir James marry such a vulnerable innocent without doing everything possible to prevent it.
Chapter Eighteen
In the late afternoon two days later, Sarah’s traveling coach pulled up at Nicholas’s London residence. The footman handed her out, and with a deep breath, she walked up the steps.
At her rap, Glendenning opened the massive door. His eyes lit and his austere face creased with the hint of a smile. “Lady Englemere! Come in out of the chill!”
He bustled her in and helped her out of the traveling pelisse. “Your message must have gone astray, for we didn’t expect you. May I say, ’tis a pleasure to have you home.”
“Thank you, Glendenning. I didn’t send a message. My decision to travel was rather—sudden.” She ignored a sniff from Becky, who passed by with her jewel case. The maid, until finally silenced by Sarah, had nattered on at length that, much as she approved Sarah’s decision to return, the mistress should have sent for her husband’s escort.
In truth, Sarah was so uncertain about Nicholas’s reception she’d not dared send a note. What if he had grown so…comfortable with his London arrangements he preferred she remain in the country?
“What’s all the commotion, Glend—Sarah!”
Nicholas stopped short and stared at her. Cursing herself for a fool but unable to help it, Sarah stood there like a looby, drinking in every dearly remembered detail of her husband’s handsome face.
The crisp dark hair she loved to curl her fingers in. The deep green of his eyes that sometimes glowed like molten emeralds. The sensuous lips that could make her thoughts dissolve into longing.
She forced herself to look away. Shocked he certainly was, but when that faded would he be pleased—or angry?
“Are you weary, my dear? Should you like to refresh yourself, or can you take tea with me?”
His voice sounded welcoming. Though her hair could stand brushing and she felt the dust of the road, she’d not had her fill of gazing at him. “I’m not tired, Nicholas.”
“Tea in the morning room, then, Glendenning.” Taking her arm, he led her in.
“When Mama left yesterday, she warned not to expect you for several weeks. You should have let me know you’d changed your mind, Sarah. I would have come to fetch you.”
“You’re not angry I returned?”
“Angry? No! I’m delighted!” He raised her hand and kissed it. “I’ve missed you, Sarah.”
“Have you?”
“Very much indeed.” At the quiet intensity of his voice, she could not help but look up. And met an equally intense gaze whose warmth was unmistakable. With a little cry, she went into his arms.
He murmured her name and held her fiercely, his cheek against her hair. So sweet was it to be in his embrace, she wasn’t sure how long they stood thus, but after a time he moved her back an arm’s length.
�
�Does this mean I’m forgiven?”
“Forgiven? For what?”
“Whatever sin I committed that made you banish me.”
Guilt flushed through her. “Don’t be nonsensical. I didn’t wish to tie you to an invalid’s bed. I’m a terrible patient, I must confess. And you prefer London.”
“I’m not so sure. You were beginning to teach me a great appreciation for country matters, and studies, and—”
The pain cut so deep, she could scarcely breathe. “Don’t, sweeting,” he cried, consternation on his face.
She forced a wobbly smile. “I’m all right, truly. It’s just that I d-did—” she made herself say the words “—so want to give you a s-son.”
With infinite tenderness he kissed away the one tear that escaped the corner of her eye. “You will, Sarah. I’ll take great pains to ensure it.” And then he was kissing her forehead, her cheeks and finally her mouth.
Any thought of maintaining distance vanished. With all the hunger of love long denied, she kissed him back.
Sometime later she vaguely heard the sound of a throat being cleared. Nicholas pulled away, and blinking in bemusement, she saw Glendenning with a tea service, James bearing another tray beside him. Judging by the grin on the footman’s face, they must have been there some time.
With a grimace that might have been annoyance, Nicholas guided Sarah to the sofa.
Glendenning followed with the tea. “Not knowing how long ago you’d had sustenance, your ladyship, Cook took the liberty of sending along more substantial refreshment.” The butler gestured to the overladen tray James was depositing.
Sarah looked at the assortment in awe. Cold ham and roast beef, three kinds of cheese, fresh biscuits, jam, honey, scones, cherry tarts and an assortment of fruit met her astonished eyes. No macaroons, however.
“Cook must not believe I took nourishment the whole of my stay at Stoneacres!” She smiled at Glendenning. “Tell her it looks delicious, and I thank her for her concern.”
The Wedding Gamble Page 24
