by Joyce Alec
Taking a deep breath, Sarah opened her eyes and found the duke’s face close to her own, his presence a reassurance and a comfort.
“I am well, your Grace.”
“Your Grace?” Oliver’s eyebrows rose in mock surprise. “A moment ago you called me ‘Oliver’ and now it is back to ‘Your Grace’?” He smiled at her gently. “I have given you leave to call me by my given name; we are friends now, are we not?”
Sarah nodded, her heart racing as she drank in his words. He said they were friends; it was foolish to wish for more.
“Now,” Oliver began, dropping her hands and sitting opposite her. “Can you tell me what happened? I know it must have been a dreadful experience, but any details you can give me will be helpful.”
“There is not much to tell,” she confessed. “I was sitting by the fire as I could not sleep-”
“With your drapes open?” Oliver interrupted.
“Yes, yes, I enjoy watching the thunderstorms.”
“Indeed!” Oliver smiled. “Most women I know would have had an attack of the vapors over such a terrifying prospect.”
Sarah smiled a little tremulously. “Nevertheless, I enjoy such an amazing spectacle. The drapes were open, and I heard a noise, like a scratching and then a thump. I could not see where it had come from until the lighting flashed, and I saw... I saw a man up against my window.” She drew in a shaky breath, trying not to become hysterical once again.
At that moment, there was a knock on the door and, with a word from the duke, the butler walked in, a little wet from roaming outdoors.
“We have found a ladder, your Grace. It was up against the side of the house; the man must have climbed up to look in Miss Brown’s window.”
“But why?” Sarah asked, beginning to shake once more. “Why would he come to my window?”
Suddenly, it hit her. She had been so busy enjoying her life here with Oliver and the children that her father and her life of torment had become some distant memory. She had not considered him at all, and the thought that he would be searching for her had not once crossed her mind. What a fool she was. Her father had the means and the resources to find her, should he put his mind to it. It had been ridiculous to hope that he would not have cared about her flight, nor that he would have done nothing to find her. She was the target of all his aggression, and without her around, he would have nobody to take out his anger on. Her sudden realization must have shown on her face as Oliver quickly sent the butler away with orders to continue searching the grounds. Crouching down in front of her, he again took her hands in his, searching her face.
“Did you remember something else?
Sarah began to cry, knowing this was the end. This was the end of their friendship and, most probably, the end of her employment. She had lied to him when he had been so honest and open with her. This would destroy him. She looked down at their joined hands, his strong fingers gently stroking the back of her hand.
“Oh, Oliver, I must confess something to you.”
Surprise registered in his eyes, but he said nothing, remaining exactly where he was.
“My name is not Miss Sarah Brown; it is Lady Sarah Sayers.” Tears poured down her face as she spoke, her stomach churning with each and every word. “I had to leave my father; I had to get away from home, and I had no other recourse than this. My housekeeper helped me to plan my escape, and since I have been accepted into your household, I have not given him a single thought...until this moment.”
Oliver did not move, his fingers methodically rubbing her cold hands. His mind was whirring at her words, but, to his surprise, he felt no anger.
“The letters of recommendation?” he asked thickly.
“Forged,” she cried. “All untrue, Your Grace. I beg your forgiveness; I could not see another way out, but I should not have lied to you.” She pulled her hands from his and attempted to stand. “I shall pack my things this moment and return –”
“Return where?” Oliver asked brusquely, rising to his feet and grabbing her arms to stop her from leaving. “Return back to your father? You may not know this, my dear, but I saw bruises on your body the day you arrived. They were from his hand, were they not?”
Sarah dropped her head, the tears flowing even faster. It was as though a dam had burst, the pain and shame of her father’s treatment all washing out in one moment.
“I must leave, Your Grace, I must. I have hidden the truth from you, whilst you have been so honest with me. I have hurt you and- ”
Her words were cut off as the duke’s lips pressed against hers as he crushed her body against him. It was not a gentle kiss, but rather one of possession and of protection. When he raised his head, she was breathless, her cheeks still wet from crying. Oliver looked into her red-rimmed eyes and felt such a surge of love that he could not stand it. Whilst he was frustrated that she had lied to him, the angry bruises now made sense, and he would not hold that against her. Moreover, she was a lady, and he could have no qualms about marrying her now.
“Sarah, I am not angry with you,” he said gently. “I have been wondering about those marks ever since you arrived here.”
She gasped, turning crimson red in shame.
“It is nothing to be ashamed of, my dear. That man treated you appallingly, and you can be sure that you will never have to return to him again. You will never receive that kind of treatment from my hand either; I hope you know that.”
Sarah could hardly believe what she was hearing. Ashamed at first that Oliver had seen her bruises, she was both amazed and thankful that he would not be serving her notice. Her untruths had been forgiven in an instant, his kiss offering her more than she had ever hoped.
“I trust you, Oliver,” she replied quietly, the shaking in her body replaced with growing warmth. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
Oliver rested his forehead against her own.
“There is no need for thanks, my love.”
They rested there quietly for a moment before Oliver captured her lips once more. This time, he was gentle, taking his time as he explored her mouth. She returned his kiss, lost in his arms.
A sudden knock startled them.
“My butler has impeccable timing, as usual,” Oliver whispered against her mouth, his voice soft and filled with laughter.
Sarah only smiled in return, sitting demurely back in her seat whilst the butler entered.
“Your Grace, we have found no one on the property, nor do we have any clue as to why he was here in the first place.”
“I think we have established that,” Oliver replied, glancing at Sarah. “However, I think it best that we all get some rest. We will discuss our situation in the morning.”
The butler nodded, before making his exit, leaving them alone once again. Oliver returned to her and pulled her to her feet.
“You will be quite well to sleep in your room?”
“Once the drapes are shut, I shall be perfectly fine,” she replied, knowing that she was safe within these walls.
“Well then, my dear, we must say goodnight.”
She smiled at him as he took her face in his hands, closing her eyes as he lowered his head for a tender kiss.
Chapter 7
Sarah was surprised at how soundly she had slept, waking a little later than usual. Quickly, she rose to dress, pausing for a moment before flinging the drapes open wide. The cold morning sun had only just begun to rise, giving her time for a quick breakfast before she began the day’s lessons. To her great delight, she noticed snowflakes beginning to fall. Perhaps the children would be able to build a snowman this afternoon.
The children struggled to focus on their lessons, too excited by the heavy flakes of snow falling outside. Eventually, Sarah gave up on geography and allowed the children to watch from the window. Their excited chatter made her smile, as she remembered her own childhood. The snow was sticking now, and she was certain that it would become quite deep, should it keep falling as heavily as it was.
“Perh
aps after luncheon, we shall go outside and play in the snow. Would you like that?”
Two pairs of shining eyes looked up at her, with both children squealing in delight at the idea.
“Can I come?”
The duke’s voice met her ears, and both children scampered towards him, both talking at once. He swung Elizabeth up in his arms and walked towards the window where Sarah stood, taking in the outdoor scene.
“Goodness, it certainly is heavy! We shall all need to wrap up warmly, so scarves and boots, children!”
“Luncheon first?” Sarah interjected. “They have not eaten since breakfast!”
“Of course, of course, forgive me. Children, run along now, and we shall go out immediately after you have finished. Both myself and Miss Brown shall join you shortly.”
Without a backward glance, Elizabeth and Samuel left the schoolroom, leaving Sarah alone with the duke once again. Sarah dropped her eyes, blushing, suddenly embarrassed over their late-night escapades.
“You slept well, my dear?” His hand lifted her chin gently as she looked deep into his eyes.
“I did, I thank you,” she replied, a little breathlessly as his arms slid around her waist, and he leaned in to kiss her. She could never grow tired of his kisses, she thought to herself. Each one was sweeter than the last.
“Sarah,” he said, pausing for breath as he lifted his head “I must ask you and the children to stay within sight and sound of myself when you are outside, do you understand?”
Sarah nodded in confusion.
“Of course, Your Gr-, I mean, Oliver. Why, may I ask?”
He toyed with her fingers, sighing once before replying.
“I believe the man who was seen on the grounds and who was at your window last night is one and the same. I believe he has been sent by your father to find you, and now that he has done so, I expect him to return to your father with all speed. However, the other matter that I spoke of — the letters and blackmail — do not come from your father. They come from another source.”
“You have found the culprit then?”
He paused.
“I believe so. My men have discovered that my cousin, Croyton, who is in line to inherit, has not been seen in as many months. They have also discovered that he is in a vast amount of debt, having wasted his funds on gambling and debauchery.” He grimaced in distaste. “Without additional funds, he is sure to go to debtors’ prison should he be found. I have surmised that it is he who has sent these letters and demands for money.”
Sarah nodded slowly, the duke’s theory making sense.
“My wife flaunted her lovers, mostly to cause me suffering, so it is not hard to work out how my cousin knows of her philandering. Yet, this knowledge does not help me in any way; I am still at a loss. Tonight is when I am meant to place the money in the churchyard, and I am still no further forward with an alternative plan. I need to protect my children.”
There was silence for a few moments, each of them quiet with their own thoughts. Suddenly, an idea hit her.
“Oliver, what if you played him at his own game?”
He looked at her, puzzled.
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” she replied slowly, her plan still forming in her head. “If he were found, he would go straight to debtors’ prison, yes? Then surely all we have to do is catch him. In prison, he can do no harm to you or the children and would be ridiculed by society, should he decide to say anything about your wife.”
Oliver stared at her for a few moments, thinking carefully. The idea had merit but was not without risk. Nevertheless, he had no other ideas and was not likely to either. He took a deep breath.
“It is a good thought,” he said quietly, taking her hands once more. “I can see no other alternative. Should he be foolish enough to collect the money himself — and I am fairly certain that he will — then I will attempt to capture him.”
“Not alone!” Sarah gasped.
He shrugged.
“I must leave men here to protect you and the children,” he replied. “I will take some but not many. I shall be perfectly all right.”
Sarah did not want to argue, but she felt anxiety fill her from head to foot; even his warm embrace could not shake her trepidation.
Later in the evening, once the children were sound asleep in their beds, Sarah watched from the window as Oliver and four others walked away from the estate and towards the churchyard. Oliver turned to look behind him before the house went out of sight, seeing a single candle lit in the window. He was comforted in knowing that Sarah was watching him and would be waiting for him to return. He was determined to return with that blaggard, Croyton, in tow. His cousin would regret threatening him for the rest of his days.
The churchyard was dark and silent. Oliver carried the bag, laden with stones instead of coins and paper instead of notes, to the large round stone next to the small yew tree. Placing the bag down, he began to slowly make his way back to the cover of the trees, safe in the knowledge that his men were stationed nearby. They would watch and wait for the culprit.
Without warning, a sudden pain sliced through his shoulder, throwing him to the ground, his head hitting a rock as he fell. Shouts filled the air around him. It took a moment to realize that he had been shot, pain shooting through his shoulder and down his arm. Three men clustered around him, but he waved them off.
“Find him! Find the man! He must be found!” After assuring those around him that he was perfectly well, he began to try and make his way through the churchyard, following his men as they chased Croyton down. He soon realized that he would not be able to keep up, his left arm hanging uselessly by his side as blood soaked his shirt. Already he was feeling weak and dizzy, and he knew he needed to return to the house immediately in the hope that his men would bring Croyton to him.
Chapter 8
Sarah had not given up her vigil, determined to keep watch until Oliver returned. She was thankful for the moonlight bouncing off the fallen snow as it gave her more light with which to see. She leaned closer as she spotted a man, staggering slightly as he walked. With horror, she realized it was Oliver, his steps becoming slower as he struggled through the snow. She flew down the staircase and out of the front door, reaching him just as he fell.
“Oliver? Oliver!”
Blood stained the snow around him as he lay, unconscious at her feet. Sarah cradled his bloodied head as men who had been guarding the house came flocking to her side, one immediately rushing off to call the doctor. Following her direction, the men carefully lifted Oliver into the house and then into his own bed. Sarah called for Meg, the servant appearing with wide eyes and an even whiter face at the sight of her unconscious master.
“Miss, what has happened to the duke? What shall we do?” Wringing her hands, Meg stared at Sarah as though waiting for orders. Sarah refused to panic, knowing that she had to be strong. Taking a deep breath, she turned to Meg with a calmness she did not feel.
“The master has been shot, it appears, and his head looks injured also. The doctor has been sent for, and meantime, we must remove his wet clothes and clean the blood off as best we can. Go and fetch some boiling water and some rags.”
With a nod, Meg disappeared, leaving Sarah to begin the difficult job of removing some of Oliver’s wet clothes. His boots were difficult enough, and she was grateful for Meg’s reappearance to help with his greatcoat. Soon Sarah could see the wound, pulling his shirt aside, heedless of the many buttons that went flying. From what she could tell, the bullet had gone straight through, but it was still a messy wound. With great care, she and Meg cleaned both the wounds to his head and shoulder, only pausing in their ministrations when the doctor arrived.
He was a kindly looking gentleman who seemed unperturbed at being woken in the middle of the night. He examined the wounds carefully as Sarah watched him anxiously, hoping it was not too serious. Taking out a needle and thread, he first boiled the needle and then carefully stitched the wound in the duke’s
shoulder. Minutes ticked by as the doctor completed his examinations.
“Now, am I speaking to the duchess?”
Her cheeks a flaming red, Sarah stuttered a few words, as Meg looked at her knowingly.
“Not yet, but soon,” came a whispered, weak voice from the duke’s bed.
“Oliver!” Sarah cried, rushing to his side. “How do you feel?”
“Like I’ve just been shot,” he replied, his rumbling laugh turning into a racking cough.
“As I was just about to say,” the doctor began, interrupting their conversation. “The duke has suffered a shot to the shoulder, and I believe you also must have hit your head?” A slight nod from Oliver confirmed his suspicious. “Concussion, blood loss and freezing temperatures do not make a good combination. Keep that wound clean, apply the poultice, and bandage it regularly, and you should be up in no time.”
Heaving a sigh of relief, Sarah pressed Oliver’s hand, grateful that he was going to be well.
“However, you must rest, Your Grace,” the doctor continued. “Rest, then rest some more, until you feel your strength returning. No more striding about in the snow late at night!”
“Thank you, doctor,” Oliver replied weakly. “I shall, of course, heed your advice.”
“Good, good,” the doctor replied, all business. “May I be the first to offer my sincerest congratulations, my dear,” he continued, directing his words at Sarah. Sarah, completely bewildered, merely nodded, not knowing what else to say. Oliver squeezed her hand, his eyes closing once again as the doctor took his leave.
Sarah remained with Oliver for the remainder of the night, uncaring as to how her behavior appeared to the staff. She prayed he would not succumb to a fever, and her prayer was answered. No fever came, and Oliver slept soundly for the remainder of the night. Giving in to her tiredness, she eventually found herself nodding off in the chair, completely and utterly spent.
When Oliver woke, he found Sarah sound asleep in the chair. Her face was pale, with shadows around her eyes. The poor thing was completely exhausted. He cursed the knock on the door that woke her, waiting until she had roused completely before allowing entry.
