The Duchess Hunt

by Jennifer Haymore

  She flashed him a grin. “I’m always good, Papa.”

  He smiled at that, though his blue eyes clouded with melancholy. “Too true, too true.” He let her go, stepping back. “And you’ll be good at watching over Lady Esme, too, I’m sure.”

  “I will,” she promised. She leaned forward to kiss her father’s cheek. Although he hadn’t said so outright, he was proud of her rise in status. As far as he was concerned, she’d earned it first by proving her intelligence in the years of lessons with Miss Farnshaw, then by her unceasing loyalty to the Hawkins family, which in turn had earned their trust. Papa believed she deserved every bit of the new prestige the title of “lady’s companion” afforded her.

  Sarah herself had doubts. She wasn’t certain she’d be a success at the position. Yes, she could make pleasant conversation with Lady Esme. She had an eye for fashion and could advise the young lady on what to wear to any given ball or dinner party. Miss Farnshaw had educated her on etiquette in excruciating detail.

  What Sarah wasn’t as sure about was keeping up the game with others. Those refined ladies of society who would surely see through her pretense and know immediately that she had no right holding the position of companion to a duke’s sister.

  She took a deep breath and pushed that thought into the dark recesses of her mind where she stowed all her insecurities. She would do this. She’d do it because her father thought her worthy. She’d do it because Simon believed she could, and because Esme thought it “the most excellent idea my brother’s ever had!” She’d do it for the Hawkins family, and she’d do it for her own selfish desire to wiggle her toes in the silky waters of the lives of the privileged.

  Most of all, she’d do it to be close to Simon.

  She hugged her father again, as quick and short and hard as he’d hugged her, then she hurried to the rear of the two carriages, the one upon which Robert Johnston had taken the position of driver. She opened the door, and just as she had her foot on the step and was about to haul herself inside, a sharp “Sarah!” had her leaning back and looking toward the front carriage.

  Simon stood beside the carriage, a slight crease between his brows. He glanced around at the other servants milling about, then, leaving the door open, he walked to her in a few long strides.

  He leaned toward her and spoke so that no one else would hear. “You will be riding with us.”

  The flush burned, an instant reaction clear on her cheeks for him to see. “Oh,” she mumbled. “Of course.”

  It had been natural to think she’d be riding with Amy, Esme’s lady’s maid. But she was a lady’s companion now. Of course, she’d be expected to accompany the lady on the journey to London.

  She grimaced at Simon, and he grinned in response, then shrugged and gestured toward the front carriage. “After you, Miss Osborne.”

  Miss Osborne. He’d never called her that before. But of course, it was the proper way to address one’s sister’s companion.

  She followed him to the front carriage and then accepted his help as he handed her inside. Esme was already sitting on the forward-facing lavender velvet squabs, and Sarah settled in beside her. Simon climbed up behind her and sat on the opposite seat.

  After greeting Esme, Sarah looked out the window. Sam and Theo had left early in the morning – Simon’s departure had been delayed due to the time it had taken to pack all the luggage Esme had required. Now, Mark and the servants assembled on the lawn in front of the house to wish them safe travels. Slightly off to the side and behind the carriage, Sarah saw her father, clutching his wide-brimmed hat to his side. He raised his free hand, and with a curl of his fingers, gave her a little wave.

  “Good-bye, Papa,” she whispered.

  Simon must have given the signal because the coach lurched into motion, and with that, Sarah felt the pull and then the snap, as if some connection had been severed. She was free. Cut off from the proverbial apron strings and letting them fly in the wind behind her as the horses trotted away from the place that had been her home for so long.

  Sarah loved her father and hated to leave him alone. Yet she was literally leaving him in the dust to explore a new world, and she couldn’t prevent the excitement that welled from a place deep within her.

  When they turned down a bend in the road and she could no longer see Ironwood Park, she gave a soft sigh.

  Simon gazed at her, an expression of understanding on his face. “We’re not even to the village yet.”

  “I know. It’s just… I know we’re going to go straight through it. And,” she said breathlessly, “I can no longer remember what’s on the other side.”

  “Really?” Esme stared at her with rounded eyes.

  “When we first came here, I was only eight years old,” she explained, “and I was so sad to be leaving our old house in Manchester, where my mother died.”

  A deep crease appeared between Esme’s brows. The young lady was one of those rare fortunate souls who had never lost anyone she loved, so she was sensitive to discussing death or those who’d died to begin with. Now, considering the fact that Esme’s mother was missing, Sarah realized speaking of her own mother in the past tense wasn’t the wisest idea.

  “I pouted all the way from Manchester,” she continued. “I was afraid of this new place, where I knew no one and had no idea how my days would be spent.”

  “I suppose you never predicted being attacked by a blackberry bush,” Simon said.

  Something in his smile made her breath catch so hard that she had to look away before responding.

  “Not at all. The first few days here, my father was very busy, so I was left to wander about.”

  Esme frowned. “Until a blackberry bush attacked you?” Esme had never heard the story, and she had been too young to remember the incident.

  “I fell deep into one of those bushes out by the stream. I was essentially stuck, and fortunate that His Grace came by before I caused myself permanent damage trying to climb out.” Though the little scar remained on her knee, reminding her of that day every morning when she pulled on her stockings.

  “And I took her back to the house for Mrs. Hope’s salve, and she met our mother for the first time.”

  “… and Mama loved Sarah,” Esme finished. She knew that part of the story.

  “Precisely,” Simon said.

  Sarah smiled, her heart fuzzy with the memory, only to pang with the reality that the duchess was missing, and no one knew where she was.

  She met Simon’s eyes, and his expression grew serious. “I wonder what you will think of London.”

  Beside her, Esme gave a small shudder, but she didn’t share her opinion of the noisy, smelly city with her brother.

  Esme was still painfully shy in Simon’s presence. She had the same problem with Luke and Sam, but one simply couldn’t be shy around Mark – the second youngest brother could coax the most reticent turtle out of its shell. Of all her brothers, though, Esme was closest to Theo – fewer years separated them, and they were near identical in temperament. Both tended to keep to themselves and preferred academic pursuits over social ones.

  Esme wasn’t shy with Sarah, however, and Sarah knew all too well what Esme thought of London. But if Esme wanted to withhold that information from her brother, Sarah had no intention of breaking her trust and telling him about Esme’s aversion to the city.

  “I believe I will like London,” she told Simon. She didn’t know how she knew it; she just did. London would have to do something truly horrible to her to prove her instincts wrong.

  And if Simon was there, how could she not like it?

  Late that afternoon, Simon and Sarah had fallen into silence. Esme had tried to read but the motion of the carriage had made her queasy, so she’d fallen asleep, her cheek resting on a silk pillow wedged between the door and the back seat cushion.

  Sarah possessed the boundless curiosity of a child discovering a part of her world for the first time, and Simon couldn’t take his eyes off her. The scenery, each structu
re that they passed and each subtle change in landscape, entertained her endlessly.

  She was so different from the bitter and cynical men who frequented Simon’s club, those men who were weighted down by politics, their positions and their responsibilities. By the fact that America was close to declaring war on Britain, or by the fact that Wellington was taking the war on the Peninsula deeper into Spain. Men who could no longer find joy from an early daffodil jutting up from the grass. Men like himself.

  Sarah’s fascination with the world around her reminded him of his humanity. Of the small things that were still worth looking at.

  If he wasn’t so consumed by looking at her, his gaze, too, might have been drawn out the window. But he was content to watch her stare out at the pastures and meadows and rolling hills of the Cotswolds.

  “Endless green,” she murmured without looking at him, quiet so as not to wake Esme. “And every shade encompassed, it seems, from yellow all the way to blue.”

  Simon glanced out his window. “Yes,” he said simply. It was true – the expanse of land between Ironwood Park and London was quintessentially English and not unpleasant to look upon.

  The carriage began to traverse the arched stone bridge that descended onto the high road of the town of Burford. “What river is this?” she asked, one of the many, many questions she’d asked today.

  He didn’t always have a ready answer for all her questions, but this time he did. “River Windrush.”

  She was silent as they passed through the village, studying the landmarks, the church and sandstone architecture. To Simon, Burford was just one of the many villages they passed through on the way to London – its only special quality being that it was near Oxford, where they’d spend the night before continuing on to London tomorrow. But Sarah saw something new and wonderful in it, her big, expressive blue eyes taking it all in. Her lips parted as she absently twirled a dark curl around her finger, her deep breaths showing in the rise and fall of her bodice.

  Her lips were pink, plump, and her tongue peeked out and ran over them. God, he wanted a taste. He wanted to know if she was as sweet as he remembered.

  She glanced at him, then quickly back to the window, a light pink flush rising on her cheeks.

  So pretty.

  Something clenched inside him at that thought. He’d thought of Sarah as pretty for years, but in a detached way. She’d been pretty to him like a painted landscape might be pretty, or even like he might describe his sister as pretty.

  But this kind of pretty was altogether different. This kind made his body harden in places it should damn well be prohibited to harden in her presence. And, God forbid, in the presence of his sister, sleeping or not.

  He tore his eyes away from Sarah to stare up at the ceiling of the carriage, willing his body to cool.

  Chapter Four

  Something was wrong. Simon had turned inward. It had begun this afternoon and had continued this evening as they’d settled at the Angel Inn in Oxford.

  Perhaps Sarah had been too exuberant in her expressions of delight as they passed through the English countryside.

  Or… perhaps he worried for his mother.

  Not wanting to upset Esme, Sarah tried to hide her fretting as they ate a sumptuous dinner that had been prepared especially for them and served in a private room. She pushed around the mashed turnips and pork roast on her plate until Esme eyed her suspiciously, and Simon asked in a low voice, “Is the food not to your liking, Miss Osborne?”

  Sarah’s head jerked up, and she glanced at the cook and Mrs. Stewan, the mistress of the inn, both of whom had been hovering since the Duke of Trent and his companions had sat down to eat. Both of them blanched in horror at the duke’s question and stared at her fearfully in anticipation of her response.

  “Oh, no. It is delicious!” To illustrate, she took a big bite of the pork, which was cold, its sauce rather congealed, and tried not to choke on it. After she managed to chew and swallow without even a hint of a grimace, she spoke in a low voice. “There are just so many worries.”

  “Ah. I see,” Simon said shortly. He’d explained to them that he wanted to keep the duchess’s disappearance quiet for as long as possible, so Sarah knew better than to mention it out loud.

  Simon didn’t believe they could keep such a secret for very long, as not only would he be hunting in London but his brothers would be hunting all over England. Soon enough, the rumors would begin. But Simon thought that whatever information they could glean before the gossip spread might be more valuable.

  She looked him square in the eye. “I want to help.”

  The corners of his lips quirked up. He glanced to Esme and then back to Sarah. “You already are.”

  “Yes, but…” She sighed. “I believe you do know what I mean, Your Grace.”

  “I believe I do.”

  She glanced at Esme. The poor girl had hardly spoken all day, and despite having taken several naps in the carriage, she looked simply exhausted, with dark circles under her eyes. Alarm stirred in Sarah’s belly. “Are you well, my lady?”

  Esme gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, yes. Just a bit tired.”

  Sarah glanced at her plate. The food was cold, and she had no intention of eating any more. But then she glanced at the cook and Mrs. Stewan and chewed on her lip, not wanting to offend them by not partaking of the next course.

  But Esme covered her mouth with a yawn, and when Sarah looked at Simon, he gave her a nod as if to say, “Go. I will placate them.”

  So Sarah rose. As soon as she did so, Simon rose, too. She stared at him across the table in shock for a second before she came to her senses.

  Dukes didn’t rise for servants.

  She blinked, shaking it off, wondering if she’d ever grow accustomed to her new status.

  She held out her hand to Esme. “Let’s go upstairs, my lady. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

  Esme took her hand gratefully and let Sarah help her up. Upstairs, Sarah and Amy assisted her to undress and wash. When the younger woman was comfortable, yawning in her nightgown, Sarah dismissed Amy then led Esme to the bed and tucked the blankets around her.

  “Thank you, Sarah. I’m sorry I am so…” Esme’s voice trailed off.

  Sarah trailed a hand over Esme’s forehead. No fever. “Are you certain you’re not feeling ill?”

  Esme sighed. “It’s not that. It’s just… Mama. Trent. London. It’s almost too much to take at once. Es-especially Mama.”

  “I understand,” Sarah soothed. “But I know your brother will find her.”

  Esme’s hazel eyes filled with tears. “Yes, you’re right, but what good will that do if she’s d-d —”

  “Hush,” Sarah admonished gently. “You cannot think that way. We must continue to trust that your mother is alive and well unless someone proves it otherwise.”

  “But do you really believe that?”

  “I do,” she said firmly. “Now go to sleep, my lady. And I believe this will be good for you.”

  “Losing Mama?”

  “No, spending some time with your brother. Maybe now you will finally learn to be more comfortable in his presence.”

  Sarah had always been comfortable in Simon’s presence, so it was odd to think that his own sister found him so frightening. And yet she did.

  “Maybe,” Esme said doubtfully.

  Sarah patted her shoulder and rose. “Good night, my lady.”

  “Will you be going to bed, too?”

  Sarah glanced over at the door to the adjoining room, a small space with a tiny window – just a closet, really. She didn’t feel like being cooped up in there just yet. “No. I think I’ll go check on Amy, Robert, and Ned. Make sure they’re settled.”

  “All right,” Esme murmured.

  “Sleep well,” Sarah said before going out the door that led to the second-floor corridor. The Angel Inn was small, and Simon had let all the rooms on this floor for their party.

  She went to the room Robert Johnston
was sharing with Ned, a new coachman he was bringing to London to train to drive there, but neither answered the door. Amy didn’t answer either, and Sarah realized they had probably all gone downstairs for dinner.

  She had just descended the first step on her way to the kitchen when she saw Simon climbing the narrow stairway.

  She stepped back up onto the landing and waited for him. Deep in thought, he didn’t realize she stood there until he reached the top.

  “Sarah, what are you doing?” He looked past her to see if anyone else stood on the landing. Finding it empty, the parallel lines on his forehead deepened. She wanted to soothe them away. Press her thumbs to them and work them until his forehead was smooth again and a smile touched his lips.

  “Lady Esme just went to bed, but I’m not tired. I was going to go downstairs to check on… everyone else.” She knew that to Simon they were “the servants,” but calling them that would set them apart from her, and she had always been one of them.

  He stared at her, long and hard, then nodded. “I see.”

  She frowned at him. No one else was near, so she could be frank with him. “What is it, Your Grace?”

  “I…” He shook his head. “It’s nothing. I’m just not comfortable with you being out alone.”

  “I am not going out,” she said, “just downstairs to see whether Amy, Robert, and Ned are settled and whether they need anything.”

  “Always taking care of everyone, aren’t you?”

  She couldn’t tell whether he meant that in a positive way or a negative one, so she simply shrugged.

  Suddenly, he raised his hand to the bridge of his nose and pressed hard, blowing out a breath.

  On impulse, she reached out and touched his arm. His gaze dropped to the place where her body made contact with his.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand. “It’s just… You have been out of sorts since this afternoon. I know how upset you are about the duchess. Tell me how I can help.”

  “It’s not only my mother,” Simon said on a sigh. “Flighty and peculiar as she is, she can take care of herself. While my brothers and sister may worry that something unspeakable has happened to her, I doubt that. I intend to go forward under the assumption that she is at some family member’s house on a holiday and she simply forgot to tell us. You know how she is,” he added, gaze dark.