Always Yours (ALWAYS trilogy Book 2)

by Cheryl Holt

  “Gad, no. I hate tea.”

  “You hate tea? No one hates tea. It’s very unBritish of you.”

  “Have you any whiskey?”

  She had an old bottle stashed in a cupboard, but she wouldn’t offer any of it to him. It was obvious he didn’t need it.

  “No, I don’t have any whiskey—or any other alcoholic beverages—and if you’re desperate to imbibe in the middle of the afternoon, you really ought to assess your condition.”

  “Thank you for the advice, Miss Robertson. I’m so delighted to be lectured by you.”

  She went to the stove and lit it, anxious to boil some water. She wasn’t too enthused about having tea either, but she was disconcerted by his arrival, and she couldn’t deduce how to act around him.

  He was a very manly man, and he exuded a strength and vigor that were disturbing. It was a small room, and he took up too much space in it.

  “What forced you to drag yourself to my paltry street?” she asked merely to fill the void. “Was it my stunning personality?”

  “You’re an intriguing woman, Miss Robertson.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment.”

  “It was an insult?”

  He scowled. “Yes, I guess it was. You’re bossy and annoying. You never listen, and you push yourself in where you’re not wanted.”

  “Sort of like you.”

  “Yes, but I’m a man so I’m allowed to behave this way.”

  “And I am just a lowly female, a wilting flower who can barely walk through the world on her own.”

  She held a mocking hand to her forehead, as if she was about to swoon, and he chuckled.

  “You still haven’t stated your price,” he said.

  “You are so irritating. You saw the sign out front. This place is an orphanage. I’m not scheming on you. I’m trying to help you.”

  She’d never been domestically inclined, and she gave up on the fire. She couldn’t get it going. Previously, she’d had several servants to take care of her, but she’d had to terminate everybody.

  She came over to the sofa where he was hogging the entire piece of furniture, but then, he was so big. She sat down too, but ended up much too close to him. Their thighs, calves, and feet were forged fast, and it was immediately evident that she should have chosen a chair over at the dining table, but now that she’d picked her spot, she wasn’t about to move.

  He’d recognize how he overwhelmed her, and he’d gloat. She wasn’t about to have him gloat.

  He shifted toward her and asked, “You’re trying to help me?”

  “Yes. You need to make arrangements for your half-siblings, and I’m willing to assist you as you work out a viable solution for them.”

  He studied the room, the tattered curtains, the worn rugs, the threadbare décor.

  Her father had been born into the gentry, and he’d used an inheritance to start the orphanage. He’d simply been kind and generous—a true Christian—who’d felt a strong duty to the less fortunate. His interest was based on a personal experience.

  As a young man, he’d had a cousin who’d been seduced by a scoundrel. She’d birthed a bastard daughter, then passed away shortly after. No one had ever been able to verify what had happened to her baby, and the calamity had haunted him. He’d been determined that no unloved child would ever vanish as hers had vanished.

  His benevolent leanings had left him estranged from his family who’d thought he’d tipped off his rocker. On originally purchasing the building, he’d filled it with his expensive belongings. Over the years, his possessions had begun to age, but he’d never spent money on new things. He’d spent it all on his orphans. In that, he’d been an absolute saint.

  Sarah had never been rich, but she’d always had plenty. Yet her home was a pitiful sight, and with her having just visited the very opulent Hero’s Haven, she realized that her own lodging would seem pathetic to Mr. Sinclair. But she wasn’t offended to have him judging her.

  After they died and went to Heaven, when they stood at the Pearly Gates and asked to be admitted, she’d hold up her good deeds against his any day of the week.

  “You’re a pauper.” There was denigration in his tone.

  “Well, of course I’m a pauper. I run a charity that’s supported with donations.”

  “When you aid the poor, it simply encourages them in their poverty.”

  “Oh, be silent. Who told you such a miserable falsehood? Your vicar? Your wealthy mother? Don’t spew your ill-informed, pious drivel at me.”

  “You are so sassy,” he complained. “I was just saying that some people think the downtrodden are a burden and ought to tend themselves.”

  “I am not one of them, and I won’t debate the issue with you. We should discuss Noah and Petunia.”

  “I’m not here to talk about them.”

  “Then why are you here? Is it merely to poke fun at my deplorable situation? If so, I wish you’d leave. I don’t have the patience for your nonsense.”

  “Do you know who I am?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Who doesn’t know?”

  “I am Sebastian Sinclair, hero of the nation, but you’re not impressed by that fact. Why is that exactly?”

  He was appraising her so earnestly, as if he truly couldn’t comprehend her opinion and was eager to have her explain.

  “Have you been drinking, Mr. Sinclair?”

  “Yes, but apparently, I hadn’t imbibed enough to keep me from coming over here.”

  For an instant, his pompous mask fell away, and he looked despondent and weary. She was surer than ever that he was grieving his father’s death. The man had been his parent, mentor, and idol, and he’d been viciously murdered. That type of catastrophe would rattle any son, so perhaps she shouldn’t be quite so vexed with him.

  She rescued strays and lost souls and tried to find the value in everyone, no matter how wretched. Her father had taught her to live that way. Was it possible Mr. Sinclair could use some of her kind concern? Did he deserve it?

  Probably not, but she’d provide some of it anyway.

  “Why are you so sad, Mr. Sinclair?”

  He frowned as if it was a bizarre question. “I’m not sad.”

  “I can see it in your eyes. Are you mourning your father? Is that it?”

  He stared, but didn’t reply. He was vain and proud, and he’d never confess a weakness. He’d view a bit of melancholia to be a failing.

  They were sitting very close, and it was a potent moment, a stirring moment, where he might have uttered any profound comment. But when he finally spoke, he said, “Why is it so quiet and empty in here? Why isn’t it bustling with activity?”

  “I mentioned it at Hero’s Haven. The building has been sold, and I’ve been busy, hunting for other accommodations for my orphans. Noah and Pet are the only ones left.”

  “Will you start another facility somewhere else?”

  “I don’t have the funds.”

  “How did you manage to open this one?”

  “My father had an inheritance, but…ah…we didn’t own the property.”

  She was desperate to confide how her brother-in-law, Cuthbert, had been keen to square some gambling debts, but it was too humiliating to admit that her sister would spit on their father’s legacy in such a terrible manner. And if she did ever talk about it, she wouldn’t explain it to a rich, snobbish hero’s son who could never understand the burdens under which she labored.

  “How many children were you housing?”

  “Last month, we had two dozen. I contacted your mother about Noah and Pet, but—”

  He lurched as if she’d poked him with a pin. “Don’t drag my mother into it.”

  “She wouldn’t meet with me, so I decided to pester you instead. Am I having any success?”

  He scrutinized her, his glorious blue eyes digging deep, as if he was delving down to her essence to figure out what made her tick.

  It wasn’t difficult to d
iscern. She was a simple woman, with simple tastes and simple needs, who struggled to be the best person she could be. In that, she constantly, humbly honored her father.

  It seemed as if another profound comment was just around the corner from him, but evidently, his role in her life would be to ceaselessly disappoint her.

  “You’re very pretty,” he said, almost in accusation.

  “Thank you, I guess.”

  “Your hair is the most peculiar color. It’s not blond. It’s so white it’s nearly silver.”

  “It can look that way sometimes.”

  “Who did you inherit it from? Your mother?”

  “I didn’t know my mother.”

  He scowled, his mind working it out. “You’re an orphan too?”

  “Yes, I was abandoned on the steps when I was three.”

  “By who?”

  “I have no idea, but the Robertsons took me in.” Sarcastically, she added, “I was so charming that they eventually adopted me.”

  “You? Charming?” He snickered. “I find that very hard to believe.”

  She never revealed her odd beginnings, and she’d lied to him when she’d claimed she wasn’t sure who’d deposited her on the stoop, then raced away. Her birth father had been an aristocrat, Viscount Matthew Blake, and she had no doubt that someone from the Blake family had delivered her to the Robertsons.

  Whoever it had been, they’d included her birth certificate, and no stranger would have had it in his possession. Apparently, she’d lived somewhere until she was three, then her Blake relatives had put her in an orphanage.

  She had a few vague memories of that period when she’d been so small. Occasionally at night, when she was falling asleep, she would concentrate and dredge up old recollections. She thought she’d been happy. She thought she’d resided in a happy home.

  And though it was very weird, there were always fleeting glimpses of another little girl who looked exactly like her and who she assumed was her guardian angel.

  She wouldn’t tell him any of that though, and she was surprised she’d admitted to being an orphan. People weren’t aware that Thomas and Ruth Robertson had adopted her, and she never corrected any misconceptions. By every standard that mattered, they were her parents.

  “Where were you the first three years of your life?” he asked.

  “I have no idea about that either.”

  He studied her, then smirked. “You’re lying.”

  “Maybe, but about what facts?”

  “You’re too impertinent. I don’t like that in a female.”

  “I’m impertinent and bossy, so I’m brimming with traits for you to loath.”

  “Are you ever respectful of any man?”

  “No, never. I’ve generally found them to be completely absurd.”

  “You’ve never learned your place.”

  “I’ve learned it, but I’ve never chosen to stay in it. Why should I? It’s not as if the world will stop spinning if I’m too bold.”

  “That’s a very dangerous attitude for a woman to hold. If all of you felt that way, it might send the entire planet rolling off its axis.”

  “I’ll have to hope not.”

  Suddenly, he reached out and clasped a strand of her hair, and he wrapped it around his finger and used it as a lever to draw her to him so he could inspect it more closely. At the brazen gesture, she was absolutely transfixed. What was his intent?

  Just when she decided he’d do something outrageous—kiss her? shake her?—he released the strand and eased back.

  “I need to be going,” he abruptly said. “How much money will you require to be silent?”

  “I don’t want any money. I simply want Noah and Pet to be safe after we leave here. It’s vexing me.”

  “Where will you be once you’re forced out?”

  “I can’t imagine.”

  “Aren’t you worried?”

  “Yes, I’m terrified.”

  “There’s an inquest coming—about my father’s death in Africa.”

  “Yes, your chum, Mr. Shawcross, told me about it.”

  “My family will be in the newspapers. There will be stories and articles and retrospectives. An enormous amount of attention will be focused on us, so I can’t have you flaunting your bastards around the city. How can I get you to promise you won’t?”

  “Flaunting them! I never would! How dare you accuse me of bad conduct!”

  “I will not have my father’s reputation besmirched by you. Not now. Not after so much has happened.”

  “I understand.”

  “You couldn’t possibly, Miss Robertson.”

  “Could you give me peace of mind with regard to their situation? Is there a cottage on one of your estates where they could live? The three of us could retire there, and I’d take care of them for you. We wouldn’t be a bother. You wouldn’t even know we were present.”

  “Trust me, I would know.”

  “If they wind up on the streets, will you be content with that ending?”

  He leaned in so they were nose to nose. “I don’t believe they’re my father’s children, so no, I’m not concerned about you or two children I’ve never even met.”

  It was a cold, cruel remark, and she was very hurt by it. It was rare for a person to be overtly horrid to her—other than Cuthbert or Temperance. Evidently, she’d had some silly, deep-seated wish that he would like her, that perhaps they would turn out to be friends.

  She was such a fool.

  He seemed startled by his remark as well, and his cheeks flushed with chagrin. “I was a tad harsh just then.”

  “I suppose I’ll survive.”

  “I’ve been under a lot of pressure lately.”

  It was quite an admission for him, and she accepted it as an olive branch. She flashed a tepid smile. “You’re forgiven.”

  He pulled away and stood, and he stared down at her, appearing stern and exasperated. “Don’t contact my mother again, and please don’t contact me. We can’t help you. We won’t help you.”

  He might have stomped out, but before he could, footsteps pounded up the stairs. Noah and Petunia burst into the room, Noah leading the way.

  Prior to his living with Sarah, he hadn’t been aware of Petunia’s existence, but he was a wonderful, loyal boy. He’d instantly bonded with her, promising Sarah he would always be Pet’s most steadfast champion. Sarah couldn’t guess what would become of them in the future, but she had no doubt Noah would watch over his sister.

  Mr. Sinclair whipped around and glared at them, and as Sarah rose to her feet, she peeked at his expression. He couldn’t not know who they were, couldn’t deny his connection to them. They looked like…well…his siblings.

  He was dumbfounded and alarmed.

  Noah immediately noticed Mr. Sinclair, and he staggered to a halt. Pet sidled over to him and slipped her hand into his. The three of them studied each other, their identical brows furrowing, their identical blue eyes searching.

  “Noah, Petunia,” Sarah calmly said, “this is Mr. Sinclair. This is your brother.”

  Mr. Sinclair blanched as if she’d struck him, and of course, he disappointed her yet again.

  “Good day, Miss Robertson,” he said to her. To the children, he spoke not a word.

  He simply marched by them as if they were invisible. They listened as his booted strides faded down the hall. Shortly, the front door opened and closed.

  Sarah sighed with regret and sank down onto the sofa.

  “Shall we chase after him?” Noah asked. “Shall we try to talk to him before he leaves?”

  “There’s no need to talk to him, Noah. No need at all.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “When will the inquest be held?”

  “Two weeks from today.”

  Gertrude Sinclair stared at her son, Sebastian, and firmly nodded. It would be a relief to have the event finished once and for all.

  “I trust you’re ready with your testimony?” she asked him.

  “Y
es, we’re all prepared.”

  “And Nathan?”

  He shrugged. “I guess I’ll have to try to talk to him again.”

  She wasn’t certain what had happened in Africa to have resulted in her husband’s murder, and she’d posed only the most banal questions about the incident. On some issues regarding Sir Sidney, it wasn’t wise to seek too much information. She’d learned that lesson as a very young bride, when she’d been naïve about the ways of the world and where a wife was positioned in it.

  Sir Sidney had been a handsome, dashing rogue, and with her large dowry, she’d snagged him for her husband. At the time, it had seemed like the grandest stroke of luck ever, but as the years had dragged by, as he’d grown richer and more famous, his flagrant character flaws had become more pronounced.

  She’d spent quite a bit of her life ignoring his worst inclinations, tamping down rumors, and generally pretending he was a completely different man from the one he actually was.

  He hadn’t simply died in Africa. His body had been hacked to pieces in a violent melee. Sebastian’s best and dearest friend, Nathan Blake, Lord Selby—who’d been like a second son to Sir Sidney—had been hacked at too and left for dead.

  Somehow though, he’d survived and had staggered back to England on his own. When Sebastian had called on him earlier in the summer, they’d fought viciously, with the Africa debacle at the root of their squabble. Sebastian had come home bloody and pummeled.

  During the altercation, Nathan had threatened to kill Sebastian, so obviously, there was a terrible secret at the heart of her husband’s demise. The nosy idiots at the National Exploration Society were determined to pry the lid off the fiasco and, without her having to put her foot down, Sebastian understood that they couldn’t be allowed to unravel the truth.

  Sir Sidney’s reputation was paramount, and at all costs, they had to protect it.

  “Nathan will not betray Sir Sidney,” she insisted, with a tad more confidence than was warranted.

  “I hope not.”

  “Should I talk to him instead? He’s furious with you, but not with me. I might have more success. I could remind him of how much he loved Sir Sidney.”

  “You needn’t bother, Mother. I can square things with him. He’s angry with me—for good reason—but I expect his temper will have calmed.”