Always Yours

by Cheryl Holt

  Sarah might have tumbled into a peculiar fairytale. “You’re joking.”

  “No. Let’s find my husband. He is going to faint when he sees you.”

  Mr. Dobbs chuckled. “That was my exact comment, Lady Selby.”

  “Where is he, Dobbs?” Nell inquired.

  “He was in the library.”

  Nell guided her down a gilded hall, Mr. Dobbs dogging their heels. The library had three walls with shelves of books that rose to the ceiling. The fourth wall was all glass, the windows framing the manicured park, the lake behind it.

  There was a massive desk in front of the windows, a dark-haired man seated at it. He was busy with correspondence, and without peeking up, he asked, “What is it, Nell? When you interrupt me, I never finish my chores. What do you need?”

  He glanced up, grinning affectionately and obviously expecting her to be alone. He frowned, his gaze shifting to Sarah. For a moment, Time stood still, and they were frozen in place.

  Then he said the strangest thing. “Sissy? Is it really you?”

  And Sarah answered in the strangest way. “Yes, it’s really me.”

  “Oh, my lord,” he muttered. “You’re finally home where you belong!”

  He leapt to his feet, raced over, and hugged her so tightly she didn’t think she’d ever breathe again.

  * * * *

  “Excuse me.”

  “Shut your mouth, you little cretin, or I’ll shut it for you!”

  “I have to speak with someone in charge.”

  Noah stared at the man on the other side of the bars, hoping his stern glower would bring the result he sought. So far though, it had had no effect. He’d been complaining vociferously, but no one would listen.

  The dolt who’d delivered them to the facility, as well as the dolt who’d detained them in the large room, had claimed they weren’t under arrest, but it certainly felt like it. They weren’t free to leave, and the door was never opened unless more prisoners arrived. Newcomers were shoved in, then the door would be locked again.

  In the beginning, there had been twenty-five people with them, but more staggered in by the day. There were forty-six squashed together now. It was a mix of old and young, men and women, boys and girls. All of them were bedraggled, their clothes tattered, their conditions grim, as if they were on their last legs.

  Only Noah and Pet appeared to have been snatched from stellar circumstances, and they had been.

  “We’re not supposed to be here.” He kept repeating the comment. “There’s been a mistake.”

  “There’s no mistake,” their jailor huffed, “so be silent. Your constant caterwauling gives me a headache.”

  The oaf was seated at a desk and eating a plate of food, the smell causing all their stomachs to growl with hunger. They were fed twice a day, and supper was hours away.

  “I am the natural son of Sir Sidney Sinclair.” He pointed to Pet. “This is his natural daughter, Petunia.”

  Their jailor snickered. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard you a dozen times. You’re the son of Sir Sidney, and I am the son of the bloody King of England.”

  Noah was undeterred. “We are the wards of Miss Sarah Robertson, owner of the Robertson Home for Orphaned Children. We’ve been kidnapped and brought to you against our will.”

  “A person is never brought against his will.” The man waved some papers in Noah’s direction. “Your documents were signed and notarized. Stop protesting your situation. You’re simply making me angry, and you wouldn’t like me to lose my temper.”

  “I’m not afraid of you,” Noah said.

  “You should be.”

  “When my brother, Sebastian Sinclair, comes to rescue us, you’ll be sorry.”

  “Trust me, if Sebastian Sinclair strolls in, I will faint dead away.”

  Pet tugged on Noah’s sleeve and begged, “Sit down, Noah. I don’t want him to hurt you.”

  “He won’t hurt me,” Noah insisted.

  “I’m terribly worried he might.”

  One of the other men called to the jailor, “I met Sir Sidney once. I’ll bet this boy is telling the truth. He’s the spitting image of that famous fellow.”

  “You’re correct,” Noah said. “I look just like him because my mother was his favorite mistress.”

  Noah’s boast enraged their jailor. “Shut your mouth! Sir Sidney was a saint! A saint! You’ll not spread sordid stories about him in my presence.”

  “He wasn’t a saint,” Noah mumbled, and he plopped down next to Pet.

  As their ordeal continued, she was growing quieter and more frightened. For a girl of six, she’d endured too many catastrophes. Did their half-brother know what had happened to them? And what about Miss Robertson? She had to be frantically searching for them. Who was there to inform her of what had occurred?

  There had been no witnesses to their abduction, and it was the scariest part of the whole debacle. He’d promised Petunia that Miss Robertson or Sebastian would save them, but they had no way to deduce what had transpired, so how could they figure out where Noah and Pet were being held?

  Noah ceaselessly fretted, trying to fathom who had ordered their kidnapping. Might it have been Sebastian? He’d never been keen on the notion of Noah and Pet showing up in his life, and if Noah eventually learned that Sebastian had betrayed them, how would he ever recover from the blow?

  “What will become of us?” he asked the jailor, but he was ignored.

  The other man, the one who’d said he looked like Sir Sidney, answered instead. “We’ve been sold into indenture.”

  “I keep hearing that,” Noah replied, “but no one will explain what it means.”

  “It means we’ll be sent to another country, and we’ll work there at jobs.”

  “For how long?”

  “Seven years.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then, if you’ve repaid the fees that it cost to transport you to our destination, you’ll be free to carry on as you see fit. If you haven’t repaid them, you’ll have to toil away until your debt is squared.”

  “What country will it be?” Noah asked.

  “I was hoping for Australia, but there are rumors we’re bound for America.”

  “When will we leave?”

  “We’ll be ready to depart once they have sixty people. With the pace they’re arriving, I expect it will be two or three more days.”

  Pet appeared horrified. “I don’t want to travel to another country, and I especially don’t want to sail on a ship!”

  The man flashed a weary smile. “It will be fun. Think of it as an adventure.”

  “I’ve had all the adventure I ever wish to have,” she said.

  “We can’t go to America,” Noah added. “We haven’t finished our schooling, and I’m to attend university in the future. Besides, Miss Robertson needs us.”

  The man shrugged. “I don’t believe any of those things will be possible now. You should forget about them. Otherwise, you’ll drive yourself mad with memories of what might have been.”

  “Why would we be here?” Noah asked him. “Why were we locked in with all of you?”

  “Someone with authority over you would have had to sign a contract. You’ve mentioned you’re orphans. Did you have a guardian?”

  “Yes, Miss Robertson,” Noah said.

  “She must be to blame then. She’d be the only one who could bind you.”

  Noah was stunned. Would Miss Robertson have arranged such a dreadful fate? Why would she have? He’d assumed she liked them, and she’d definitely deemed herself to be responsible for them.

  Yet she’d been very worried about her ability to care for them. She hadn’t been able to procure permanent lodging, and their Sinclair kin had declined to help.

  Had she finally decided this was the best conclusion? Had she been too ashamed to confess it?

  “Miss Robertson wouldn’t have done this to us,” Pet said as if reading his mind.

  “I can’t guess what’s true, Pet,” he told her
. “Who else might have yearned for us to vanish?”

  “Everyone but her.”

  He gazed at the man. “Will my sister and I be allowed to stay together? I’ve sworn to always protect her. Is there a way to ensure we wind up at the same location?”

  “No,” the man killed him by saying. “It will depend on who needs servants and what kind they need. If there’s no employer seeking both a boy and a girl, you’ll be split up.”

  They were the most alarming words ever uttered. Noah slid his hand into Pet’s, linked their fingers, and squeezed tight.

  * * * *

  Sebastian trotted up the lane toward Sarah’s cottage. He was physically exhausted, but mentally exhausted too.

  He probably shouldn’t have stopped to visit her. He should have proceeded directly to London to check that Ophelia was home safe and sound. His servants were competent and would have conveyed her without incident, but he was concerned about his mother and how she’d reacted when Ophelia rolled up in her carriage.

  Gertrude was such a stern, unforgiving person. It wouldn’t surprise him to discover that Ophelia hadn’t been permitted to return—despite his command. It would be another family quagmire to ensnare him.

  His temper kept flaring over Judah, and he was disgusted at having had the man on the expedition team for so many years. In light of his perfidy, what sort of fiend had he been deep down? His dangerous tendencies had been so well hidden.

  As Sebastian emerged from the trees, the residence was very quiet, the shutters closed, no smoke wafting from the chimney. He dismounted and hurried to the door, and he was so excited to see Sarah that he was practically skipping like a happy boy.

  He didn’t bother to knock, but simply blustered in, and he was about to call out to her, to announce himself, but he quickly stumbled to a halt.

  There was the oddest perception in the air that the house was deserted, as if it had been empty for ages, as if Sarah and the children had never been there a single day. He stood very still, listening, trying to figure out what the silence indicated.

  Suddenly, footsteps crunched on the gravel outside, and he grinned, expecting it to be Sarah, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was the housemaid from the manor who’d been charged with delivering their meals.

  “Master Sebastian?” She dipped a curtsy. “We didn’t realize you were back.”

  “I just arrived.” He gestured around the parlor. “I had a message for Miss Robertson, but the place seems abandoned.”

  “Yes, they left.”

  He cocked his head, as if she’d spoken in a language he didn’t understand.

  “What did you say?” he asked her.

  “Ah…they left?”

  “When?”

  “It happened immediately after you departed on your recent trip. I’ve been coming over anyway, but there’s been no sign of them.”

  “My goodness.”

  “I interrogated the staff, but no one noticed anything amiss.”

  His pulse pounded with a bit of dread. “This is worrying me.”

  “As I approached just now, and the front door was ajar, I assumed they were back. I’d planned to ask Miss Robertson if she’d like me to bring supper.”

  “No need for that, I guess.”

  “She wrote you a note.”

  “A note?” he repeated like a dullard.

  She motioned to the desk in the corner, and she wrung her hands nervously, as if terrified he’d blame her for allowing them to slip away.

  What could have transpired? He’d been gone for the better part of three days. He’d ridden north, had dealt with Judah, then had ridden home. Their absence made no sense.

  He’d penned a letter to her. Hadn’t she received it? If she hadn’t, she’d be angry, wondering where he was and why he hadn’t returned with the Special License he’d promised.

  He went over and seated himself, and he grabbed the missive and ripped it open. It was short and to the point: She hadn’t deemed his proposal to be sincere, so she and the children had fled. She wasn’t about to let him ruin his life over her, and she told him not to search—because he would never find her.

  He read it three times, then he folded it and stuck it in his coat. If the fire had been lit, he’d have burned it. He should have crumpled it into a ball and tossed it on the floor, but he would hate to have the servants pick it up and discover how stupid he’d been with regard to her.

  She’d left! He couldn’t believe it! Then again, yes, he could.

  Women never behaved as a man was hoping, and she’d been a peculiar female who’d tempted him as another female wouldn’t have.

  Why had she tantalized him so thoroughly? In the brief period they’d been together, he’d frequently asked himself that question, but he had no viable answer. Occasionally, he’d felt quite bewitched by her, as if she’d cast a magical spell to entice him.

  What had it all been about? He wasn’t sure.

  He wanted to rail and weep over what was lost, but what had that been exactly? She’d been a beautiful stranger who’d seduced him with her shameless ways and brash attitudes. They’d had a wild fling, and he was glad they’d had it, but wasn’t it for the best that it had ended? Wasn’t she wise to have severed their connection?

  He’d relentlessly pondered the ramifications of marrying her, and he’d persuaded himself that she’d be worth all the trouble she’d cause, but why had he thought that?

  She’d recognized the horrendous mistake he’d been about to make, and she’d saved him from it. He ought to be down on his knees and thanking her. He ought to be shuddering with relief that he’d dodged a bullet. Except deep down, there was a tiny voice insisting he’d mourn the loss of her forever.

  But he was a grown man, and he didn’t have to listen to silly voices in his head that weren’t imparting anything he cared to hear.

  Movement caught his eye, and he realized the housemaid was waiting to be dismissed.

  “Is it bad news, sir?” she asked.

  “No.” He waved away the query. “Miss Robertson was staying temporarily. She’d been hunting for accommodations in town, and she found them. So they departed.”

  “They’re not endangered?”

  “Gad, no.” He tried to sound jovial. “They’re fine, and you needn’t continue to traipse over here.”

  “I didn’t mind.”

  “Please tell the rest of the staff, especially the kitchen, that we’re done tending them. I’ll be closing the cottage again, probably until some other friend needs the place.”

  “I will tell everyone.”

  He shooed her out, and for a moment, she hovered. It was obvious he was overcome by whatever he’d learned in the letter, but it wasn’t her role to pry into what was wrong. She spun and walked out.

  He sat at the desk, feeling as if he’d been turned to stone. He dawdled for an eternity, but he couldn’t imagine how long he tarried. An hour? Two? Three?

  The afternoon colors faded as dusk settled in, and he understood he should leave too, but he couldn’t force himself to go. He’d liked having her in the cottage. He’d liked knowing he could rush over to see her whenever he was lonely and out of sorts. He’d been…been…happy for once.

  Well, he was Sir Sidney’s son, so it was to be expected that a pretty girl could convince him to act like an idiot. It was ludicrous to be so perturbed. He was busy, and she’d been such a distraction.

  He had to ride on to town to check on his sister, and he pushed himself to his feet and went outside. As he shut the door, he fleetingly wondered if he might not simply tear down the bloody house. Why have it standing? It simply represented a humiliating interval he’d rather not recall.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “Can you answer a question for me?”

  “I can answer a thousand questions.”

  Sarah and her brother were back in his library, and it was just the two of them. They’d pulled up chairs so they were facing each other, and they were holding hands, sitting knee to
knee, their feet tangled.

  They were so much alike! Same eyes, same nose, same cheekbones and chin. She couldn’t stop staring.

  Once initial introductions had been made and hugs exchanged, Nell had whisked her away. A bevy of housemaids had bathed, fed, and dressed her. The whole time, Nell had flitted about, clucking her tongue like a mother hen.

  Sarah was so overcome with gratitude that she’d kept bursting into tears. Nell would look horrified, then a new round of cosseting would begin.

  She’d been scrubbed clean and garbed in some of Nell’s clothes, then she’d been escorted down to the library. Nell had locked her in with her brother and had told them to talk for hours if need be. A tray of food had been delivered, and Mr. Dobbs was hovering outside so they could summon him if they required assistance.

  The entire staff seemed to be smiling. All because of her. All because she’d staggered to Selby—thinking it her last resort. But Nathan had been searching for her for months, and the servants viewed themselves as being part of the happy conclusion.

  “What happened to me when I was three?” she asked.

  “You don’t remember?”

  “No. I know I was left on the steps at the orphanage. There was a note in my pocket as to who should be billed for my expenses. My birth certificate was included too, but I never saw it until after my father died and I was clearing out his papers.”

  Nathan launched into a gripping story about their terrible grandfather, Godwin Blake. He and their father, Matthew, had fought constantly. Matthew’s aristocratic wife had perished when Nathan was a baby, then he’d fled Selby and had set up his own home in London.

  He’d hired a pretty, sweet nanny for Nathan named Mary Carter. In the process, he’d fallen madly in love with her, and she’d been Sarah’s mother.

  Then Nathan uttered the most peculiar comment ever. “When you and Rebecca were born, Father was delighted, but Grandfather was enraged.”

  She scowled. “Wait a minute. Who is Rebecca?”

  He blanched with astonishment. “You seriously don’t recollect?”

  “No.” She started to shake, and suddenly, her heart was pounding, her head throbbing. “Are you saying…saying…we have another sibling?”