by Erica Taylor
Sarah shook her head. “This is all too much to believe,” she muttered. “Are you upset that I turned out to have inherited a dukedom?”
“I am not upset you are a duke,” Sarah said quietly. “I am upset that I waited for you for two months. Two months I wondered and worried and eventually came to the realization you had been the worst sort of man and completely abandoned me. For two months I thought you didn’t care. And now I come to see that you’ve been safe and sound and married the whole time!”
William sighed. “Sarah, I am sorry. I wanted to find you, but I had my reasons for staying away.”
“Well, you’ve certainly done an excellent job of making a terrible situation even worse!”
“This is not the direction I wanted my life to go,” he said, glaring. “I wanted nothing to do with this blasted dukedom and made certain I’d rid myself of it.”
“Apparently not well enough,” Sarah chided.
“No, it would seem not.” He sighed again.
“Did you know?” she asked him, looking up at him, searching the depths of his eyes for the truth. “Did you know you were to inherit when we met?”
“I knew it was a possibility,” he admitted quietly. “I did not know my brother had died, but I always knew in the back of my mind that if something happened to him I would be summoned straight away. My father had been so eager to wash his hands of me—I did not believe he would send for me for any light reason. I wanted to believe his summons was motivated by a wish to make peace between us before his death…but I feared it might be something more. When we met, I knew there was a sliver of possibility I could be the new Foxton. The last thing I expected was to be thrust into a marriage not of my choosing. It is complicated, Sarah, and meeting you made things even more convoluted. I don’t love her; I barely even like her. Anna is my brother’s bride, and she is bearing my brother’s child. I am merely righting his wrongs.” He looked away and shook his head. “Again, I am sorry. None of this is within any semblance of my control, and I am grieved to know I have caused you pain.”
Sarah shrugged, rather unladylike, but she felt less like a refined dragon of the ton and more like a simpering milk maid. “You owed me nothing.”
“I wanted to.” He regarded her, his eyes full of pain, and something else . . . regret.
“I confess, I had hoped for something, and that was foolish of me,” she admitted to him, standing, tucking her book under her arm. “Childhood fairy tales are not for those past adolescence. You did what you felt was right. I cannot fault you for your honor.”
He muttered her name softly, stepping towards her and pulling her into his arms.
Sarah fought for composure, for some sort of sanity, anything to hold on to so she didn’t hold onto him. With a strength she didn’t know still existed in her, she pushed him away, stepping out of his embrace.
“You cannot touch me, Will,” she said shakily, fighting the tears that threatened to overtake her. “I can’t . . .We can’t . . .”
William nodded in understanding. “I am sorry, Sarah.”
Sarah nodded, feeling her composure start to crack. She couldn’t stand in the hothouses with him any longer, couldn’t handle her heart breaking into a trillion pieces, and couldn’t survive him here apologizing for having to do his duty to his title, his brother, his family. How could she fault him for that? How could she be angry at him?
She was done with duty and meaningless obligations and love and all of it.
Sarah stood straighter and took a steadying breath. “I suspect we will see quite a bit of each other before Twelfth Night. Good afternoon, your grace.”
Turning, she disappeared into the labyrinth of trees, putting a sizable distance between them, where the smell of his hair and the touch of his fingers were far enough away that she could pretend he never mattered to her.
Christmas Day was spent cozied up with books and needlework, songs on the pianoforte after their Christmas feast of boar’s head, roasted goose, mince pies, and apple tarts. Her sister Mara’s talents at the piano were something of a marvel. Sarah even allowed her siblings to goad her into a one song accompaniment on the harp, though she paid special attention to not look at William directly.
Sarah did her best to feel involved, in the moment, and commanded her resolve to last for just a few more days. Soon, the snows would melt, and William and his lovely bride would be on their way out of her life, and she could return to her peaceful existence without the constant reminder of what she could not have.
Conversations turned to the activities of the following day, Boxing Day. Everyone agreed to begin the fox hunt early, as the landowner, Andrew, would need to return by midday to oversee the distribution of charity boxes to the surrounding townspeople for the ducal seat.
“It seems it will be yourself, Susanna, her grace, and myself for breakfast in the morning,” Clara said pleasantly to Sarah. “Perhaps we can manage a lie in, without everyone badgering about the house at all hours.”
“I beg your pardon?” Sarah asked, trying to process what her sister-in-law had said to her.
“Everyone else will be out for the fox hunt blessedly early in the morning,” Clara explained. “As we are not going I thought it might be nice to sleep in for a change. Even country hours do not agree with this pregnancy.”
Sarah glanced at Clara, then to Anna, both well in to their pregnancies, and to Susanna who glowed with the eagerness for one. Trapped in the house with these three sounded like the worst sort of torture and Sarah spoke before her mind had even completed the thought.
“I will attend the fox hunt,” she said firmly.
“Oh.” Clara blinked in surprise. “I presumed you would not, as we all know your aversion to riding.”
Norah turned towards her. “Did I hear you say you will be riding out with us tomorrow?”
Nick turned in his seat as well, as did Andrew.
Frowning Andrew asked, “Are you certain, Sarah? I know you do not like to ride.”
“And you’ve never joined us before,” Nick added.
“I’ve been on a fox hunt before, I will have you know,” Sarah replied. “Just not in some years.”
As everyone turned to look at her curiously, William caught her gaze, his eyes filled with laughter.
“I have no aversion to riding,” she lied smoothly, looking away from him. “Everyone seems to think I do. But I assure you, I would rather partake in the fox hunt than have a lie in.” And spend the morning surrounded by pregnant women, no thank you. “Besides,” she added, her eyes betraying her conviction and glancing at William. “I recently had a rather remarkable ride in the country and have found I don’t mind it as much as I did previously.”
“Mr. Byrne,” Clara said, turning towards William’s cousin. “Will you be joining the riders?”
“I think I will take advantage of that lie in, your grace,” Mr. Byrne said with a wink. “I’ve some work to get through, and a quiet house sounds just the ticket.”
“Splendid,” Clara replied cheerfully. “I will inform the grooms to have Sarah’s horse readied with everyone else’s.”
Sarah was fully capable of requesting her own horse, but she held her tongue, knowing it was now Clara’s place, that this was Clara’s home now more than it was her own.
“I would like to go this year,” came Mara’s voice.
“Absolutely not,” Andrew replied.
“Why not?” the youngest asked.
“Yes, why not, Andrew?” Sarah asked, turning towards her brother. “I was ten when I rode out on my first hunt. You were ten, Susanna was eleven.”
“I was eleven,” Nick added.
“I was twelve when I went on my first hunt,” Clara said to her husband. “Mara is thirteen.”
There was an unspoken conversation between the Duke and Duchess of Bradstone before Andrew finally sighed, realizing that he was not going to be victorious.
“Very well,” he said w
ith a weary sigh. “Mara, you may join.”
With a squeal Mara jumped from her chair and wrapped her arms around her eldest brother.
“Oh thank you Andrew!” she exclaimed clapping her hands with excitement. “I’m going to have my habit laid out this very instant!” She practically ran from the room, her siblings laughing as she left.
The following morning, Sarah was seriously rethinking her bold decision to ride out on the hunt, primarily because of the early hour at which she had to wake.
“Having one’s eyes open before the birds are even awake should be sin,” Sarah muttered to herself, taking a long sip of the coffee Lynette, her new lady’s maid, had brought up to her rooms.
“Begging your pardon, your ladyship,” Lynette said with a curtsy.
“Oh don’t mind me,” Sarah said, dismissively.
“Your comments are understandable, to be sure,” Lynette said, bobbing her head. “It is only your riding habit didn’t seem to make the journey from London.”
“It’s not here?” Sarah asked, stepping into the large wardrobe she had fashioned out of a side annex attached to her rooms. She flipped through the items along the wall, not seeing the habit anywhere.
Sarah groaned. She had sent it off for repairs soon after she had arrived in London, as it had been soaked through multiple times and needed stitching and cleaning. In the aftermath of her return to London, Clara’s announcement, Susanna’s engagement, she had forgotten about it completely.
Sarah looked again through her wardrobe, just in case it was going to magically appear, to no avail.
“Perhaps I can inquire if Susanna has an extra,” Sarah said absently with a sigh. “I truly don’t want to stay behind with the horde of pregnant ladies residing in the home.” She’d also rather not hide in her rooms all morning.
“Shall I make the inquiries for you?” Lynette asked, her face hopeful, wanting to succeed at her job.
No, Sarah thought wearily, looking again wistfully at her bed and the warmth and comfort it promised. She would not go to Susanna and have to explain why she was without a habit. She hadn’t borrowed anything from one of her sisters in years.
Sarah whipped around, doubling back into the wardrobe, yanking open drawers frantically.
“My lady?” Lynette asked, worried.
“These were my rooms before I married,” Sarah explained, digging through a deep drawer at the bottom of the closet. “I didn’t bring everything with me, some of it was left here. I wonder . . . Ah-ha!” She pulled a bright blue riding habit out of the drawer, dated in fashion, but thick and fashioned of warm wool nonetheless. It had been one of many she had owned before she married, and it seemed it would come to her rescue today.
Except it was a lovely shade of blue, closely matching her eyes, which was why she chose the shade in the first place. Could she wear such a shade of blue? Would her family truly care? Her siblings wouldn’t hold it against her, surely, though the hunt wasn’t purely a family affair—there were some of the local gentry joining the Macalister party on the hunt this morning. Could she be daring enough to break such a steadfast rule? Widows wore black the first year, adding greys and dark lavenders the years after, for the rest of their lives. If it was such a silly rule, why did she hold to it so tightly?
Spite raged through her. She was not going to allow society’s ridiculous rules suffocate her. Her actions, while would affect her younger, unmarried sisters, were her own. Was she so concerned wearing a bit of color so many years after Geoffrey’s passing would ostracize her? Lydia did what she wanted, and she was not cast out from the haute ton. Sarah was not going to be tied to Radcliff ’s memory for the rest of her life.
“Lady Radcliff ?” Lynette asked, her brows pinched together in worry over her mistress’s silent musings. Sarah could only imagine what she looked like on the outside, glaring furiously at an article of clothing.
“I am Lady Sarah,” she said, turning to her maid. “Please, do not ever call me Lady Radcliff again.”
“Yes, mum, I meant no disrespect,” Lynette said with a bobbed curtsy.
“I know you didn’t,” Sarah said gently with a smile. “I’ve only just decided I don’t truly like being called Lady Radcliff. I know I cannot prohibit the title entirely, but I would appreciate if I am just Lady Sarah to you.”
Lynette bobbed another curtsy. “Yes, Lady Sarah.”
Sarah beamed brightly. “Come now. The hunt awaits, and I will not be late!”
William sipped his third cup of coffee in as many dozen minutes, willing the beverage to actually do its job and help him wake up. Glancing at the occupants of the front drawing room, it seemed he was not the only person having a difficult time coming to terms with their early morning excursion.
Bradstone with his brothers Lord Nick and Lord Charlie stood beside a half-asleep Lord Westcott, who was leaning against the book shelving. Bradstone’s other brother-in-law, Lord Morton, looked mildly awake, as did Tobias, who had opted to join them at the last minute. The ladies did not fare any better, though only Lady Norah and Lady Mara had made an appearance thus far. Lady Norah sat on the chaise, her head tipped back against the cushion, eyes closed. Lady Mara was the only one who appeared to be excited for their jaunt through the fields, and only because it was her first hunt.
“Oh goodness,” Lady Mara said breathlessly, her hand covering her mouth. Norah jerked awake and turned to where her sister stared; the gentlemen all turned as well.
William was late to register the change in the room, and he turned quickly, soon realizing the reason for the open mouthed, wide eyed stares of the occupants of the room.
Like an early morning breeze, Sarah stood in the doorway, radiant in an azure blue riding spencer, like the harebell flowers he remembered from home in Scotland. The shade was the exact color of her eyes, offsetting the creamy complexion of her skin, her dark hair in dramatic contrast.
“I apologize for my tardiness,” she said with a warm smile. “I encountered some . . . ah . . . wardrobe malfunctions.”
If this was the result of a malfunction, then he begged her wardrobe to implode at once.
“We are still on schedule,” Bradstone said gruffly before clearing his throat. “You look lovely this morning, Sarah.”
“Thank you,” she replied curtly, but her smile never faltered. William could tell though, he could see it in the crinkles of her eyes that wearing this color made her incredibly uncomfortable. He wondered what the true reason was for her wearing it, and how he could ensure its repetition.
Sarah moved to stand beside her sisters, cupping Mara’s young face before hugging her tightly. If he remembered correctly, Mara was but a babe when Sarah’s parents died. Sarah was likely the closest thing to a mother her sister had.
The hunt master appeared at the doorway with five other gentlemen dressed for the hunt, and the occupants of the room filed out into the corridor. William caught Sarah’s hand, discreetly, and tugged, willing her to stay back just a moment.
“I told you once you should wear blue,” William said softly to her.
“This old thing?” she asked coyly, glancing down at her dress and then to him, blinking her thick lashes. “My grey one was left in London.”
“You don’t need it,” he said quietly, squeezing her hand.
Her coy look faltered. “I know,” she acknowledged.
“Sarah . . .” he said, his voice trailing off, not knowing what to say to her.
She stood a little straighter, her chin tilting up in challenge. “Come, let us be off. The sooner we begin, the sooner it is over.”
“If you are so averse to riding, then why do you continue to do it?” he asked, offering his arm, grateful she accepted.
“It was either go riding with the hunt or spend the morning with two pregnant ladies, one of whom is your wife,” she shot him an incredulous glare. “Is it so surprising I chose the hunt?”
“Good point,” he agreed.
> “Besides, doing something like this with my siblings again makes me feel more like me, and less . . .” She paused and sighed.
“Less like the ghostly Widow Radcliff ?” he suggested.
“Indeed,” she nodded. “As you can tell from the reactions from my family about my choice in activity and fashion, this is clearly out of my normal realm of behavior.”
“Admit it, you enjoy shocking them,” William challenged, glancing towards her.
She gave a small shrug. “A bit.”
They reached the bottom floor and were out the door before they could speak again. Sarah released his arm and found Athena in the crowd of horses, and William found his own mount among the throng. His horse, Fergus, was restless with this many riders in close proximity, and he maneuvered them to the edge of the grouping, closer to where Sarah sat prettily atop Athena.
Their party consisted of ten riders from the Macalister household and five from the town in addition to the hunt master. Between the sixteen horses milling about stood at least thirty fox hounds, all were eager for their hunt to begin.
“Where is Abe this morning?” Sarah said, looking between the horses. “I would think he would stand out amongst the hounds.”
“Alas, Abe is kept up for the day,” William lamented. “As he doesn’t retrieve things well, and he’s not trained for fox hunting. I suspect he would just bounce around and yap at everyone, trying to distract the hounds when they have work to do.”
Sarah laughed. “He might try to play with the fox as well.”
“Probably,” William agreed and grinned. It was refreshing to see Sarah in such light spirits. The party began to disperse, spilling out of the front drive and down the front lane towards the edge of the apple orchard. William maneuvered Fergus to walk alongside Sarah and Athena.
At the bend in the drive were six apple trees standing separate from the rest of the orchard, the drive curving around them with care.
“Why are these six here?” William wondered aloud.