"Leave her alone, Henry, or I'll bloody your nose like I did last week."
Henry sneered at the three of them. "I'll cut you off, you two, you'll be left with nothing if you do not do as I say. Now get outside and play like children if that is how you're going to behave, with your stupid sketches and silly school friends who come to stay."
"Gladly," Hugh said, gesturing for Sarah and Giles to join him. "Come on, we'll do as the duke says. Let him have his lofty ideals and solitude, we can have better fun outdoors anyway."
Sarah followed, but not before Henry took one last swipe for her drawing. This time he clutched it, and laughing, ran over to the roaring fire, and threw it onto the flames. Sarah screamed, reaching for the parchment, but Giles grabbed her, hoisting her back from the flames that wrapped about the image and consumed it.
"Sarah, no, you'll hurt yourself."
A sob wrenched up from somewhere deep inside, and she lent a scream. Tears streamed down her cheeks as her sketch darkened and burned before her eyes.
"You bastard." The sound of a fist hitting flesh rent the air, and Sarah turned to see Henry's legs go flying over the settee, his own cries of pain muffling the sound of her sobs. "How could you do that to Sarah?"
Henry stood, his footing a little unsteady as he pinched his bloody nose, trying to stem the bleeding. "Easily, she's a baby and needs to grow up, and mark my words, Hugh, should you hit me again it'll be the last time."
"Touch anything of Sarah's again or her, and it'll be your last day on earth," Hugh said, pulling her into his arms and helping her from the room. Sarah sobbed against her brother's chest, and no matter how they tried to make her happy, distract her with ideas of finishing the fort her father had started to build last year, fishing or swimming, she would not be moved.
Today she needed time to mourn her loss. Her father’s drawing. Their drawing. "I think I shall go upstairs to my room. I do not feel like going outdoors just now."
Her brother and Giles walked her to her door and waited as she stepped into her suite, her sanctuary. Hugh walked off, but Giles watched her as she turned to shut and lock the world away.
"I'm so sorry, Sarah."
She shrugged, wiping away more tears as they fell. "Henry has always been a selfish beast. Today he merely proved it before someone outside our family."
Giles reached out, lifting her chin to meet her eye. His thumb slid across her cheek, wiping away the tears that fell unheeded. She hiccupped, the lump in her throat hard to swallow past.
"I do not like to see you cry."
His dark, stormy eyes were filled with concern, and she reached up, touching his hand. "I will be well again, my lord."
Lord Gordan did not look convinced, and yet at her brother's command to join him, he reluctantly stepped back. "When you're ready, join us outdoors. Although the summer has not started off well for you, Hugh and I will make it fun and one to remember."
She nodded, not quite convinced that would be the case, but willing to try. "Of course." She rallied a smile, wanting him to believe she was well again, even if her heart ached for her loss.
"While I'm here, His Grace will not touch you or anything you own."
Her heart gave a decided flip at his words. Hugh's friend was not only handsome, but he was also honorable. He strode off down the hall, and she watched him go, bedazzled a little by his sweetness.
Sarah could not wait to have her first Season. What a pity she had four more years to wait. The thought discouraged her all over again.
Chapter 1
St. Albans Abbey
December 20, 1829
There were two things in life that Lady Sarah Farley, sister to the duke of St. Albans disliked more than anything else in the world. Entertaining Marquess Gordan, or Giles as she'd once called him, and seeing Marquess Gordan in her home.
When they had been friends.
The sight of the beast across the ballroom floor where the Christmas house party her brother Hugh and his new wife, Molly, were hosting was not to be borne. Or the fact that he hadn't even gazed in her direction for the past hour.
Beast.
Was she still as invisible as she’d always been with this man? Romantically at least. It hadn't always been so between them, they had been friends once. A long time ago, but no longer. Ass, not man, she corrected, sipping her champagne and glaring at him over the rim of her glass. Why her brother Hugh had invited him in the first place confounded her. She'd begged him not to, had told Molly the reasons why the marquess should not attend. Well, at least the ones she could admit to publicly, and yet, the fiend had arrived and was strutting about the room as if he owned it.
Peacock.
"Please do not be angry with Hugh, my dear. Lord Gordan was an old friend and one he has missed. Having him here will help in clearing your brother's name in the eyes of the ton."
"People already know the truth, no point in bringing back the old guard simply to please them more. Hugh has other friends. Lord Gordan does not need to be reimagined into the fold." Sarah wasn't sure she could stomach much more of these so-called friends returning into her brother's life after distancing themselves from him when he needed their support most.
She had never believed her elder brother Henry's claims, or that of her late mother that Hugh had been the one to ruin Miss Laura Cox, an heiress, several years before. Henry had always been selfish, a well-seasoned liar, and someone who could not be trusted. The favored son, eldest and the Duke of St. Albans, it was not surprising that their younger brother was asked to take the fall, the shame that Henry could not face himself.
"You really do not like Lord Gordan do you, my dear? Is there something you wish to tell me? Other than your more benign reasons you have already noted as to why he should not be here?" Molly asked her, taking her hand to make her look at her sister-in-law.
Sarah shook her head, not wishing for anyone to know her shame. Her regret. "No, I merely do not agree with some of these men showing up here and pretending that they are long-lost friends. That Hugh's displacement half a world away was not of their doing. They may have forgotten, but I have not. I missed years of being with Hugh because of this catty society. I will not forgive them."
Molly leaned over and kissed her cheek. "Hugh loves you so very much, and so do I. We do not want you to be unhappy. It is Christmas, after all. Forget about those gentlemen who now scramble about Hugh's feet and look to others for amusement and flirtation. Focus on ones who did not turn their back on your brother. There are many eligible men here for the month-long house party. Surely there are others who may take your fancy."
Sarah sighed, wishing that were the case. It was not. There had only ever been one man whom she'd longed for. Had wanted with such rebellious disregard that she'd acted on that impulse many years before and lived to regret her actions.
How dare the cad even show up here. He ought to be horsewhipped, and by her. This idea was tempting, and if she put on a warm enough cloak, she could fetch a whip from the stables and do exactly what she envisioned.
How had she been so stupid and irresponsible all those years ago? After her brother's banishment from England, one would think one would learn to be careful. To follow the rules society placed upon their young heads and not step out of line.
Not Sarah. She had thrown herself at his lordship during her first Season. As the wealthy daughter of a duke and now a sister to one, she had thought herself invincible. A woman whom any man would gladly fall at her feet and then sweep her off those said feet and marry her.
Lord Gordan had not, and it was not until she had kissed him on the darkened terrace, practically threw herself against him, pushing him up against the ivy trellis that she realized her mistake.
He'd not kissed her back.
In fact, he'd set her from him, gave her a proper verbal scolding that even to this day made her ears burn, and had stormed back indoors to her elder brother's ball and had barely spoken to her since.
Not that she cared if
she ever spoke to the man again. He did not deserve her regard or friendship, even if their icy exchanges were solely due to Sarah's lack of manners.
"I will forget about Lord Gordan and enjoy the house party. I promise I shall enjoy our Christmas together." Sarah smiled as Molly thanked her before rejoining her husband, Hugh. When his wife was close enough, Hugh wrapped an arm about her side and pulled her against him, keeping her close.
Sarah's heart twisted a little in her chest. How lucky Molly was to be loved and adored as much as her brother loved and cherished her. Their love and Molly's trust in Hugh gave her hope that she would one day find a grand love that would make her skin prickle and her body thrum.
Well, she had found that love until he up and proposed to someone else. She spied Lord Gordan coming toward her with determined steps, and she steeled herself for the forthcoming confrontation.
"Lady Sarah, how very festive you look this evening in your red-and-green gown. Anyone would think it was Christmas." His deep baritone made goose bumps rise on her skin, and she cursed his ability to make her not herself, even after all these years, and the time they'd been enemies and not friends.
Sarah bit back a scathing retort, mentioning that his sarcasm and lack of praise on her gown were not missed. But, because she promised her sister-in-law not minutes before to behave, Sarah smiled up at Lord Gordan and threw him a halfhearted smile. "How very astute you are, my lord. That schooling you partook in at Cambridge really has paid off that you're able to understand my color choices at this time of year."
He raised one brow, his lips thinning into a straight line. Lips that she knew to this day were as soft as butter, and made her feet curl up in her silk slippers. She licked her lips, wondering if hers had been as supple. Possibly not, she was forever chewing them, and she rode her horse a great deal. The air and sunlight did little good for one's skin, when one had too much of them.
"My parents were most proud of my academic record," he quipped, coming to stand at her side. "I have not seen you in town these past few seasons. Have you grown bored with London society? I do miss your impulsive kisses very much," he whispered, leaning down to ensure privacy.
Sarah gaped at his lordship. How dare he bring up her oversight? "It is not the act of a gentleman to bring up the foolish mistakes that a lady may have made in her youth. I have little doubt that my actions that night were brought on by my champagne sampling for the first time."
"Really?" he asked, cocking one brow. "And here I was thinking that your molesting of me was solely due to my charm and good looks. How very disheartening to know the truth."
Sarah ground her teeth, little amused by his teasing of her. "My memory, if correct, was that you did not like my kisses and told me so very abruptly to my face. I see no point in our conversing now." There, that ought to do it. He would leave now, and she could go on brooding, glaring at everyone who now thought her brother a respectable duke when only a year or so ago would not mention his name in polite society.
"We do not have to converse." He threw her a wicked grin, and once more she was lost for words.
Was he flirting with her?
The rogue!
He ought not. It would not get him anywhere. She had long given up any hope she may have had with his lordship. Sarah made a point of trying to find someone in the crowd. "I believe Lady Rackliffe is here this evening. Are you sure you do not wish to commence your love affair with her again? She's a widow now. Maybe this time she'll turn up for your wedding." Sarah chuckled, sipping her mulled wine and enjoying the fact that her words had shut the cocky marquess up.
He took a sip of his whiskey, staring out at the dancers before them. For a country Christmas party, Molly had invited many of their friends. Her closest four friends now congregated about Molly, and they laughed and talked as if they had not seen each other in years and not merely weeks.
Sarah wished she had friends like Molly. She'd been neglected as much as Hugh had been by their mother. However, her father had always been loving, but unfortunately, he passed when she was young. She was so thankful that Hugh was now home in England, although they would be returning to Rome sometime next year. They planned on traveling between their two houses, and Sarah had promised to go with them next year to see Rome and Naples.
"By my calculations, you are eight and twenty, my lady. I thought by now that you would have been married. Why ever have you not? No lord in London good enough for Lady Sarah Farley?"
She glanced at him. How dare he mention her name or turn the question back onto her?
"Spying on me, Lord Gordan? I did not know you were so very observant to my every move."
He scoffed beside her, sipping his whiskey. "You do hold yourself in high esteem. I was merely keeping watch on my friend's sibling while he was out of the country."
"Of course you were, my lord."
A shadow flickered in his eyes before he blinked, and it was gone. Did he remember how very close they once were? That he had been one of her best friends in the world? Or so she understood. All lies, of course. He'd not cared about her at all. Had only ever seen her as Hugh's younger sister and someone to protect, but never love.
Those summers seemed so long ago now. So much had happened between them that there was no way they would ever get back the friendship they lost.
"I hope that I did not teach you to be so cold and aloof as you are. Why, before I came over here to speak to you, you were busy scowling at everyone." He reached out with his thumb and smoothed the frown line between her brows. “What has you so out of sorts, Lady Sarah?”
The moment his skin touched hers, the breath in her lungs hitched. She slapped away his hand, but not before reading the awareness that flared in his eyes. He'd felt it too, the reaction they had always had to each other. Their first kiss was proof of that, no matter what Lord Gordan professed otherwise. She was certain it had affected him as much as her, no matter his anger over the embrace may have said otherwise.
A question lingered in her mind over what would happen should they act upon those feelings now. Would things progress differently between them? She could have sworn when she'd kissed him all those years ago, for a moment, he'd kissed her back. Having never kissed anyone before, she had never been certain if she had imagined his reaction or not, fleeting as it was.
Her body ached with want for him, for his lips to touch hers. From the age of eighteen, she knew her infatuation with Lord Gordan was more than just a young girl's fancy. She'd wanted him to be hers, and he did not want the same.
He had wanted Lady Rackliffe, Lady Edith Beadle then, an earl’s daughter and sweet on Lord Gordan. Or so he believed.
Fool that he was, that had turned out not to be the case.
"Do not touch me, Lord Gordan. You forget yourself."
He bowed, seemingly sorry for his lapse in manners. "Apologies." He looked contrite, as if he had indeed lost his faculties for a moment. "It shall not happen again."
"I should hope not." She sipped her wine, noting that he didn't move away, but kept beside her, quiet and still. "Was there anything else that you wanted from me, my lord?"
A muscle worked in his jaw before he said, "You did not answer my question. Why are you so incensed this evening?"
She ground her teeth, hating that the one man she did not want to know her secret would ask such a question. Truth be told, he made her angry. His denial of her. His pushing her away. His severing their friendship the moment Hugh had left England.
"I'm not angry, my lord, merely weary of a gentleman like you who believes a woman should always look happy and jovial. I do not need to smile and simper just to please those about me. I'm a daughter of a duke, a sister to one, and have my own inheritance. If I wish to stand at the side of a ballroom and glare at those I do not think worthy of my family's hospitality, I shall do so."
His eyes widened before he glanced back at the dancers. "Are you saying that I'm not welcome here, my lady?"
She shrugged, feigning nonchal
ance when in truth, her heart beat loud in her chest. Giles had always been welcome at the Abbey, and most of all, by her. To say otherwise now would hurt him, but the slighted, angry debutante inside her growled at his denial of her. The injury he'd caused her heart that had never truly healed. "Hugh is happy for your company, that is enough, is it not?"
He scoffed. "I suppose it will have to do."
Sarah watched him stalk off, anger thrumming across his wide shoulders. A little piece of pleasure rolled through her that she'd hurt his feelings while, in turn, her heart ached at his leaving.
Her eyes met those of her brother across the room, and she smiled, feigning pleasure. He threw her a dubious look that spoke of a future conversation between them over her antics with Lord Gordan. She sighed. A month more of this would be a chore.
Chapter 2
Giles stormed from the ballroom and ran directly into the path of Lady Rackliffe. He inwardly groaned at his apparent good luck this evening. First, his run-in with Sarah and now Edith, his ex-betrothed. She stared up at him, all innocent as if butter would not melt in her mouth. A marvel, really, considering she had failed to arrive at church on their wedding day, preferring another over him.
The blonde goddess, Lady Rackliffe, was indeed a muse for men's fantasies. Large, voluptuous breasts, long, golden locks, and cool, blue eyes that slanted a little and gave her a wicked, enticing appearance that had once drawn him like a moth to a candle flame.
Not anymore. Now he looked upon her with the knowledge of what a spiteful, using minx she was.
Sarah floated through his mind, she too had long, blonde locks, but of a warmer hue, as if the sun had kissed her curls. Her eyes were a dark shade of green that he'd often thought the Scottish Highlands would be jealous of.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 26
