by Amy Corwin
“Sarah, I’m sorry—”
“No, no, don’t say that. I could help you,” she repeated in a rising voice. “Let me stay. You stopped visiting, and I—I love you!”
“You love me?” he echoed her words.
She had to be frantic to escape to make such an admission.
He wanted her so desperately and yet, he couldn't admit it. He couldn't ruin her life. Cold, common sense washed over him. Whatever she felt, she would soon forget it.
“You only think you love me.”
“No, I think you’re an idiot. I know I love you.”
“I’m sorry—”
“You don’t love me.” She jerked back as if he’d slapped her.
“I do—you know that. But you’ll just have to forget. We’ll both have to forget.”
“Sandersons never forget love. Not ever.”
He shrugged. Misery hardened his eyes. “Then remember if you wish. Nonetheless, you’ll be the woman you were born to be and marry one more appropriate than I. Now—”
“You really don’t feel anything.” A bitter, watery smile crossed her face. She tried to withdraw her hands after a glance toward the open door. “You wouldn’t say that if you did. Well, I could hardly expect you to feel the same when I look more like a boy than a woman.”
“It’s not that, I just—oh, to hell with it!” He gripped her shoulders and pulled her roughly against him, covering her mouth his.
He kissed her deeply, breathing in her fragrant warmth. Her skin smelled of rosewater and cream, and all he wanted to do was hold her.
Forever.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
For the first time in days, Sarah’s heart lifted. Surely, he felt something for her. He said he did, and his arms were strong and sure around her. He smelled of warmth and sunshine and bay. She snuggled against him, pulling him closer.
But before she was ready to release him, their kiss ended. When he gently pushed her away, a wave of coldness filled her.
“I’m sorry, Sarah—Lady Sarah—but you must realize, you can’t. I’m—I made my decision to work here.”
“I work, too. We’re the same. And you do love me, don’t you?”
He laughed at her insistence. “Yes, God help me, but that doesn’t change a thing.”
“Then I won’t be Lady Sarah. I won’t!”
“You are, and you will. Now get what you left so we can return to your aunt before she sends the footman after us.”
“I can’t. It’s my heart and my sanity that I left in your care. Why can’t I stay?”
“Because you can’t. Listen to me.” He gave her arms a brief shake. “I’m close to solving this—if it can be solved without me going to prison for slander. In any event, a few months from now, you’ll have forgotten this entire adventure. You’ll find pursuits you do enjoy. And you’ll find a man of your own social status to love. You’ll forget all about this madness.”
“I won’t!” she declared. He was so irritatingly obtuse at times. He didn’t understand….
Her heart sank. She had been so sure he would understand. He had chosen to give up his own social circle in favor of an occupation he clearly loved.
Why did he refuse to help her do the same?
“You must be who you were born to be.” His face was hard as he took her arm and led her downstairs to Lady Victoria.
“Did you find what you left?” her aunt asked when they entered the room.
Sarah studied her, seeing the love and concern in her face, but inexplicably resenting it. She longed for the freedom she had known just a few days ago. She had been able to walk down the street alone. Now, she was accompanied wherever she went and treated as if she hadn’t the brains of a mouse.
She was the same person and yet nothing was the same.
“No,” Sarah replied. “It’s gone. I suppose I lost it somewhere along the way.”
“I’m so sorry. What was it, my dear? I realize there are some things one simply can’t replace, but perhaps…”
“Thank you, Lady Victoria, but it wasn’t that important.”
Lady Victoria nodded and folded her hands over her reticule. Sadness and sympathy flickered briefly in her eyes. Sarah had the uncomfortable feeling that Lady Victoria had been perfectly aware of what happened upstairs.
“Have you told Mr. Trenchard about the ball? Your uncle was most insistent we inform him.” Lady Victoria smiled at William. “Our nephew, the Duke of Peckham, has agreed to host the event.”
Another affair that would draw Sarah deeper into this excruciatingly horrible existence. And it was one more wedge to force her away from the life she loved. And William. If he truly loved her, why couldn’t he put a stop to this madness?
Because in spite of the warmth in his eyes, he doesn’t truly love me, a little voice said.
“I’m not sure I’m in favor of a public event of that sort,” William said.
Sarah sat up, her heart pounding. Had she misjudged him?
“I said as much to my husband,” Lady Victoria said. “However, he assures me it is the only solution. If we are to see justice served against the Duke of Rother, we must have proof. He must expose himself—oh, I wish John were here—he could explain it all so much better than I.”
“You've explained it wonderfully,” William assured her. “I simply don’t like the idea of exposing Lady Sarah to such a dangerous situation. Too many people. Too much can happen.”
“You shall be there, of course, to protect her,” Lady Victoria continued.
He stared first at Lady Victoria and then at Sarah. She shrugged. What could she say? She didn’t want to attend a ball any more than he did.
“What do you propose? That I dress as a waiter?” William asked.
Sarah had to suppress a smile at the undertone of irritation in his voice.
“That's certainly one option, isn’t it, Lady Sarah?” Lady Victoria replied.
Sarah caught his gaze, silently beseeching him to protest. She thought there was a touch of tension in his jaw and mouth, but his expression remained bland. Calm.
He replied, “Yes. I suppose that would be acceptable. The only difficulty would be if someone recognized me. Before I became engaged in this line of work, I used to attend quite a number of social functions.”
“Oh, dear. That does present certain complications, doesn’t it? What about a masquerade, then? You can come as yourself.”
“Or at least who I used to be,” he joked. His blue eyes rested meditatively on Sarah.
She stifled the urge to make a face at him.
“When were you planning to hold this entertainment?” he asked.
“This Friday night—if that is acceptable?”
“But that’s only five days from now!” William exclaimed.
“Yes. It shall be such a relief to have this all behind us. Then we may relax and enjoy ourselves without glancing over our shoulders each time the door opens.” She smiled at Sarah and patted her hand.
Overwhelming panic took Sarah’s breath away. Once they got the proof they needed, she’d never see William again. And she’d be trapped in this life forever.
She sucked in a small puff of air and said, “Mr. Trenchard is right—that’s too soon. He needs more time to build his case. It wouldn’t do to reveal our hand too soon. Before we're ready.”
“Friday will be fine.” William caught her gaze. His blue eyes looked cold. Dismissive.
A chill raced down the back of her neck. He wanted this to be over as soon as possible. Then he could forget, just as he advised her to do.
Forget love.
She’d been a fool to believe in such a fleeting emotion.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Early the next morning, Lady Victoria entered Sarah’s bedroom carrying a basket of oddments. “Sarah, dear, why don’t you assist me? I am making a new batch of face cream.” Lady Victoria grasped Sarah’s chin and turned her face first to one side than the other, critically examining her. “Really, the su
nburn is quite faded, and your skin is not so dreadfully brown anymore. You look quite healthy, in fact.”
Sarah stared at the tiny pots, lamp, and the small earthenware pipkin Lady Victoria had arrayed on a delicate tea towel spread over the desk near the window. The towel had tiny flowers embroidered along the edges, undoubtedly sewn by her talented aunt.
At one time, Sarah could do a little handwork. But over the years, she had forgotten everything she had ever learned, except the bare minimum. She could darn a sock, repair a seam, and sew a button on a pair of trousers. In a pinch, she might be able to create a French knot or embroider a fairly smooth satin stitch, but nothing more complicated.
“Come and help me make the fard for your face.” Lady Victoria set out the lamp and lit it carefully from some of the glowing embers remaining in the fireplace from last night’s fire.
Sarah moved over to the window, picking up one of the small vials.
“Carefully, dear. Don’t drop that.”
Sarah set down the glass vial and sighed with frustration.
“Now, do you remember the ingredients?” Lady Victoria asked.
Shaking her head, Sarah stood back, hands clasped in front of her.
“Never mind. Just two ounces of sweet almond oil.” She lifted one small glass bottle and poured some into the earthen pipkin resting over the lamp. “And the same of spermaceti. We just melt them together and add a spoonful of honey. Then stir until the mixture cools. Why don’t you finish this, while I prepare your hand soap? I see you have used what remained of my previous batch—do you prefer lavender or rose?”
“Lavender, I suppose,” Sarah replied, concentrating on stirring the honey into the melting, waxy mixture.
“Sarah, what is wrong, dear? You seem so distracted— you are not suffering from nerves, are you?”
“No, it’s not that.”
“Then what is it? Please—it distresses me to see you so desperately unhappy.”
“It’s nothing, truly. You’ve all been so kind to me—”
“But you don’t feel at home here?”
“You’ve been very kind, both of you. And your husband—”
“Uncle John, dear, please. Do try to remember.”
“It’s just—” Sarah struggled to put her doubts into words. “Why—that is, am I so ugly that you decided I didn't even need a chaperone?”
Lady Victoria appeared shocked. “Of course not!”
“I see—then it was just that you knew a man like Mr. Trenchard would never try to—”
“Lady Sarah!”
“Well, why did you show so little concern when I—when he insisted I stay at Second Sons?” Although Sarah was conscious of the unfairness, she couldn't help but feel that if Lady Victoria had stepped in and prevented her from staying with Mr. Trenchard, Sarah's heart might not be so crushed.
“We—” Lady Victoria flushed and glanced awkwardly around the room before meeting Sarah's glance. “You are very attractive, Lady Sarah. You cannot doubt that. However, John feared if we insisted you stay here, you would run away. We were afraid of losing you again. Or placing you in greater danger.”
“And you were sure I'd be safe with Mr. Trenchard,” Sarah said bitterly.
“Not safe—no. Not precisely. However, it seemed the best course at the time. We hoped and relied on Mr. Trenchard's integrity.”
“I don't think his integrity was ever put to the test. Not with me, at any rate.”
“Don't be too sure of that.” Lady Victoria studied her. “So, is it Mr. Trenchard who is making you so unhappy?”
“No,” Sarah lied, trying to be brave and uncaring.
Lady Victoria smiled, took the pipkin out of her hands, and stirred it briskly. Her intelligent gray eyes remained fixed on Sarah’s face. “I see—”
“No, no, it’s not him—”
“Is it not? It is in your eyes, my dear, whenever he is near. A sort of glow—”
“He’s not interested in me.”
“Did he tell you that?” Lady Victoria asked, her voice bubbling with laughter.
“He says he’s not in my social class.”
“Much as it may hurt, he is correct, Lady Sarah, dearest.”
“How can you say that? I’ve been living as a man for thirteen years! Working as a bricklayer! What social class does that put me in?”
“You are the daughter of a marquess. And you were in hiding.”
“You can’t ignore the past.”
“No, we cannot forget the past.” Lady Victoria stopped abruptly, her chin trembling and eyes misty as if looking into the distance. “But we must rise above it.” She wiped her tears away and continued stirring the mixture almost too briskly.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to remind you of the fire,” Sarah replied miserably. “But surely you see how ridiculous this situation is? I’m not fit to be a lady. I don’t want to be a lady, and no one will listen to me.”
“It is not that we don’t listen—it is simply that it doesn’t matter. You must accept that your circumstances have changed. Once this is all behind you, I am sure you will see the wisdom of Mr. Trenchard’s decision. You will come to agree that it is best. I must say, I had not expected him to be so perspicacious and prudent.”
Tears stung Sarah’s eyes. She didn’t want William to be prudent. Intelligent behind that handsome, frippery exterior, yes, but not dully prudent.
And it was, most assuredly, not for the best. None of this was. But the likelihood of convincing anyone else seemed as likely as her discovering the alchemists’ stone able to turn base metal into gold. No one had ever done it, and she had approximately the same chance of convincing anyone that she was a lady.
Or achieving her true purpose to tempt William to enfold her in his arms and never let her go.
After a searching glance, Lady Victoria thrust the concoction back into her hands. Sarah concentrated on patiently assembling the ingredients for her nightly face cream, pretending she was mixing mortar to finish the garden wall outside.
Everything seemed so futile.
Yesterday, the bricklayers had been behind the Archer townhouse picking up a few of their leftover supplies. The men she had worked side-by-side with for nearly thirteen years hadn’t even recognized her when she stepped outside. Although the fact they had never raised their eyes from her hem may have had something to do with that.
Uncle John had paid them, and now they were gone to their next job—and she had never learned where that was. Most likely, she would never see any of them again. She could only hope Alan would remember to clean the mortar properly off the trowels. He always got into such a rush…
She swallowed painfully. How had her simple life come to this sorry state? Even her beloved William had deserted her.
Well, there was only one alternative. After the ball, when matters were finally resolved, she would run away, just as she had planned before.
The decision eased her breathing, although it didn’t make her corset any more bearable. Sarah focused her attention on Lady Victoria’s concoctions and even managed to smile when her aunt indicated they were going to the mantua-maker later that afternoon.
The rest of the day, however, tested her resolve. While Lady Victoria and Sarah walked to the dressmaker’s shop, her aunt discussed what sort of gowns they should order for the masquerade ball.
Standing in a small, private room at the rear of the shop, Sarah kept her mind focused on plans for escape while the seamstress repeatedly jabbed her in the rear with exceptionally dull pins. The inattentive woman chattered all the while about the relative advantages of silk over satin.
Arrant nonsense.
Sarah schemed while she wasn’t protesting or surreptitiously rubbing her posterior.
Should she try to go to the Isle of Wight? After Hawkins found out about Kitty and Mr. Bingham, he would most likely not want anything to do with Sarah. Mr. Bingham would take her place in the firm and in the family.
But maybe she could find w
ork elsewhere. She was a trained bricklayer, after all. And she could read and write.
Or…a new thought struck her.
“Ow!” Sarah exclaimed, rubbing her hip.
“I’m terribly sorry, Lady Sarah,” the seamstress exclaimed. “If you would just allow me to pin this last fold here… Doesn’t this style become you?” She smiled fatuously.
“She looks lovely,” Lady Victoria said.
Sarah hastily agreed, trying to concentrate on her escape. Could she convince Mr. Gaunt to hire her? At Second Sons? She’d be able to remain near William and could do any one of a number of things for them. She could disguise herself as either a man or a woman. Workmen, like bricklayers; could get in anywhere and hear all sorts of things. No one paid them the least mind.
Or, she could pretend to be a maid. She could be whatever they needed, to assist them in their inquiries. And she wouldn’t even mention it to William until Mr. Gaunt hired her. William would just tell her to forget it and act like a lady. She might have been born a lady, but she hadn’t grown up to be one.
That was what she would do. She’d go directly to Mr. Gaunt when he returned.
Her plans made the rest of the day almost bearable. She docilely followed Lady Victoria’s dictates like a well-trained spaniel on a leash and kept her complaints to herself.
“Perhaps we ought to order a riding costume while we are here,” her aunt said. “You do remember how to ride, don’t you?”
The seamstress left them alone temporarily while she went to fetch samples of the elaborate silk trim she had suggested for their evening gowns. Sarah gazed at Lady Victoria, wondering precisely what her aunt meant by “riding.”
“Well, of course I can drive a wagon well enough,” Sarah said, feeling sulky and ill-tempered. “And I’ve ridden any number of work horses. Astride.”
“It should not be too difficult to relearn, then.” Lady Victoria smiled wanly as if she wanted to believe what she was saying, but found it a trifle difficult. “Ah, Mrs. Godwin, I was just saying to my niece that we may as well order a few other things she requires while we are here. A riding costume, I believe.” She turned to Sarah. “What color would you like, Lady Sarah? Blue? And a walking dress, along with a day dress. What colors do you prefer, dear?”
