by Julia Ross
“It’s all right, Rachel. You’re not alone anymore. I’m here now.”
“He’s dead, Sarah! Claude’s dead!”
Her tears burned dryly in her throat. “Yes, I know, dear. My heart breaks.”
“I cannot bear it. I don’t want to live in a world without him. Everything’s gone wrong.”
Sarah rocked steadily. “Hush, hush! Yes, I know it seems more than we can bear. Yet we must bear it, because there’s Berry to think of and he needs his mama.”
Rachel looked up. Her face was blotched, the eyelids swollen. “Claude will never see his baby son now. He loved me, Sarah. I was the love of his life.”
“Yes, yes, I know. Of course, he loved you!” And God please forgive me for the lie!
“He’d have come for me and Berry and taken us back to France as soon as he’d been able. So Guy went to fetch him, to tell him I was here waiting for him, but now—” Rachel sat up, her face a ruin of sorrow. “Is Berry all right?”
“He’s with Betsy,” Sarah said. “She’s wonderful with him, but you’re his mama and he needs you. Do you think Claude would want you to grieve like this, if it meant that his little boy would be left crying for his mother?”
“No, no, and Guy will really have to be his father now,” Rachel said. “Or else Lord Moorefield will ruin me and take Berry away.”
“Yes, I know. Lord Jonathan has gone to France after Mr. Devoran to bring him back to you.”
Rachel wiped her eyes with an already sodden handkerchief. “I know Guy thinks he’s in love with you, Sarah, but I can’t lose Berry again. I can’t!”
“So Guy will marry you at Christmas, just as he promised, and take you back to Birchbrook, where you and your baby will always be safe.”
Rachel flung herself back onto the pillows. “I can’t help it,” she said. “I can’t manage alone. I’m not as strong as you are, Sarah. When Mama and Papa died, my whole life came to an end, but I went to Grail Hall and did my very best. How was I to know that I’d meet Claude there and fall in love? But after I thought that my baby was dead, I didn’t really care if I lived or died. It was like living in a fog—until that letter came from Mrs. Siskin. But now it’s all ruined and I don’t have anyone left—”
“Yes, we’ve lost so much, you and I,” Sarah said. “But you’ll always have Berry, and Guy Devoran will stand by you forever.”
Her cousin looked up, her profile flawless, her eyebrows perfect over her bruised, swollen lids.
“But he doesn’t love me, Sarah, and I’ve only ever really loved Claude.”
“So you’ll both marry with your hearts torn open by loss. Yet if you treat each other with kindness, in the end you’ll find happiness together. Perhaps there’ll even be more children.”
Rachel grasped Sarah’s arm. “I never meant to hurt you. Truly! I was waiting for Claude, and I—”
“It’s all right,” Sarah said. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t intend this to happen. None of us did. But Guy will never be forsworn, and he’ll love you and be true to you. If you allow it, in time you’ll come to love him, too.”
“But what will you do?”
Sarah took Rachel’s hand and tried to smile, though her heart lay burned to ashes.
“You know how I’ve always longed to see some different country? Well, I thought I might find a place at a school in Yorkshire, perhaps, or in Scotland.”
“But if you go so far away, I’ll never see you!”
“Not often, perhaps, but we’ll still write.” Sarah dredged real compassion from the depths of her heart—for where else could she find comfort now?—and smiled at the cousin she loved. “And you must promise in future to always write the whole truth.”
Rachel smiled back with heartbreaking bravado. “I should have told you about Claude when I met him. Yet when we first fell in love it was so overwhelming, and then when we…well, I knew you’d be so disappointed and shocked—”
“No, I understand,” Sarah said. “Now, it’s time you let the maids set this room to rights. Come, let me order you a bath and get you a fresh dress. Berry needs you, and you can’t let Guy return from such a sad journey to find his bride still weeping in her bed.”
SARAH sank exhausted onto the window seat in her own room. Her eyes burned as she stared out at the remains of the sunset.
I have lost him forever!
Yet Rachel’s one great love, Claude d’Alleville, was dead. Guy lived. So how could she allow herself to mourn such a selfish loss in the face of her cousin’s far more terrible grief?
At least Rachel would never discover now that her Frenchman had never really loved her. She would never have to recognize that no man who loved a woman would ever have abandoned her for two years and left her to bear their baby alone.
Instead, Rachel would go to her grave believing that Berry’s father had always adored her—though she would do so as Guy’s wife.
For Sarah’s sake and for the sake of his own honor, Guy would do his best to make Rachel happy. Whatever secret passion he might carry in his heart, he was far too fine to allow his heartbreak to damage his marriage.
So he would share his wife’s bed and they would inevitably create children together. Eventually his past loves would fade into bittersweet memories—as would Rachel’s. Then her letters would fade and eventually fail.
They would all want to avoid any visits.
And in the end, perhaps, Guy would find happiness.
So Sarah must make a new life. For Guy’s sake, she would do her best to make it fruitful and fulfilled. Yet as the sinking sun finally plunged her room into shadow, she dropped her head onto both folded arms and wept.
THERE was no word at all from Guy, and only one short, cryptic message from Jack, which Anne read out—I’m close on Guy’s heels. More later!—buried in his private communication to his wife.
The duke was still in London, though the duchess had returned from Withycombe with Anne and her new baby girl. Miracle and Ryder had offered to come back from Derbyshire, also, but the duchess thought it best that they remain at Wrendale and keep her daughters well removed from the disaster that was unfolding at Wyldshay.
After talking to Sarah, she had written to Miss Farcey, who was most flattered to hear from Her Grace. If the duchess needed Mrs. Callaway at Wyldshay, Miss Farcey was honored to give her botany teacher an extended leave of absence, though she hoped she might be remembered in the future, should Her Grace ever wish to recommend a young ladies’ academy to any of her friends.
Meanwhile, Rachel walked through the days like a ghost, incapable of either eating or sleeping, her face gaunt, clinging only to the knowledge that Guy was coming back to marry her. The golden curls became as dry and brittle as straw. Except for her sore, reddened eyelids, Rachel’s once perfect skin was like chalk, though two bright crimson spots burned in each cheek.
Sarah choked down her own distress and quietly nursed her stricken cousin. Whenever she could spare the attention from her little baby, Anne assisted her, though the duchess kept her own counsel.
Yet Sarah lay dry-eyed in her room every night, her heart full of longing, her soul winging its message of love to Guy, while she bottled up her own heartache as if she imprisoned demons.
Meanwhile, Berry laughed and played, safe in the care of Betsy Davy. Even Rachel bravely hid from her baby the weight of the grief that had struck her down, finding the courage from somewhere to play happily with him and sing to him. Eventually, she began to talk about her marriage and tell her little son that he was going to have a new father.
Then Sarah knew the agony of discussing the wedding plans.
“Will Guy like me in blue?” Rachel asked one morning. “I’ve thought of getting a new blue gown with silver ribbons. Her Grace says I may order anything I like, and Claude always liked me in blue.”
Yet at the mention of her lover’s name Rachel’s eyes filled with new tears. Sarah helped her to a seat.
“Guy will take one look at you in any color you care to nam
e and fall in love with you all over again,” she said. “Don’t think that he didn’t love you in Hampstead, Rachel, because I know that he did.”
Two tracks of moisture traced down Rachel’s cheeks. “You know, you might be struck down by lightning for saying such things, Sarah. I enticed Guy into bed, because otherwise I thought he might not take care of me. Yet Claude—”
Rachel broke down into hysterical sobs, leaving Sarah holding her in both arms, while her own heart was racked by despair.
“Mrs. Callaway?”
Sarah looked up.
A footman stared across the room. “Her Grace requires me to inform you, ma’am, that a carriage is approaching the front entrance at the gallop.”
“Guy!” Rachel leaped up, picked up her skirts in both hands, and ran off.
For the first time, Sarah’s courage failed her absolutely. Her heart had lodged somewhere in her throat. She sat in stark fear staring blindly at the wall, while her heart thundered.
After a few moments Anne came into the room, her eyes clear and calm. She walked up to Sarah, took her hand, and sat quietly beside her.
“You should go down,” Sarah said at last. “If Guy’s returned, then Lord Jonathan will be with him, and your baby might need—”
“She’s sleeping,” Anne said. “And Jack will understand.”
Sarah smiled at her and forced herself to walk down with Anne into the Great Hall.
Rachel had already followed the duchess out into the courtyard, where two footmen had flung open the great oak doors. A commotion of horses and iron-shod wheels echoed into the castle as a carriage raced up and stopped.
Sarah clung to Anne’s hand, but Rachel ran back inside, her face white.
“It’s not him!” she said. “It’s not Guy’s carriage from France. It’s Lady Moorefield!”
Anne’s fingers closed on Sarah’s, steadying her against her desperate rush of grief. Both of them sat down.
With immaculate self-control, the duchess walked back into the room, supporting the countess on her arm. She helped Lady Moorefield to a seat, then walked away to stand at the great fireplace.
The countess sat stiffly beneath a tapestry of St. George and glared defiantly at the duchess. Her face was swollen with bruises. A bloody cut stained one eyebrow. Another cut cracked her lower lip.
“This is what you wanted, isn’t it? I’ve left him.”
A green fire burned in the duchess’s bright gaze. “Then we offer you the sanctuary and protection of Wyldshay, Countess.”
Yet the doors to the courtyard still stood open. Another carriage clattered up. Someone was shouting.
Lady Moorefield cowered back in her seat as her husband strode into the room.
The earl stopped and glanced around, then laughed and slapped his thigh with a riding crop.
“The protection of Wyldshay, Duchess? The duke is not at home, I believe, and neither are your sons or your nephew? I see only five females and two of them weeping. I have every right in law to chastise my wife. Neither you, nor these protégés of yours, can stop me.”
Green flames blazed in the emerald eyes. “Several dozen of my menservants are within earshot, Moorefield,” the duchess said. “Since the countess is my guest, I advise you not to take another step.”
“I can hardly imagine that you will dare to interfere, madam, when I am merely fetching home my own wife.” The earl laughed, still slapping his thigh. “No unarmed footman would have the nerve to lay hands on a peer of the realm—”
“Perhaps not, but I, on the other hand, am both armed and dangerous,” another man’s voice said. “So you will not raise that whip, Moorefield, unless you really wish to give me the excuse to kill you.”
Rachel looked up as if the gates to Heaven had just opened. “Guy!”
Sarah’s heart had skidded to a halt, then lurched into a mad, unsteady rhythm, like a horse galloping over stones. Joy and fear and relief surged through her veins. Yet she sat clutching Anne’s hand as if she were frozen.
Guy ignored all of them and walked farther into the room, his dark gaze fixed only on the earl. He was soaked with muck, his boots ruined, his clothes spattered. Even his hair was filthy, falling forward as he threw aside his hat and riding crop. A bone-deep fatigue marked his face, as if he had not slept in weeks.
The duchess lifted her elegant brows. “My dear nephew, what impeccable timing! You chose to return from France on horseback?”
“It was faster.”
Moorefield slowly lowered the whip, but his eyes looked murderous.
“You should leave, my lord,” Guy said quietly. “Even without calling on the footmen, you are outnumbered.”
The earl guffawed. “By you, sir—in your present state hardly fit to be called a gentleman? And these females?”
But two more equally bespattered young men strode into the Great Hall.
Lord Jonathan wiped the mud from his face with a handkerchief. His eyes met Anne’s for a moment before he walked up to stand beside Guy. His face was equally drawn.
The third man was a stranger. He stalked proudly into the room, removing his gloves as he did so. Unlike the Wyldshay cousins, he was as fair as Adonis, yet bruised shadows circled his red-rimmed eyes.
Rachel promptly fainted. Anne and Sarah ran to kneel beside her.
As if unaware of them, Guy strode up to the earl and took the whip from his hand.
“This gentleman is Lord Moorefield, Jack,” he said over his shoulder. “You may remember him from some unfortunate prior encounters in London.”
“A long time ago,” Lord Jonathan said. “But I’d be happy to kill him for you, if you like.”
The blond stranger walked forward. “No,” he said with a slight French accent. “The pleasure of killing him is mine.”
The earl looked the Frenchman up and down. “Who the devil are you, sir?”
In spite of his obvious exhaustion, the stranger smiled with open menace. “My name is Claude d’Alleville. I am given to understand, sir, that you have persecuted that unhappy young lady.” He gestured toward Rachel, now lying insensible in Sarah’s arms. “You threatened her and frightened her and drove her into hiding and despair. Your other crimes may be upon your own conscience, but there is also the matter of a child. I intend to kill you, sir, just for that.”
The duchess walked forward. “Welcome to Wyldshay, Monsieur. I do so adore all this high drama and vengeance. However, my first duty is to my guests who are already discomposed. You will forgive me, I am sure, if I leave all this unpleasantness to you gentlemen?”
Claude d’Alleville bowed with impeccable grace and kissed her hand.
“Meanwhile, Lady Moorefield is about to accompany me to my private suite to take tea.” The duchess cocked her head as more wheels rattled on the cobbles outside. Another carriage had arrived in the courtyard. “Ah! I suspect that the duke has returned a little earlier than expected. So very fortunate! Good day, sirs.”
Lady Moorefield’s face remained frozen as the duchess led her away. Two footmen carefully carried Rachel from the room. With unspoken understanding, Anne and Sarah took a seat together in the corner. Lord Jonathan strode across the flagstones to stand beside his wife.
A whirlwind of footmen ran to assist as the Duke of Blackdown stalked in, several other gentlemen trailing behind him. The duke stopped in his tracks. His penetrating gaze coolly assessed the ongoing drama.
And at last Guy glanced at Sarah. She met his tired, burning gaze and tried to smile, but the Frenchman stalked up to Moorefield and slapped him across the face with his wet gloves.
“I demand satisfaction, sir!”
The duke raised his eyebrows. One of the guests at his shoulder murmured softly, “Good Lord!”
“An affair of honor, Your Grace,” Lord Jonathan said calmly, walking forward. “Perhaps some of these gentlemen may agree to act for Lord Moorefield? Guy and I will be delighted to offer the same service for Monsieur d’Alleville, of course.”
Ann
e squeezed Sarah’s hand. “Come,” she said softly. “Apology is impossible now. We must leave this to the men.”
Sarah swallowed her sick fear and allowed Anne to lead her from the room.
The duchess met them at the bottom of the stairs. She was a little pale, but her composure was absolute.
“Well?” she asked. “We are to host a duel?”
Anne nodded. “Yes, and immediately, I fear, even though Monsieur d’Alleville can barely stand.”
“Then we must hope that this Claude d’Alleville is less tired than he looks and is a better shot than Moorefield,” the duchess said. “Or that he will demand rapiers. Frenchmen love to fight with swords. However, I fear that Mrs. Callaway needs to sit down before she faints.”
The duchess led the younger ladies into a private sitting room and rang for tea.
Sarah collapsed to a sofa, her soul an ocean of exhaustion, as if she stared hollow-eyed over the remains of a sea battle and had no emotion left. They all knew what this meant. If Lord Moorefield killed Claude d’Alleville and emerged triumphant, a devastated Rachel would still have to marry Guy. If the Frenchman killed the earl, he would be forced to flee the country. Either way, disaster stalked.
The duchess stood quietly at the fireplace, her ribbons trembling. Anne closed her eyes as if she retreated into some quiet private place, where perhaps she prayed. Sarah folded her hands and gazed numbly from the window.
Sunshine streamed through high clouds. Swallows gathered on the rooftops. The last of the summer roses nodded lazily in a small breeze.
She could not pray. She could not even hope. Lord Moorefield had cheated and manipulated and threatened, yet they had no evidence that he had ever murdered. She could not actively hope for any man’s death, simply in order to secure her own happiness.
The minutes ticked by, marked by the steady beat of the gilt clock on the mantel. A stifling hush blanketed the room.
We all love him! Sarah thought suddenly. All of us!
The duchess loves her sister’s son as if he were her own child. Anne loves him like a brother. Jack and Ryder love him, as does Miracle and his own family. Berry will love him just as much, and Rachel will come to love him in the end.
