Sarah had stayed awake for hours last night, tossing and turning and thinking about what had happened at Branford’s dinner party with Christian. She had had too much to drink last night; that much was certain. Her mother had lectured her the entire way home. Christian had once again done her a nice turn, taking away her wineglass and asking for a glass of water. She would have had the devil of a head this morning had he not seen to her. As it was, she didn’t feel entirely right. Either way, she’d been unable to sleep. Had she been jealous of Lady Claire? It seemed silly, petty, beneath her. But she hadn’t been able to stop asking the poor girl questions—and the way she’d blinked up at Christian and gone on and on about the violets … well, it had driven Sarah to drink, that’s all. Not that she could blame poor Lady Claire for her own excessive behavior, but jealousy was an entirely foreign concept to Sarah. She’d had no idea that she was even capable of such an emotion. Had her ancestors felt this way? Betrothed to one man but jealous of another? It was entirely unpleasant. Or was she merely getting her emotions confused because of Branford’s lack of appeal and his incessant insistence upon setting a wedding date? She had to find some way to be certain. She couldn’t have been the first young lady with this problem, and she certainly wouldn’t be the last. Perhaps Lady Alexandra could provide her with some answers.
“Did your parents approve?” Sarah blurted to Alex.
“Pardon?” Alex’s brown eyes blinked.
“Did they ever expect you to marry a different man?”
“Saaaraaah,” Meg dragged out the word in a warning tone.
“No, it’s quite all right.” Alex laughed. “It was much worse than that, actually. They decided that Lavinia should marry Owen.”
This time Sarah blinked. “Your sister?”
“Yes. It was all quite complicated, really, but worked out well in the end. Thanks to Lucy Hunt and Cassandra Swift and Lord Berkeley, actually.”
Sarah kept her face blank. She was not supposed to know anything about Lucy and Cass and Christian’s penchant for helping people. “Lord Berkeley?” she echoed in as nonchalant a voice as she could muster.
“What did Lord Berkeley do?” Meg echoed, obviously interested, too.
“He’s a dear friend,” Alex said. “I wouldn’t be happily engaged to Owen if it weren’t for him.”
“Is that so?” It occurred to Sarah that although Christian had told her he’d helped Alex, she didn’t actually know the details. Was the plot behind Alex’s engagement as outlandish as the one Lucy Hunt had concocted to save Sarah?
“What exactly did he do to help you?” Sarah prompted.
Meg leaned forward again, her green eyes sparkling with curiosity.
Alex glanced back and forth over both shoulders, obviously to ensure they wouldn’t be overheard. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Upon my honor,” Sarah replied, crossing her fingers over her heart.
“Absolutely,” Meg agreed.
“Well,” Alex began, “Lucy and Cass decided that Owen wasn’t coming up to scratch sufficiently. He kept trying to court Lavinia because his father threatened to cut off his allowance and disown him if he didn’t. It was maddening because he and Lavinia obviously didn’t care for each other a bit. But his father insisted and my parents insisted and, well, suffice it to say it was all a mess for quite some time.”
“What did Lucy do?” Sarah asked.
Alex gave them a catlike smile and leaned even closer. “Lucy asked Lord Berkeley to pretend to be interested in me to give Owen some healthy competition.”
Sarah widened her eyes. “And he agreed?”
“Yes, he’s such a dear. A true friend.” Alex nodded. She glanced across the ballroom to where Sarah was already only too aware of the fact that Christian was dancing with Lady Claire. “Which is why I’m so pleased to see how well he’s doing this Season himself.”
Sarah nodded solemnly. “He’s quite popular, isn’t he?”
Meg elbowed her.
Alex nodded again. “This Season they’re saying he’s a legend.”
“Are they?” An inexplicable pain shot through Sarah’s chest.
“Yes, and I couldn’t be happier for him. I helped to fuel the rumors myself.” She looked positively pleased with herself. “It’s high time ladies took notice of him. He will be the most devoted husband in the world, I’ve no doubt. He deserves nothing more than to find the right young lady and settle down.”
Meg began to speak. “He seems quite nice and—”
Sarah couldn’t help herself. That ugly fiend jealousy reared its scaly little green head. “Do you think Lady Claire is the right young lady?” she blurted to Alex.
A troubled look came over Alex’s face briefly. “I’m not at all sure. We must each of us decide who is right on our own, and I daresay Lord Berkeley will know when he finds his true love. But I certainly wish him well. Lady Claire seems a nice enough girl. Do you know her well?”
Sarah shook her head slowly back and forth. “No. But she does seem nice. Quite nice.” Why had uttering those last words caused her such pain, as if she were chewing upon shards of glass?
“Can you believe,” Alex continued, “that at one point my maid tried to tell me to cheer up? She thought I was sad because Lord Branford hadn’t offered for me because you were so much more popular than I.”
Sarah swallowed the lump in her throat. “Truly?”
“Yes. Of course, she didn’t realize I was already madly in love with Owen or she wouldn’t have said such a nonsensical thing.” Alex patted her coiffure and lifted her champagne glass in silent salute. “At any rate, it’s all worked out the way it was meant to, hasn’t it? I’m happily engaged to Owen and you’re happily engaged to Lord Branford.” She beamed.
Meg pressed her lips together and gave Sarah a don’t-say-a-word look.
Sarah couldn’t return Alex’s smile. “I assume your parents decided that Lavinia didn’t have to marry first?”
Alex’s smile turned conspiratorial. “The truth is, they didn’t have much of a choice because it was so obvious that Owen and Lavinia would never suit. She did some awful things that I won’t bore you with. Just think … someone’s parents trying to force him into a match that would make him so obviously unhappy? I cannot imagine what Owen’s parents were thinking.”
“I hear that happens quite a lot.” Tears stung the backs of Sarah’s eyes. She clapped her hand over her mouth, suddenly certain she was going to cast up her accounts. She turned on her heel and fled out the nearby patio doors.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Christian saw Sarah run outside. Without a second thought, he ended his dance with Lady Claire, deposited her next to her mother on the sidelines, and hurriedly made his way toward Alex.
“I’m not certain what happened,” Alex said, staring after the space Sarah had just occupied. “One moment we were happily chatting and the next—”
“I’ll go see to her,” Meg offered, turning toward the doors and lifting her skirts.
“No. I will.” Christian didn’t wait for agreement. He took long strides toward the patio doors before Alex or Meg had a chance to say another word.
When he got outside, he scanned the area. Sarah was standing near the far end of the empty veranda, her hands braced against the stone balustrade, her head leaned over the edge, breathing heavily. He made his way quickly but carefully over to her.
“Sarah, are you all right?”
At the sound of his voice, she turned and dropped her arms to her sides, her back against the balustrade. She had a wild look in her eyes and she was sucking in great gulps of air, her shoulders quaking.
“Sarah, tell me, are you all right?” Christian asked, moving even closer.
They were alone on the veranda for the moment, but he didn’t dare touch her in case someone else came out.
Sarah placed a hand on her heaving chest. “I … I couldn’t breathe. I had to get out of there.”
Now that she was talking, Christian relax
ed a bit. “I understand.”
“It was the strangest feeling. As if the ballroom weren’t big enough for me.”
“The same thing has happened to me before, on more than one occasion.”
She was calming down, her breathing becoming more shallow, her eyes returning to normal. “It has?” she asked, an incredulous note in her voice.
“Yes. Try breathing through your nose. Bend over as far as possible. You want your head near your knees if you can.”
With her stays firmly in place, Sarah wasn’t able to bend over that far, but breathing through her nose seemed to work and she was able to brace her hands on her knees. Moments later, her breathing was completely back to normal.
“Thank you,” she murmured. “I feel much better now, and quite silly.”
“You’re not silly at all,” he replied.
She placed a hand back on the balustrade. “I’m sorry to have caused such a fuss. I’m perfectly fine now.”
He offered his arm. “Would you like me to escort you back inside? To your mother, perhaps?”
“No!”
He arched a brow.
“I’m sorry,” she said more calmly. “I said that far more forcefully than I meant to.” She smoothed her coiffure with her hands. “What I meant to say is, I’d like to stay out here, in the air a bit longer, if I may.”
Christian nodded. “I’ll leave you, then.”
“No.” She said the word much more softly this time.
Their eyes met. They stood together, a few paces apart, in silence for a few moments. Christian remembered their time together in Scotland and the ease and comfort he’d always felt in her presence. They didn’t have to speak to each other. Sarah was one of the few people he knew who didn’t require talking, endless, constant talking.
A few more minutes passed and then Christian strode over to the balustrade and braced his forearms against it. “Why didn’t Lord Branford take you with him to the prince’s dinner party tonight?” He mentally cursed himself for bringing up that peacock Branford, but apparently he couldn’t help himself.
Sarah sighed. “I don’t know. I suppose it’s because we aren’t married yet.”
“Missing him tonight, are you?” Damn again. Why did he say that?
Sarah turned on him, her eyes flashing. “You know I’m not.”
“Yet you remain engaged to him.” For the love of God. He really couldn’t stop himself. Why was he being such an ass?
Her jaw was tight. “You know I have no choice.”
Christian bowed his head toward his arms, which remained braced against the balustrade. The scent of lilies carried on the slight breeze. “You know what I want to know, Sarah?”
“What?” she whispered.
“Where is the girl who ran away?”
Sarah pushed away from the balustrade and Christian turned to watch her. She pressed two fingers to her temple as if willing away a headache. “She got wise.”
He pressed his back against the balustrade this time. “Is it wise to throw away your entire life on someone you don’t love?” Christian didn’t even know who he was any longer, asking these sorts of questions. And yet he still couldn’t seem to stop himself.
She flung a hand in the air. “People do it all the time. You know that as well as I. Are you saying you love Lady Claire, for instance?”
His jaw was tight. “I haven’t offered for Lady Claire.”
“So you loved Lucy Hunt, then?”
“I didn’t offer for her either,” he shot back.
“But you wanted to.”
Christian turned toward the balustrade again and cursed under his breath. “Are you going to marry him, Sarah? Truly? Is that what you want?”
She spoke slowly, deliberately, resignedly. Her voice floated behind him. “It’s not what I want, but yes, I’m going to marry him.”
That was it. His control snapped. Christian swiveled around, took two steps toward her, and pulled her roughly into his arms. His mouth came down quickly to savage hers. His tongue pressed inside and she melted against him. Her arms twined around his neck and he softened the kiss. Anyone could walk out and see them. She would be ruined. The scandal might be unparalleled, but at the moment Christian didn’t bloody well care. He kissed her with all the pent-up longing and passion he felt for her. And she kissed him back.
Moments later he released her and she staggered back, pressing a gloved hand against her swollen lips. “Christian, I—”
“Tell me you’re going to marry him. Tell me you feel absolutely nothing for me. Tell me we’re merely friends. Tell me, Sarah, tell me right now.”
She drew a weak, shaky breath. “Don’t do this, Christian.”
“Tell me,” he demanded, his voice shaking with anger.
She drew another breath, a deeper one this time, and her voice, when it came, was clear and determined. “I’m going to marry him. I’m sorry.” She picked up her skirts and rushed across the veranda, through the double doors, and back into the ballroom. Christian watched her go, clenching his fist against his side, wanting to punch a hole through the bloody stone wall of the house.
Moments later, Lucy Hunt’s face appeared through the French doors. She’d obviously seen Sarah flee. She looked at Christian and shook her head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The Duchess of Claringdon’s fine coach pulled to a stop outside of Sarah’s father’s home the next afternoon. The duchess herself, wearing a soft green pelisse and matching bonnet, emerged from the conveyance and made her way onto the street and up the front steps. Miss Meg Timmons accompanied her. Ten minutes later, the two ladies were sitting in the yellow drawing room having tea with Sarah.
Sarah had come to treasure her friendship with Lucy. Not only had the duchess been instrumental in saving Sarah’s reputation, Lucy had a knack for listening and providing sound, if sometimes outrageous, advice. She had also proven kind to Meg. But the thing Sarah liked best about Lucy was that she was not judgmental. Sarah could say anything to Lucy and Lucy would understand. She didn’t judge Sarah and she didn’t judge Meg for being poor and having only two nice, if aged, gowns. As a result, Sarah had confided in Lucy on more than one occasion. But today, for some reason, Sarah dreaded the duchess’s questions. Sarah had a sinking feeling she knew why Lucy had come.
“I brought Meg with me because I sense she, too, has a vested interest in this situation. And one can never have too many friends helping her.”
Meg merely nodded and took a sip of tea.
“Situation?” Sarah echoed, nervous.
“How are you getting on, Sarah?” Lucy asked as she plucked off her gloves.
Sarah pushed a dark curl behind her ear. “Fine. I’m perfectly fine.”
“She’s not fine,” Meg announced.
Lucy arched a brow over her blue eye. “I can tell. No one who is fine uses the word fine. Fine is a decidedly tepid description of oneself. Therefore, allow me to ask you in another manner,” she said to Sarah. “Have you set a wedding date yet?”
Sarah sighed loud and long. Then she dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, Lucy, not you too. I have enough trouble sidestepping Mother and Lord Branford when they ask.”
Lucy let her gloves drop to her lap. “Ah, that answer tells me everything I need to know.”
Sarah lifted her head and shook it. “What? How?”
“You’re putting it off,” Lucy declared.
Sarah glanced down at her slippers and stared unseeing at the pattern on the rug beneath them. “There’s much to be considered.”
“She’s putting it off,” Meg agreed.
Lucy tsked Sarah and flourished an elegant hand in the air. “Your mother will take care of the considerations. You’ve a household of servants at your disposal as well. You are indeed putting it off.”
“I am not. I—”
Lucy leaned over and put a hand on Sarah’s, forcing Sarah to look at her.
“I saw you and Berkeley last night,” Lucy said softly.<
br />
A flash of fear shot through Sarah’s chest. Had the duchess seen them kiss? “And?”
“And obviously something was wrong. I saw you run into the house. You looked quite upset. When I went to see whom you’d been speaking to, Berkeley was standing there.”
Sarah couldn’t very well ask if she’d seen anything else. “Did anyone else notice?”
“Not that I could tell. Except perhaps Meg and Alex.”
Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank heavens.”
“I knew,” Meg announced. “But I did what I could to keep the other guests away from the patio. I may have started a rumor that there was a swarm of bees out there.”
“Meg, you did not!” Sarah put her hands to her hips.
“Ingenious, Miss Timmons.” Lucy touched a hand to her coiffure. Then she settled her hands back in her lap and addressed Sarah. “I’m going to tell you something you may not want to hear. I suggest you prepare yourself.”
Sarah groaned. “Oh, Lucy, no, please.”
Meg sat sipping her tea, obviously hanging on Lucy’s every word as if she were an opera singer and Meg in the audience at a command performance.
“You two are obviously perfect for each other,” Lucy said to Sarah with a determined nod.
“Who?” Sarah said, pushing her slipper against the rug, not meeting Lucy’s eyes.
“Don’t play dumb with me, miss. I know how truly intelligent you are. You and Berkeley, of course.”
“You’re right,” Sarah murmured. “I didn’t want to hear that.”
Lucy squeezed her gloves in her hand. “I’m sorry, but someone had to say it out loud. It is the burden and the curse of the blunt person to always have to be the one to vocalize such things.”
Meg nodded.
“How do you know we’re so right for each other?” Sarah continued.
Lucy smoothed a brow with a fingertip. “Because Berkeley told me, of course.”
Sarah gulped. “He said that?”
“No. He said you both laugh at the same things, you both are plagued with attacks of the nerves, and you both share a sense of humor, among other things.”
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