“Which is why it serves no purpose to linger in the past. No matter how splendid it may have been.”
“Move on briskly?” he asked, perilously close to a jeer.
She shook her head a little, wincing. “Never briskly. By slow and halting degree. But forward nonetheless. Toward something as fine, or better.”
“I move, Madam—what other choice is there?” He grimaced, thinking of what he, at least, would move to. “Though I don’t expect to find much joy in it.”
“Then search harder.” She leaned toward him, her face intent. “Oh, Sinjin, if misery taught me anything, it was never to abandon hope! Only recall, when Wellington found the fortress of Burgos invincible that first winter, he did not give up, but retreated to regroup his forces.”
“Assault once more the fortress of love?” He laughed shortly. “Madam, I’ve scarce any heart left, far too little for the attempt, I assure you.”
“Shall I believe so valiant a soldier’s turned coward? Ah, Sinjin, pain is inescapable in life, do what we may. Only know, and I think I speak from experience wretched enough to judge, that regardless of the cost, loving never diminishes us. It only enriches.”
He could read deep affection in her silver eyes, vibrating in the timbre of her voice, but the rejected lover in him still craved to hear her say it plainly.
“You…still care for me?”
“Care for you?” She shook her head in bewilderment, as if the words made no sense. “Of course I care for you. I grew up loving you—it’s part, blood and bone, of what I am. But so do I love Aubrey and Mama and Nicholas. Our hearts are not a single room, but a vessel with chambers for many. New love need not supplant the old.”
“But it must, if the love is the special kind between a man and a woman. The heart can contain but one emotion like that.”
“Perhaps. But if one values it enough, even that love can be refashioned to a form honor permits.”
“Ah, but the ‘refashioning’—’tis a dreadful business.”
“A trial by torment,” she agreed, a fleeting shadow crossing her face. “As well I know. But,” she focused her gaze back on him, “unless I’m much mistaken, a trial you too have passed through.”
Her son came over, soldier in hand. “Found, Mama!”
“Very good, Aubrey.” She lifted the boy into her lap.
Something in his chest twisted again and he shook his head. “I’m not so sure. Having once survived, I doubt I would choose to risk such vulnerability again.”
She smoothed her son’s curls and looked over his head at Sinjin. “Did you love me so little?”
“You know how much!”
“If you truly loved me, then, and in tribute to the affection I still bear, I ask this pledge. Do not harden your heart. Oh, Sinjin, the boy I loved, the man I knew, was altogether too warm, generous and fine to shut himself off in bitter isolation. Nor would I have you hide behind a pedestal of my supposed perfection, judging no other woman my equal. Promise me you will not deny the possibility of love. If you will not seek it out, at least be open should it find you. After all, my dearest friend,” she added, her voice unsteady, “how can my happiness ever be complete, until I know you too are happy?”
“Guilty, my lady Englemere?”
“Certainly not.” Her silver eyes flashed in a gesture of annoyance so familiar, he had to smile. “Just wishful that you act sensibly in your own best interest rather than in the pigheaded fashion of a man, scorning what is precious merely because it does not assume the precise form you had envisioned.” Her tart tone softened. “You will promise me?” She held out her hand.
“Could I ever deny you?” With a wry smile, he took her slender fingers. “Very well, Madam, I promise. Should we seal the pact in blood, as we did when we were children?”
Obviously bored with adult talk, Aubrey squirmed, and his mama set him down. Stepping toward Sinjin, he once again surveyed him from boots to cravat, the man’s height such that the action nearly overtoppled the boy. “Not soldier,” he pronounced. “Play soldier?”
Eyes so like Englemere’s beseeched him. Sinjin inhaled sharply, regret still too trenchant for proximity. “Not now, my good man. Perhaps another day.”
The child’s face dimmed in disappointment, then brightened again. “Papa!” he cried, and ran to the door.
But Sinjin had not needed the boy’s shout to warn him who entered. The joy that illumined Sarah’s face when she caught sight of her husband announced Englemere’s presence only too eloquently. And like the morning mist on the hillsides overtaken by sunrise, the last shreds of Sinjin’s dream evaporated in the brilliance of her smile.
The marquess caught his son and tossed him in the air, to the child’s delighted squeals. Lifting Aubrey to his shoulder, he walked to Sinjin and offered a hand.
“Sandiford,” he said, as Sinjin grasped and shook it. “I’m pleased you’ve come to visit us so speedily. I trust you’ve found my family well?”
Despite his casual stance, Englemere’s body was stiffly alert, his eyes assessing Sinjin’s face. For a moment the two men’s glances held, both knowing the question transcended those simple words.
Though still aching, this time Sinjin pulled out the necessary reply. “Indeed, I find them perfect, my lord.”
Englemere exhaled, some of the tension seeming to leave his body. “I am glad of it.”
Still carrying his son, he walked over to kiss Sarah’s cheek. “You look lovely this morning, sweeting. Sandiford, you will take tea with us?”
Such a picture they made, Sarah smiling down at the son who’d climbed back into her lap, Englemere standing behind them, his hand on her shoulder. A perfect family.
And he forever an outsider. Bleakness filled him and for a moment, he couldn’t summon words.
“N-no, I must be going. I interrupted Sarah at her work, and I’ve errands of my own. Master Aubrey, a pleasure to have met you. Sarah, Englemere, a good day.”
“I’ll see you out,” Englemere said. “Order us some tea, won’t you, my dear?”
“You are sure you can’t stay?” Sarah asked. “Then you must visit us again. Often,” she added, and gave him that sweet Sarah smile he’d so often longed for and dreamed of. Then squeezed the hand her husband rested on her shoulder.
“I shall see you, of course,” he replied, feeling hollow inside at the sight. But not often.
“Play soldier now, Mama?” he heard Aubrey coax.
Englemere escorted him out in silence. After the frowning butler handed him his coat and retreated, no doubt in disapproval of his unorthodox arrival, Sinjin spoke.
“I give you my word as a man of honor, you have nothing to fear from me. My congratulations. You have a fine s-son.” His voice broke over the word, and he had to take a breath. “Lord willing, may you have many more.”
Once again, Englemere’s eyes held his for a long moment. Then, swallowing hard, the marquess nodded.
Sinjin turned to go, but Englemere stayed him with a hand. “I am fully cognizant of the…cost of that pledge,” he said gruffly. “I cannot offer in return anything nearly so valuable, but rest assured, I shall be delighted to assist you in any way. You must restructure your estates to pay off some debts, I understand. Land and crop values are down, but I know a banker who is quite clever. I’d be happy to introduce you.”
Taken aback by the unexpected offer, Sinjin hardly knew how to reply. The truth would serve best, he decided. “You’re very generous, but I’m afraid matters have gone beyond that. If I’m not to lose the whole, I shall require a massive infusion of capital in the very near future.”
“Ah. You must look for an heiress, then.”
Sinjin couldn’t stop the grimace. “I’m afraid so.”
To his further surprise, Englemere grinned and clapped him on the shoulder. “I’m here to testify speedy matches are not always a bad thing. But if your affairs must be resolved quickly, there’s no time to lose. Having just arrived, I daresay you’ve not yet be
en introduced about. You must accompany us to Lady Devonshire’s ball tomorrow.”
“I shouldn’t put you to so much bother, and I—”
“Nonsense. Besides, when crucial decisions need to be made, ’tis best to reconnoiter the ground and gather as much intelligence as possible, yes? Sarah’s friend Clarissa will be joining us. She’s quite the belle, and can present you to the loveliest of the ladies present.”
A vision of a younger version of his mama rose up, to be dismissed with loathing. “Perhaps, but I’ve already determined to seek a bride among the merchant classes.”
Englemere raised an eyebrow. “Indeed? ’Tis your own affair, to be sure. As for me, I’d not make any firm decision without reviewing all the possibilities. Besides, several regiments have recently returned from Paris. I daresay you will find many friends. Pray do join us.”
It would be churlish to continue spurning an offer so kindly extended. Reluctantly Sinjin nodded. “Very well. I should be delighted.”
“Excellent. I’ll have a card sent round.” The marquess extended his hand.
Sinjin shook it this time less unwillingly than on any previous occasion. Glancing up from that firm grip, the expression he read on Englemere’s face underscored the marquess’s words. He’d won the gratitude and support of this wealthy and influential man. Perhaps even his friendship, should Sinjin be able to accept it.
’Twas too soon for that leap, he thought as he nodded a goodbye and exited down the marble steps.
He’d taken a hackney to Sarah’s house this morning, dismissing the driver a street away to attract as little notice as possible. But with his mind still churning, he waved away the footman’s offer to summon another jarvey, choosing to walk the few blocks to his lodging.
He was finally facing the reality he’d been skirting ever since he saw Sarah after her wedding and realized she’d come to care for her chance-given husband. The page of time had turned, and there’d be no going back. Sarah was where she now belonged, with the husband she loved and their son.
Despite the wrenching ache of acknowledging her lost to him forever, he felt the rightness of that conclusion bone-deep. It was time to stop railing at fate, his papa, Sarah—even at his mama for the various parts each had played in the death of his dream. Time to extinguish the final embers of his anger and move on.
With a sigh, he vowed to banish for good both the rage and the restless yearning that had driven him these last three years. And felt some semblance of peace descend, a balm of ointment soothed over the abrasion of grief.
Damn, but Englemere was a clever rogue. He’d doubtless intended all along for Sinjin to call immediately, unannounced, catching Sarah at her work and with her son. So he might see for himself the depth of her content.
Still, he’d obtained one reassurance his lonely soul craved. He could face whatever he must, knowing that though muted, the affection Sarah felt for him endured and always would.
He recalled her challenge—not to let the hopeless passion they once shared wither into something bitter and harsh, a wall to close off emotion. To leave himself open to the chance that love might come again.
To complete her happiness by building a home and family of his own.
He made a wry grimace. Despite his promise freely given, he’d had a surfeit of love and its effects. Indeed, given the speed with which he needed to contract a marriage, an honorable bond based on mutual respect and perhaps a bit of fondness was the best he could hope for.
He reached his lodgings and mounted the stairs. After pausing in the sitting room, he proceeded on to the bedchamber. To the bedside table on which rested a neatly bound bundle of letters.
He would pack them away and save them for Sarah’s son. If the boy persisted in his fascination with the military, perhaps one day he would enjoy reading the letters his mama had written to a soldier abroad fighting Napoleon.
As for the other…he fingered the inside pocket of his jacket, feeling the wisp-thin, aged piece of vellum he’d kept beside his heart from the moment he’d received it. Sarah’s last letter before she left for London to make that unavoidable marriage of convenience.
Carefully he withdrew the paper. Were he to lift it to his nose, despite the sweat, rain, and several bloodstains on its fragile surface, he could swear the missive still bore the faint fragrance of lavender.
She’d explained her dire circumstances, apologized for having to break her vow. And concluded with words he read one more time, even though he’d long had them by heart.
“So tomorrow I depart, my dearest love, leaving behind the dream that has been to me more precious than life. Though I shall never again call you my own, as long as this wretched heart beats, you will be at the center of it. Always, your Sarah.”
He walked to the sitting room, poured the last glass of wine from the decanter and carried it to the wing chair before the hearth. Pulling the chair close, he held the letter to the banked coals in the grate. Dust-dry with age, it caught immediately.
He held it to the last moment, while orange flame licked up the ragged surface and turned it rapidly from blackened edge to cinder. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
When it was no more than a smoldering fragment, he sat back and downed the wine.
The dregs at the bottom of the glass were acrid, and he grimaced. The grimace deepened when he recalled he’d acceded to Englemere’s insistence that he attend the ball with them tomorrow night.
By force of will, he damped down the bleakness. Alex would likely be present, and others of the returned officer corps. He would have someone with whom to converse, could perhaps renew some contacts that might prove helpful.
As for the other—he recalled again that expensively-turned-out chit on horseback. Despite the marquess’s recommendation that he not dismiss any prospects without examination, he was absolutely sure among the females attending what would doubtless be a glittering assembly tomorrow night, he would find not a single one he would consider for wife.
Chapter Four
Having successfully repinned an errant curl, Clarissa turned from the mirror in Sarah’s bedchamber to glance at her friend. “You’re sure you feel well enough to attend the ball tonight?” She inspected Sarah with some concern. “You ate almost nothing at dinner, and you seem very pale.”
“I’m a bit tired, but nothing to signify, and entirely normal,” Sarah said as her maid draped the heavy evening cloak around her shoulders. “I’m increasing again.”
Clarissa dropped her pins and jumped up to hug her friend. “What wonderful news! Oh, make it a daughter this time, a lovely, curly-haired darling I can dress up, take to Gunter’s for ices, and giggle with over confidences.”
“Your preferences are duly noted. Though I shouldn’t mind another son first, to insure the succession.”
Clarissa made a face. “That sounds like Englemere’s preference.”
Sarah gave Clarissa a reproving look. “Actually, Englemere has no preference at all, other than for a healthy child and a speedy delivery. I believe Aubrey’s leisurely meander into the world taxed him nearly as much as it did me. He’s already trying to wrap me in cotton wool, and nearly forbade my going out this evening.”
Clarissa regarded her friend with some anxiety. “Are you sure he isn’t right? Granted, the Devonshire ball shall be the most opulent of the Season, but you care little enough for that. Perhaps you should remain home.”
“As it happens, I especially wanted to attend tonight.” With a wave, she dismissed the maid, then waited for the woman to exit before continuing. “A dear friend, my neighbor from Wellingford, Colonel Lord St. John Sandiford, has just returned from Paris with his regiment. Englemere invited him to join us at the ball tonight.”
“A soldier—excellent.”
“He’s sold out, actually. I’m afraid Sinjin stands in much the same position I once did. With his estate dangerously encumbered, he must marry an heiress as soon as possible.”
Clarissa frowned, a vague memory stirr
ing. “Sinjin…was he not your childhood sweetheart? The soldier you continued to write even after your marriage?”
“Y-yes.” Sarah made a study of her toe. “You will remember him, I think. He returned to England briefly just after Englemere and I were wed. I was hoping you might introduce him to the nicest of the eligible ladies.”
A sharper vision focused: the glittering sconces of a ballroom…Sarah flinging herself at a broad-shouldered, blue-coated figure…the soldier’s disbelieving face. “He was shocked to find you married, yes? And none too pleased, I recall. You’d been engaged, had you not?”
“Never officially. As neither of us had any fortune, no prudent parent would have permitted us to marry.”
Clarissa inspected her friend’s downturned face. “But you would have wed him, had it been your choice alone?”
“Most assuredly. I was devastated at the time, but you know I haven’t remained so.” She looked up, smiling. “Nicholas is a treasure for whom I thank heaven daily.”
Clarissa chuckled. “We’re unlikely to agree on that score. Still,” her eyes assessed Sarah’s face, “will it pain you to see him court and marry another?”
“Not at all. He’s a fine man, Clare, possessed of many admirable qualities—even without the attraction of a Hussar’s furred coat. Though he seems harder now, harsher than I remember.” She shook her head, her face pensive. “Having so little control over our lives, I believe women adapt more easily to the necessities forced upon us. Gentlemen are used to shaping events to their satisfaction. After all Sinjin suffered in the war, returning to find himself compelled to marry must be distasteful indeed.”
Clarissa shuddered. “Thank Heaven I need never submit to that. I doubt I could.”
“Were it truly necessary, my dear, you would do as you must. And have the courage to make the best of it.”
As you did, Clarissa thought, not voicing a truth that would surely induce Sarah once again to defend the husband fate had thrust upon her.
The Proper Wife Page 4
