A Lady in Hiding

by Amy Corwin

  Sarah started to shrug until she caught the mantua-maker’s critical eye on her. What color? She cast her mind over the question in near panic. The consideration of female fripperies always alarmed her, reminding her of her inadequacies.

  She couldn’t think of a single color except brick red.

  “Lavender? Pale blue or pink?” Mrs. Godwin suggested. “Many young ladies are quite fond of pink. Although you are not—that is—you are a mature woman now and may prefer richer colors. Do you like crimson?”

  “What about that lovely deep rose silk? That would make a beautiful evening gown for you,” Lady Victoria observed.

  “But we’ve already ordered the blue—“

  Lady Victoria laughed. “You cannot have just one gown. It will not do—not at all. Deep blue and rose, those are the colors for you, my dear. For morning dresses, we can use that sprigged muslin, the one with the roses.”

  “Very good, madam,” Mrs. Godwin agreed, her mouth pinched with the effort not to smile too broadly at the sudden increase in her business profits.

  Lady Victoria poured over patterns, trims, and fabrics. She impulsively made the decisions for Sarah when she showed a distinct lack of concern over whether they adorned the front of the gowns with silk rosettes, or bits of broken bricks.

  Sadly, the next few days got no easier. Sarah could not leave the house without a servant in tow. And even that was discouraged for fear she would be recognized and murdered on the front stoop.

  “But I’m just going for a walk,” Sarah protested the day before the ball. “Just to Hyde Park and back. There’s no need to send for the footman.”

  “Lady Sarah, that is quite impossible,” Lady Victoria replied, glancing to her husband for support.

  Her uncle shook his head. “Quite impossible. We’ve already sent out the invitations for the ball, and the Duke of Rother will have received the little note we tucked into his invitation. We must be prepared for the inevitable repercussions. Walking alone can’t be permitted. Frankly, even being outdoors should be discouraged until after the ball.”

  “I’m to be trapped indoors for two days?” Sarah asked, her voice rising. “Two days!”

  “Now, dear, it will not be as terrible as all that. We will find any number of diversions. Why I saw another recipe for sunburn just the other day. We can try that and do, oh, a variety of things. You will see,” Lady Victoria offered desperately. When Sarah didn’t respond immediately, her aunt reached over and touched her hand. “Are you still missing him dreadfully?”

  After an embarrassed glance at her uncle’s amused face, Sarah stared down at the table and shook her head. Her cheeks burned as if she was sitting too close to a candle’s flame.

  “I am so sorry, but surely you see it would never do. You must try to forget him. I promise you, in a month you will be quite relieved not to have made that mistake.”

  “So, Lady Sarah has a beau, already?” Uncle John asked in a liltingly innocent tone. “Who is the lucky chap?”

  Lady Victoria waited for Sarah to answer. But Sarah just shook her head again.

  Her aunt replied, “Mr. Trenchard, dear.”

  He laughed. “Nice enough—comes from a fine family. Too bad he chose to enter the tradesmen’s ranks.”

  “It’s better than sitting around all day gossiping!” Sarah answered, feeling like a sulky child. “I’m sorry, but you forget I’m not a lady no matter what you think, or try to do for me. I’d be fortunate, indeed, if he could just ignore my position. But the idiot agrees with you.”

  “Oh. Oh, dear!” Lady Victoria said lamely, patting Sarah’s hand again.

  “You see?” Uncle John interrupted. “A remarkably intelligent man.”

  “I wish I’d never gone to Second Sons,” Sarah remarked bitterly. “I would have been happier if the Duke of Rother had shot me through the heart.”

  “Nonsense! It will work out for the best. You will see. Now, if you will excuse me—”

  “John, where are you going?” Lady Victoria studied her husband with a faint frown of worry.

  “The club, my dear. Never fear, I shall be back before you ladies even think of retiring for the night.”

  “White’s?” Lady Victoria asked, her voice rising with displeasure.

  Uncle John leaned over and kissed his wife full on the lips, stopping any further protest. Before Lady Victoria could blink, he winked at Sarah and slipped out of the door.

  The rest of the day, Lady Victoria did her best to keep Sarah amused. Sarah knew she should be grateful, and she understood her aunt and uncle were correct about William, but she couldn’t stop thinking about him. Or the person trying to kill her.

  Somehow, she wasn’t so sure the duke was responsible. Unfortunately, she couldn’t pinpoint why she thought that.

  Well, by next week it would all be over.

  Then she’d see what she could do to escape the tedium of life as a noblewoman.

  Chapter Thirty

  The night of the ball was warm and fine. William decided the charming character of a duelist would be both romantic and practical as a costume. He could wear a sword with a small, single-shot pistol tucked into his waistband and would, therefore, be well-armed. Dressing entirely in black, with jet buttons and a black silk half-mask, would appeal to women, he thought as he stared at his reflection in the hall mirror before leaving for the Archer’s ball.

  It was just too bad that he couldn’t bring himself to care.

  His thoughts strayed to Sarah and the way her soft mouth had felt… He only cared about one woman. Her.

  He thrust the memory away.

  The black was practical, not romantic. He could hide in the shadows more easily, and he was armed. Archer also indicated he would have a pistol somewhere handy, as well as a knife in his sash. He would be dressed as a Caribbean pirate.

  The event was not precisely a costume ball. However, after much persuasion, Lady Victoria agreed that in addition to the masks, a few guests, specifically William and her husband, could wear clothing that would let them carry additional weaponry that was not simply decorative.

  The ball started at nine.

  William arrived early and surveyed the rooms prepared to receive guests. There was a buffet supper scheduled for midnight in the dining room, dancing in the large salon on the first floor, and card tables set up in the small sitting room across from the ballroom.

  As arranged, the Archers had included an extra note in the duke’s invitation, telling him that they were in possession of something he may have lost in 1806. The items would be returned, if he could identify them. He would have the opportunity to do so privately at half-past midnight in the library on the ground floor.

  William remained uneasy about the entire affair. Accusing a duke was not something one normally wished to do, although it helped that the Archers were also related to a duke. Nonetheless, if they were left with their word against his, the outcome would not be pleasant.

  Tension made William restless, although there was precious little he could do but wait. He repeatedly walked through all the rooms searching for vulnerabilities. In the library, he drew the heavy brocade curtains and slipped into the alcove behind them as a test. There was plenty of room without a betraying bulge in the draperies.

  He only hoped the duke would give himself away and end Lady Sarah’s nightmare.

  When he returned to the ballroom, he found it filling rapidly. The guests were chatting excitedly about the unexpected return of Lady Sarah, and there was a lot of speculative gossip whispered in the corners. Archer tried to scotch rumors by spreading the story that she had been sent abroad to Switzerland to recover after the horrors of losing her family. The majority apparently chose to believe she had been locked away in a sanitarium, raving mad, for the last thirteen years after the fire destroyed her reason.

  William glanced around, seeking his host. John Archer was easy to identify in a scarlet mask, crimson jacket, and red damask waistcoat trimmed in gold. A wide gold sash h
eld a brace of pistols at his waist, as well as a sword. William stared harder and chuckled. No ordinary sword for Archer—he carried a curved, elaborately carved scimitar.

  The two ladies of the household swept down the staircase together a few minutes after nine. A more fanciful man would have imagined them to be sea nymphs, still glittering damply from the ocean waves. Lady Victoria was dressed in gray, overlaid with silver gauze that sparkled with diamonds like drops of water amidst the folds.

  Next to her, Sarah was arrayed in a deep blue gown trimmed with pearls that glimmered like the pale smoothness of her bosom. A ruff of silver lace encircled her neck. Her upper face was hidden by a mask of blue velvet trimmed with seed pearls, and her eyes glittered with excitement through the slits.

  William had never seen her more desirable. His heart hammered. He watched, motionless, as she turned away and glided into the crowd.

  Then he forced himself to look away. She wasn’t smiling for him, and it was his duty to watch others this evening, not her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Uncle John told Sarah not to go into the library. And at the time, she meekly agreed to obey him, trying desperately to fit the mold of the perfect young lady. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite carry it off. She had no intention of missing the opportunity to witness the downfall of the man who had tried to kill her. So, she slipped out of the ball and went downstairs to the forbidden library, relieved to get away from the dancing.

  Her feet were in agony after countless men trying to waltz had stepped on them. She could only hope their shins were equally sore after she inadvertently kicked them with almost every step.

  “Mr. Trenchard?” she whispered, rubbing her left foot over her right. Her toes ached. To her disgust, the room appeared to be empty. “Are you here?”

  “Who are you?” a thin man with glasses asked, rising from a chair by the fire.

  “Lady Sarah,” she replied, startled. “Who are you?”

  “Mr. Athelby, secretary to the Duke of Rother.”

  She glanced around uneasily. “What are you doing here?”

  “I have an appointment. If you’re looking for the retiring room, I suggest you ask one of the servants.” He stared at her with cold eyes.

  “I don't have need of the retiring room,” she replied with abrupt loathing. Something about the man set her teeth on edge. “I have an appointment.”

  He laughed. “An assignation? You’ll have to go elsewhere to meet your lover.”

  “It’s not that sort of appointment.”

  He studied her and then straightened. “You’re that Lady Sarah? The daughter of the Marquess of Longmoor?”

  “Yes, I am.” Sarah’s chin rose. For the first time, she felt a sense of pride. “Now, please leave—I don't have time for idle conversation.”

  “Well, I had expected a man, but no matter. Apparently, neither of us knew exactly who we were meeting.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Sarah said. The muscles in her shoulders stiffened, but she managed to keep from glancing at either the door or the curtained alcove where William was supposed to be hidden. This was all a tragic mistake. Surely, this pathetic little man did not have the nerve to murder anyone.

  “The papers, you simpering idiot. I'm here for the papers.” He held out his hand.

  “What papers?” she asked. Her eyes flicked back to the curtains. Surely, she was not alone.

  “Hand me the papers, woman!” Mr. Athelby said. He raised a dueling pistol.

  Sarah stared at the gun. A chill slid over her, freezing her in place. She trembled, but managed to reach clumsy fingers into her reticule. She pulled out the only packet she had. It was a small sheaf of very thin papers folded over. Each one held a tiny amount of rice powder. Lady Victoria said Sarah should carry them in case she needed to powder her nose. She couldn’t imagine requiring them.

  She handed him the packet.

  Still pointing his weapon at her heart, he shook them open with one hand. He sneezed and glanced at the innermost sheet as a puff of powder settled around him, coating his sleeve and waistcoat.

  “Blank!” He swore and threw the sheets toward the fire. With an impatient hand, he dusted the powder off his sleeve. “Where are they?”

  “What?” she asked, praying for inspiration. The men had abandoned her. She would have to do something if she wasn’t going to die.

  “The invoices!”

  “Invoices?”

  Mr. Athelby took one of the pillows from a nearby chair and held it in front of his pistol. “Don’t you remember?”

  “No—I—”

  He pulled the trigger. The shot, muffled by the pillow, brushed the silver lace at her neckline. Her hand flew up to her throat. The bullet had just missed her right earlobe. She could still feel the stinging warmth.

  He pulled out a second pistol. “Now, perhaps you'll remember. Where are they?”

  “What assurances do I have that once I hand them to you, you won’t simply shoot me?” she asked, trying to keep her voice calm.

  “You should have considered that before you arranged this meeting, Lady Sarah. Now give me the papers and have done with it. I won't ask again.”

  “I will—I promise. But I beg of you—I must know one thing. Why? Why did you try to kill me?”

  “You truly don’t remember?” he asked in an incredulous tone.

  “No—I…” She rubbed her scarred temple, almost forgetting whom she faced. Then, she gazed at him with wide eyes as she struggled to grasp wispy, smoke-colored memories. “It was you! You were there at Elderwood the night of the fire! I—I saw you run behind the house.”

  “Ah, there you are. Now you see why I can’t leave you to wander around London. I’m very sorry, Lady Sarah.”

  When Athelby raised the second pistol and pressed it into the cushion, she heard the floor creak. Her uncle stepped out from behind the curtains.

  “Athelby!” he said.

  As he spoke, the French doors at the rear of the library opened. The Duke of Rother, followed by William, stepped inside.

  “That is enough, Athelby,” the duke said, his tone harsh. “What is the meaning of this?”

  “Your Grace!” Athelby swung around. “I—”

  Sarah ran across the room to William. He put a heavy arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She leaned against him, glad to feel his strength and warmth against her. Slowly, her icy trembling quieted.

  He hadn’t abandoned her after all.

  With a sigh of relief, Sarah glanced up at William’s handsome face. He smiled brilliantly down at her before drawing her even closer.

  “Excuse me,” he whispered, easing her away long enough to retrieve a packet of papers from his pocket.

  Uncle John crossed the room with an arch smile. He took the documents from William and waved them in the air.

  The duke's expression darkened. He motioned to Uncle John and held out his hand in a preemptory gesture to indicate he wished to see the documents. Her uncle handed them to the duke. After a stern glance at his secretary, he glanced through the invoices with his mouth in a tight line.

  “Athelby, explain these to me,” the duke said at last.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace.”

  “Quit apologizing and present me with your explanation. Immediately!”

  “I believe he may have sold some less-than-fresh supplies to the military,” William said when Athelby seemed reluctant to speak.

  “I had to...You don’t understand—” Athelby stammered.

  “Not to mention the bodies he provided to the physicians’ college,” Uncle John interrupted. “I take it the duke was a trifle short, financially?”

  “Short? I have never had any financial difficulties. What is the meaning of this, Athelby? Do you know what they are talking about?” the duke asked coldly.

  Uncle John cocked his head and stared at the duke. “Are you sure you weren’t having fiscal difficulties?”

&
nbsp; The duke studied first Uncle John, then William, and finally, Sarah. “Well, Athelby?”

  “The Marquess of Longmoor hired a number of your former staff in 1804,” William said. “They claimed you had defaulted on their wages. I should say that was fairly indicative of financial difficulties. If you'll excuse me for saying so, Your Grace.”

  “What?” the duke asked, his face livid with anger.

  “And I believe Mr. Athelby may have kept the situation from you, Your Grace,” William said.

  “I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Athelby replied before turning to William. His face contorted with anger and fear. “His Grace never knew. I—I borrowed some funds from the household accounts. I thought I could pay them back. But I never seemed to be able to collect the money. Then, the staff started to complain. When a few left, I had to do something.”

  “You stole? From me?” the duke asked. His voice was quiet and controlled, but there was a second of ominous quiet underlining his questions.

  “I never meant for it to go so far—I never expected….” Athelby’s voice trailed off. He gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

  The duke stared at Athelby with an awful look brooding in his dark eyes. “And the fire?”

  “I had to. Major Pickering traced the grain shipments to us. He was going to go to the authorities, with the backing of the Marquess. I had to protect myself—us! I had to protect us!”

  “My daughter died in that fire!” The duke’s voice ground out slowly as he struggled for control. His hands clenched around the papers. “I thought you loved her—you begged me to allow you to pay your addresses to her. How could you murder her in that fire?”

  “She was about to betray me—it would have blackened both of our names! Think of the scandal!” Athelby grimaced and continued bitterly, “And it wasn’t me she loved. She fancied herself in love with that major, Pickering. She stole those papers and took them to Elderwood, intending to give them to the major. She betrayed you, Your Grace!”

  “No. She acted with honor. You are the one who betrayed me.” The duke turned his shoulder to his secretary in disgust.