“The Lady Dowager here?” Sarah gasped. “But I thought she was not due back for at least another week!”
“There is no time to speculate,” her mother said, turning towards her. “Smile. Do you not realize they are coming so the engagement can be announced!”
The realization hit Sarah as if the walls of Buckthorn House had crashed down upon her, causing her anger to boil. After all his words of promise, James was determining the outcome of her life. Purportedly it was to be her decision at the end of the thirty days, a wager between the two of them on the beach in Weymouth. Yet, once again, he had taken that from her. Tears of frustration rolled down her cheeks as her previous dreams of their wonderful life together disintegrated into dust.
“No need to cry from happiness, my love,” her mother said, hurrying to the door. “I will send Anne in to help you dress.”
Before Sarah could speak, her mother was gone. Why was it that everyone seemed to make her decisions for her? The thought played in her mind as Anne came in to help her dress while Sarah brooded.
“Once you are dressed, I will do something wonderful with your hair, something befitting a lady.”
Sarah groaned.
***
“There we are,” Anne said as she placed a final pin in Sarah’s hair. “Don’t you look beautiful?”
Sarah looked at her reflection in the mirror. The dress was a blue muslin, the material a gift from her father upon his return trip from London a few months prior. She let her eyes soak in the dress and then back to where her hair was piled on top of her head and tied off with a matching blue ribbon. Though a bit old-fashioned, it was well-done, so Sarah made no complaints.
The door opened and her mother rushed in, her voice excited. “The Dowager Duchess is already coming up the drive!” she said in a breathless voice. “Do not keep her waiting.”
Sarah let out a sigh. “She will be fine, Mother. I honestly doubt a few extra minutes will cause any undue stress.”
Mrs. Crombly gave Anne a sharp nod, and once Anne closed the door behind her to leave the two women alone, she walked up behind Sarah. “I do not know what has become of you lately. One minute you are walking as though you are the happiest woman in England and the next you are full of defiance.”
Sarah tried to keep her voice level. “I guess I am so overcome with joy that I had to spend two hours readying myself to meet a woman who shows up as she pleases. If I were to do the same, would I not be chastised?” All attempts at keeping her anger from her words failed miserably.
Her mother placed her hands on Sarah’s shoulder, and Sarah looked up at the woman’s reflection. “Your life is changing very quickly and will continue to do so until you wed. But it will not stop there. Great expectations put upon you every day after, be it the Dowager Duchess coming to visit unannounced or Lord Foxworth inviting important guests to dinner without notice. He is a Duke, and you are going to marry him, which will make you a Duchess. This should make you excited!” The ardent lilt in her voice ground at Sarah’s nerves. Everyone felt they knew what would, and should, make her happy, but not one person asked her opinion on that which would make her happy.
Sarah went to say as much, but her mother cut her off. “Now, whatever may be bothering you, leave it behind in this room. It is time for you to present yourself to the Dowager Duchess for her approval.” Her mother’s voice brooked no argument, and Sarah knew when no amount of reasoning would change her mother’s mind, and that time was now.
Sarah stood and looked herself over in the mirror one last time. Present herself for her approval? Then by all means she would. “I will be there momentarily.” She forced a pleasantness to her voice that was far from how she felt.
Her mother narrowed her eyes, but then gave her a nod. “Do not dawdle.” Then she was gone.
The corner of Sarah’s mouth lifted in a half-smile. Her parents, James, and even his mother thought they all would rule her life, from her appearance to who she would marry. They were very much mistaken.
“If I am to make an appearance for their approval, then by all means, I will.”
***
Sarah heard a polite laugh as she neared the sitting room. She held her breath as she strained to listen to the conversation just outside the door.
“I must admit,” a voice Sarah assumed belonged to the Dowager Duchess said, “I was quite surprised when James told me the news last night. I thought he would have given it more thought before rushing into making such a rash decision, especially one which he would have to live with for the rest of his life.”
Sarah clenched her fist as she wondered if her anger was strong enough to grab James and choke him right there and then in front of everyone. How dare he tell his mother that he was going to marry Sarah. She had not given him an answer as of yet. He could have at least waited until she came down to join them before sharing the news that really was not yet news.
Letting out a sigh of frustration, Sarah stepped around the corner and entered the room. A satisfying gasp came from both women, as well as a mumbling of words from her father. James held his teacup just inches from his lips, his eyes wide with shock, as he stared at her.
“Sarah!” Mrs. Crombly cried, her voice panicked. “What on Earth are you wearing?” She swiped at the tea that had sloshed over the side of her cup and landed on her gown.
“My favorite dress,” Sarah said nonchalantly as she grabbed the sides of the skirt and lowered herself into a curtsy. She had changed into the common dress Alice had given to her on her ride to Weymouth. It still pulled tight around her bosom, the laces straining against the material. Her hair, which had been so beautifully pinned only moments before, now hung loose around her face. On her feet were her riding boots instead of slippers.
She turned to the Dowager Duchess and curtsied again, this time dropping so low that her breasts almost popped out. “I have looked so forward to seeing you again, Your Grace. I have to say, even after all these years, you have not changed one bit.”
The Dowager Duchess was around the age of sixty with dark hair coated in silver and enough wrinkles on her face to place her closer to her late seventies. She sat staring at Sarah, her eyes wide and her mouth agape, before she realized her reaction. “It seems you have,” she whispered, her eyes moving up and down Sarah as she took a sip of her tea, which sloshed around the cup as the woman’s hand shook.
Mrs. Crombly rose from her chair, grabbed Sarah by the arm, and dragged her out into the hall without a word to anyone else. Once there, she did not release Sarah, but instead clamped down harder until Sarah winced. “You have shamed your father and me enough to last us three lifetimes!” she hissed in an attempt to yell at her daughter but not be heard by her guests. “There is no time, or reason at this point, for you to change. I want you to pull your hair from your face and go in that room and conduct yourself in the manner of which you were raised, or so help me, you will not sit down for a week.” When Sarah gave her mother her best ‘I’d like to see you try’ look, her mother added, “And don’t believe for even a single second that I will not see that your father takes you over his knee and I personally tan your hide! Do I make myself clear?”
Sarah’s eyes had to be covering her entire face by the time her mother finished her tirade. She nodded and then clamped her mouth shut when she realized it was hanging open. Then she followed her mother back into the room. Taking a seat next to her father, which was across from James, she looked up at the man who held her ire.
“What’s wrong?” he mouthed.
“You,” she whispered a little louder than she had hoped, for all eyes were drawn to her. Not that they probably had left me in the first place, she mused silently.
Her father cleared his throat. “What was that, dear?” he asked.
“I would like a cup of tea, please,” Sarah said. Then an idea came to her and she turned to a footman who stood behind him. “I could use a pint of ale, but I suppose tea will have to do.”
Her mother gasp
ed and the Dowager Duchess shook her head. James let out a groan. Perfect.
“So, you are to marry my son,” the Dowager Duchess said, her eyes still looking Sarah up and down with disapproval.
“She is,” Mrs. Crombly answered for Sarah. “You must forgive her appearance, she has been unwell since yesterday, have you not, my dear?” Her mother gave her a pointed look, the narrow eyes telling Sarah she had best answer appropriately or she would receive the promised lashing.
However, Sarah cared not. Let them beat her until she bled. “Yes, it is true. I have been ill.” She took a sip of the tea that was handed to her. “It might have been the brandy and late-night game of cards last night that brought on this illness.” She shrugged. “But who knows?” In her mind, she pictured the patrons of the Horse and Plough and mimicked their behavior, slurping her tea so loudly her father’s face turned a bright crimson and her mother looked absolutely apoplectic.
“Sarah! That is enough of this foolish attitude!” her father shouted. He did not even bother removing her from the room as her mother had.
“I must say, I do not remember Sarah being this way as a child,” the Dowager Duchess said. “Has she suffered from some malady that made her lose her senses? I do wonder if she is fit to marry my James.”
“It’s all right, love,” Sarah said, moving into her sailor talk. “I will be able to produce many children for him. Is that not right, James my love?” She pushed her chest out to emphasize her breasts more just as Ingrid had taught her.
He closed his eyes and dropped his head into his hand, his fingers pinching his nose between the eyes as he leaned on the arm of the chair.
His mother set her teacup down with a clink, the contents sloshing over the sides. She stood and glared down at the Crombly family. “I must say, I do not like this at all. Proper manners will need to be instilled in her before she is worthy to marry my son!” She turned to James. “What if she has gone mad? She could sire mad children!”
Much to Sarah’s irritation, James said nothing, but instead sat looking embarrassed, more worried about himself than how his mother was treating the woman he claimed to love. A tear came to her eye as she realized that her hero was not there to save her after all. This semblance of a man was what she had originally thought—a coward and a fraud. She set her teacup down, stood and faced the Dowager Duchess.
“I would recommend you teach your son to be a gentleman first. Then perhaps he will find a woman more suitable to your liking.” Without waiting for a response, Sarah turned and stomped to the door. The last thing she saw was James acting as if he were going to speak. However, it was much too late. He had his chances to win her heart, and he almost had. But his lack of honoring her when she needed him most was the last straw. Any chances of them marrying were now gone.
Before leaving, Sarah turned and shot James a glare. “And to you, you have broken my heart once again. This was supposed to be something we announced together. The deal is off! And the wedding is off!” Tears ran down her face, and ignoring her parents’ protests, she ran out of the house and hurried down the garden path. She did not know where she was going, but she knew only one thing. Molly would take her there.
Chapter Nineteen
The doorway stood empty and James could do nothing more than stare at it. The woman he loved had just stormed out in a fit of anger, and his mother wobbled to and fro as if at any moment she might faint to the floor. She could be quite dramatic that way.
“Well, I have never…” she mumbled as she brought her hand to her chest.
James took the woman’s arm and helped her retake her seat.
“I know not what has come over her,” Mrs. Crombly said in a panicked voice. “She is usually such a good woman, but lately, she has been acting quite strangely. I cannot apologize more profusely for her actions, Your Grace!” The woman looked as if she were on the verge of collapse herself, her face was such a fantastic shade of white James had never seen on a person unless they were bedridden with some sort of malady.
Mr. Crombly, on the other hand, sat sipping at his tea, his head shifting slightly from side to side, which was the only outward indication that what had just transpired had affected him in any way. Or perhaps he was so stunned he could not think how to respond.
James looked down at his mother. He was unsure as to what to do. Just as surprised as everyone else in the room, his first reaction was to run after Sarah and demand to know why she had presented herself to his mother in such a fashion. However, seeing his mother so upset, he felt obligated to see to her first. His week had been full of surprises, beginning with the early return of his mother two days prior. Fearing she would learn from another party about the engagement and that in turn it would somehow ruin what he had built so far with Sarah, James had no other choice than to inform his mother as soon as she arrived. One more week still remained before Sarah was to make her decision, and now James realized that this wager was just another which would cost him dearly in the end.
Not only was Sarah gone, but his mother had spent the entirety of their visit casting disapproving looks at the woman he was to marry. From the moment Sarah walked into the room it had gone badly and continuously grown worse. What on Earth had caused her to present herself in such a manner? She was certainly hotheaded, but he had not realized how far she would stoop to get her way.
“Mrs. Crombly, I am shocked,” his mother snapped, demonstrating that she had more strength in her than she was letting on, “that after all these years for which we have known each other, and how often the Duke had spoken so highly of your family, you can allow your daughter to speak to me in such a manner. And my son,” —she placed her hand on James’s arm as if he were deserving of everyone’s sympathy— “what has he ever done to deserve such treatment?” She sat up on the edge of the chair, her moment of weakness suddenly gone. “No, I will not allow this marriage to happen. I must demand that it is stopped at once.”
Mrs. Crombly gave her a beseeching look. “Please, I ask you to reconsider. They are meant for each other. And think of the children they will have together.”
Mr. Crombly spoke for the first time since all had transpired, and his voice squeaked as he spoke, much like a man who was in a panic and too much a coward to be involved. “Now, let us not rush into decisions that will hurt us all,” he said. When James looked into the man’s eyes, he saw a pleading much like the night they had played cards together and he wanted a chance to win back his country house.
It was then that James saw clearly for the first time why Sarah had run away. The offenses were many, and all here were culpable. James using wagers to get what he wanted, and she was at the top of that list of that which he desired. Mrs. Crombly living her life through her daughter in hopes Sarah would have children that she herself could not have. Mr. Crombly wishing to use the union of his daughter to a titled man as a way to expand his business. To that man, money was his driving force. His mother, the Dowager Duchess, insisting they show up unannounced as if her schedule superseded that of others and then using her position to look down upon anyone she felt was beneath her. When he had first announced to his mother that he was to marry Sarah, she had been livid.
“I realize that you and that girl have been childhood friends; however, she is not…one of us. I doubt very highly that she would know how to conduct herself as a Duchess. I was trained since birth to take my rightful place next to your father, but she comes from such ignoble stock. One finding a way to acquire wealth a nobleman does that not make.”
James was so angry that he yelled at his mother for the first time in his entire life. “Mother, I love her. I am now the Duke of Pillberton, and I have the say as to what happens with myself and this family. I will marry Sarah Crombly, and there is little you can do about it.”
“Son, I do not mean to take away from you something you wish to have. Think of the poor girl. She will be ridiculed for her lack of titled roots. The gossip mongers will place her in such poor light, how will y
ou feel when she hears what they have to say?” His mother’s voice had softened, but James recognized her feeble attempts at finding a way to get him to change his mind. She had used this tactic all too often for him to be fooled by it any longer.
“Sarah is a strong woman. Plus, if anyone has anything to say, I will demand that they say it to me.”
His mother sighed. “Very well. You are the Duke after all.”
He was a fool to believe she would give in so easily. Her actions this day proved as much.
Yes, they had all contributed to Sarah’s behavior in one form or another, and now that James could see clearly for the first time since he and Mr. Crombly had sat at the gaming table, he knew he was the one who had to put them all in their place.
A large mirror hung from the wall next to a window which looked out onto the gardens—the gardens Sarah loved so much. He walked over and looked at his reflection, truly looked, and for the first time in his life, he saw the man he really was. Yes, he was a Duke and his inheritance and wealth would only grow to be greater than it already was. He had been well-educated, not only academically but by being placed straight into the fray of it all. He had earned his position and title through hard work and discipline, and he had never lost in any business venture he had undertaken. And because of this, he was never denied a thing in his life. If he wanted a new horse, he was presented with the finest stallion. If he wanted the latest novel, it was on his desk by the end of the week. Everything he wished for, he received.
Except Sarah.
And he wanted her more now than ever. If he lost everything and they both had to work at the Horse and Plough in Weymouth for the remainder of their lives, he would accept it just to be with her. She was what was important to him.
He turned back to the group who spoke animatedly amongst each other, and with renewed vigor, he spoke, his anger also renewed. “We sit here,” he said, his voice raised to be heard about the squabbles before him. He paused until all three sat silent and then continued. “We sit here and argue about marriage when a woman is out there,” —he motioned to the window— “the woman I love, I might add, and she is hurt. Why is she hurt, you might ask? Well, she is hurt because we all want something from her and have not given her even the slightest chance to speak to us about what she wants.”
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