Always Yours

by Cheryl Holt

  He’d had a traumatic childhood, and he’d spent his life running away from it, but he was home for good, and with Nell by his side, everything was perfect.

  He couldn’t believe his sister had strolled in the door. All summer, Nell had been talking about her friend Sarah Robertson, with neither of them realizing that her Sarah was his Sarah too. She was at Selby now, which was right where she’d always belonged.

  On her arrival, her condition had been dire, so she’d shown up at the precise instant he could aid her the most.

  His main gift to her would be to find Rebecca. He had several clerks scouring old records, interviewing parish vicars, and visiting various coastal towns. So far, they’d had no luck, but he refused to accept they wouldn’t locate her. When they did, when she came home too, what a reunion they would have!

  Matthew Blake’s three children, together at Selby!

  He heard Nell walking down the hall. For what seemed like an eternity, she’d been chatting with Sarah, so it was very late. He supposed he should have slinked off to bed without her, and she’d probably scold him for staying up, but he actually liked her scolding. Her green eyes were so pretty when she was angry.

  “There you are,” she said as she entered the room. “I went up to our bedchamber, and of course, you weren’t in bed as you should have been.”

  “I’m not tired.” Ever since the debacle in Africa, insomnia had been his constant companion. “Besides, you have to repeat your conversation with Sarah word for word.”

  “This was the best day ever,” she said as she snuggled next to him. “Except for maybe the day you and I met.”

  “I agree. Was she calmed enough to fall asleep?”

  “Yes, but it took forever. She had a hundred stories.”

  “I’ve been pondering how odd it is that she was your friend.”

  “Fate has been guiding our paths.”

  “I agree about that too.”

  They were quiet for a bit, enjoying the comfortable silence, then she said, “I have to tell you a secret she shared with me, but it’s difficult, and I’m afraid you won’t like it.”

  “I’ll try to bear up,” he facetiously retorted.

  She tsked. “I’m being serious, and I need you to be serious too.”

  “I will be serious as a priest at a funeral.”

  He’d expected she would reveal some inane feminine issue about clothes or money or some other topic that wouldn’t interest him in the slightest, so when she slid away and moved to the chair across, he was a tad disconcerted.

  What could it be?

  “I won’t hem and haw,” she said. “I’ll explain what happened, then we’ll deal with it in a sane fashion.”

  “Good. I can’t abide dithering.”

  “Sarah is in a jam.”

  “What sort of jam?”

  “It seems, dear Nathan, that she was seduced by a scoundrel.”

  He winced. “Is she increasing?”

  “It’s too early to be certain.”

  “Who is the scoundrel?”

  Nell sighed. “This is the tricky part.”

  “Why is it tricky? If he toyed with her affections, he’ll have to pay a price.”

  “I heartily concur.”

  “Is she in love with him? Would she like to have him as a husband? Even if she wouldn’t, if she winds up with child, there will have to be a quick wedding.”

  “She might be terribly in love with him, but they separated on bad terms, mostly because of his family, so I can’t guess how she’d view a marriage. I doubt she’d want to wed him when his relatives hate her.”

  “They don’t get to have an opinion.” He downed his whiskey and put the empty glass on the table between them. “Who is the scoundrel? Is it anyone I know?”

  “Oh, yes, you know him, and before I provide his name, you have to promise you won’t fly into a rage.”

  “I never fly into rages.”

  “Don’t pretend with me,” she scoffed. “You can’t.”

  She stared him down, and finally, he asked, “Well? Are you going to tell me who it is?”

  “I’m waiting for you to swear you’ll remain calm.”

  “All right, all right, I swear. Who is it?”

  “It’s Sebastian Sinclair.”

  He cocked his head, confused by her comment. “Sebastian ruined my sister? Is that what you said?”

  “You heard me loud and clear. The orphanage was shut down, and he let her tarry at the Haven so she’d be close by and he’d have plenty of opportunities to wear her down. Then—after he’d succeeded in seducing her—he kicked her out. It’s why she ended up here.”

  “Sebastian kicked her out? He did that to her? Really? He can be a pompous ass, but I can’t picture him acting that way.”

  “Both of you have changed since you returned from Africa.”

  “True.”

  For most of his life, he’d been a man who blustered forward and seized what he craved, so he’d never kept his promises. He was trying to behave better for his wife, and he never liked to upset her.

  But…

  Sebastian had ruined Sarah? He’d trifled with her, then kicked her out so she was alone and endangered?

  Suddenly, he felt as if he might explode with fury. He leapt to his feet and hurled his whiskey glass at the fireplace. It shattered, the pieces crashing to the floor.

  “I will kill him!” he fumed. “I will absolutely kill him!”

  “You swore you’d remain calm!”

  “I lied.”

  * * * *

  “I would have your answer immediately.”

  Sebastian glared at his mother. “Why must you nag the minute I walk in the door?”

  “You haven’t just walked in. You’ve been here for half an hour.”

  “If you’re about to start in on me, my visit is over.”

  “I assume you’re planning another expedition to Africa.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He was forlorn and out of sorts and missing everyone: Sir Sidney, Nathan, Raven, Sarah, even Noah and Petunia. Why not plan another trip? The details would occupy his mind so he wouldn’t have the time or energy to mope.

  “You’re already thirty,” she said, “and if you’re gone for three years, you’ll be thirty-three when you return.”

  “You were always very good at math.”

  “Or what if you meet with a dire fate while you’re away?”

  “I’ll try my best to avoid it.”

  “Veronica won’t wait forever,” she warned.

  “As you never cease to mention.”

  “Why are you so opposed? What is wrong with her?”

  “Nothing’s wrong with her.”

  “You’re being fussy for no reason?”

  “I guess.”

  He was being very impertinent, and she threw up her hands. “I give up. Stay a bachelor if you wish. Journey to the darkest corner of the Earth and get yourself murdered like your father. Leave us with no heir to inherit. Who cares about the future? You certainly don’t, so why should I?”

  They were in her front parlor again. She was seated on the sofa by the fire, and he was in a chair across from her. He’d only stopped by to check on Ophelia, but she was never home when he arrived.

  Gertrude claimed she was recovering from her ordeal, but he hadn’t had occasion to speak to her himself. It wouldn’t surprise him to learn she’d been locked in a closet, with his mother never intending to release her.

  He stood and went to the window to stare out into the garden. Veronica was hosting a tea party in the solarium, it being too chilly to hold it under a tent in the grass. A dozen ladies were present, and her annoying little dogs were yapping at her feet, her guests laughing gaily.

  She was a beautiful female, but in an icy, aloof way. Gertrude had been set on her being his bride for so long that he couldn’t remember a period when it hadn’t been her great dream. It wasn’t the worst idea. Cousins always married. It kept the money
and property in the family, without having to split acreage or share assets with outsiders.

  She had a fantastic dowry and much of the land in it was adjacent to one of his biggest estates. It would double the size. With her delivering that type of benefit, why was he dithering?

  His sole complaint about her was that she was too young and he didn’t particularly like her. But what man liked his wife? None that he knew of. Nathan had seemed fond of his, but he was in the early stages yet.

  In a year or two, Nathan would likely be as miserable as every other husband.

  Veronica noticed him watching her, and she smiled and waved. Her acquaintances looked at him, and titters flew around the table. Did they all assume the match arranged? Why not make it a reality?

  After having been so foolish over Sarah, he was feeling quite stupid. Why not behave rationally for a change? Why not wed the girl his mother had picked for him ages ago?

  He spun back to Gertrude and, lest his courage fail him, he said, “I believe I will propose to Veronica.”

  Thankfully, she didn’t gloat. She merely nodded. “Marvelous. When can we accomplish it? When would be convenient for you?”

  “You’re having a supper party on Saturday night. How about if we take care of it then?”

  “That would be perfect. We can have the men lift a few toasts. May I tell Veronica what’s about to transpire? Or would you like to surprise her?”

  He glanced out to where she was gossiping animatedly with her guests. He tried to picture climbing into a bed with her, fornicating with her, waking up next to her, eating breakfast together, but he couldn’t imagine any of it.

  “You can tell her if you want,” he said. “I don’t mind.”

  “She’ll be eager to primp and preen so she’s especially glamorous.”

  He snorted at that. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

  “Drinks at seven, supper at nine.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  “Won’t you walk out and speak with her? She hates it when you sneak off.”

  “I can’t bear to meet any of her friends, and besides, I’ll be speaking to her plenty on Saturday night. I’ll be saying the only thing she’s ever yearned to hear from me.”

  Suddenly, he felt extremely ill. His stomach was churning, his head pounding, as if with an influenza.

  “What would you think if Ophelia stayed with me for awhile?” he said. “She likes it at the Haven, and the country air might invigorate her.”

  “I’d be relieved to get her out of my hair. All she does is mope. Perhaps you would alter her mood.”

  “Ask her for me, would you? She’d be welcome whenever it suits her.”

  He was suffocating and desperate to be away. He left without another word, and he hurried out to the foyer. He was frantic, the oddest bursts of anxiety pummeling him.

  “Sebastian!”

  He peered up as Ophelia was rushing down the stairs.

  “How are you?” he asked. “I’ve visited a half-dozen times, but I’ve never been able to catch you.”

  “I’m fine.” She paused, then chuckled. “I take that back. I’m not fine, but I’m fine enough.”

  “Why don’t you come to the Haven for a bit? I questioned Mother about it, and she’s amenable.”

  “I’ll consider it.” She frowned and peeked toward the parlor. Then, more quietly, she murmured, “Have you been chatting with Mother?”

  “Yes. For a change, she has some good news to share. I’ve decided to propose to Veronica.”

  He’d thought the announcement would cheer her, that she’d squeal with delight or clap her hands or at least smile, but no flicker of sentiment crossed her face.

  “Are you sure you should?” she stunned him by inquiring.

  “I’ve been putting it off forever, and I have to move on with my life. I’ll ask her at Mother’s soiree on Saturday.”

  As he voiced the comment, his stomach churned even more violently, and he truly worried he might be ill all over his mother’s expensive carpet.

  Ophelia stepped nearer and said, “Can I tell you something? It’s really important.”

  “Yes, of course, but…but…I’m afraid it will have to wait. I’m not well.”

  “Oh.”

  “Come to the Haven. You can tell me there. Or you can tell me on Saturday night! We’ll talk then.”

  It was all he could manage.

  He ran out the door, jumped on his horse, and galloped away. The farther he traveled from his mother’s house, the more his condition improved.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Veronica peered around Gertrude’s packed parlor, wanting to catalogue every detail so she’d always remember. The guests were a collection of aristocrats, political elites, and rich acquaintances. They represented the very cream of London society, and they would all witness her glorious achievement.

  People were peeking at her, gossip swirling, and she supposed rumors about the engagement had filtered out through the servants. After Gertrude had spilled the beans, the entire household had been in a frenzy of preparation for the party, so word would have leaked out.

  She was trying to appear very calm, as if she had no idea what was coming, but she probably wasn’t hiding much from anyone who studied her too closely. She might have raised her fist and crowed in triumph over how she’d snagged the biggest marital prize of the decade, but a lady never behaved in such a crass way.

  It was almost eight-thirty, and the meal would be served at nine. Sebastian had strolled in mere minutes before, arriving so fashionably late that she’d begun to grow alarmed. Had he decided not to propose after all?

  But no, he’d entered, looking as handsome and dashing as ever, but treating her as he usually had—like a pesky little sister. It was how he treated Ophelia.

  He hadn’t dawdled by her side—as if they were a couple—but had immediately proceeded into the next room to drink brandy with some friends. His conduct was infuriating, but she refused to be annoyed. It was her grand night!

  As she’d briefly welcomed him, he hadn’t given her any hint of his intentions, hadn’t winked or whispered an anticipatory comment in her ear. He hadn’t asked her to sneak off so he could speak to her away from the crowd, and she was on pins and needles, wondering when he’d get on with it.

  Would he wait until just before supper was announced? Would he do it as the meal commenced? After it ended?

  She was so anxiously impatient she could barely keep from fidgeting.

  Ophelia was over in the corner, glaring at Veronica. She’d been in a snit ever since Veronica had admitted how she and Gertrude had chased away that tart, Miss Robertson. Well, Ophelia could fume all she liked, but Veronica was delighted with how the incident had brought her precisely what she craved.

  Miss Robertson had only been gone from their lives for a matter of days, and Veronica’s destiny was so changed that a magic wand might have been waved to create the future she’d always envisioned.

  Still though, it was exhausting to have Ophelia glowering. They’d been best friends forever, and she couldn’t comprehend why Ophelia wasn’t more excited that the betrothal was finally about to occur.

  She went over to her, and she didn’t beat around the bush.

  “Why are you so grouchy? You should be celebrating! I certainly am.”

  “I can’t forget how you tricked Miss Robertson.”

  Veronica rolled her eyes. “I shouldn’t have mentioned it to you, and I wish you’d stop obsessing. You were the one who told your mother about her. It worked out exactly as you were hoping, so I don’t understand why you’re complaining.”

  “I think he loved her,” Ophelia ludicrously said.

  “He did not. He would never have suffered heightened emotion for such an inappropriate person.”

  “He’s never looked at you the way he looked at her.”

  “So?”

  “What if he learns how you and Mother treated her? Aren’t you worried?”

  “No,
I’m not worried, and you’re being ridiculous.”

  “I met with her once,” Ophelia said.

  “You shouldn’t have.”

  “I was rude to her, but since then, I’ve pondered her a lot. She was actually quite remarkable. She owned her own business, and she was very independent. She didn’t need some stupid man to tell her how to carry on. She was so lucky.”

  “Why would a woman want to live without a man guiding her actions? What an absurd notion.”

  “Sebastian admired her strong attributes. What can you offer him that might convince him to like you?”

  Ophelia’s query was so offensive that Veronica was flummoxed over how to respond. She glanced about nervously, eager to locate Gertrude, so she could deal with her boorish daughter, but she was nowhere to be found.

  “If you’re so miserable, Ophelia,” she said, “why stay down here? I’m positive you’d be happier if you returned to your bedchamber.”

  “I have to talk to Sebastian, but he’s been surrounded ever since he walked in.”

  “What is it you have to discuss with him?” Veronica’s panic soared, and she leaned nearer and hissed, “I swear, Cousin, if you ruin this for me, I will absolutely kill you!”

  “I have to ask him about my half-siblings. I’d like him to find out where they are, so I can be sure they’re safe.”

  “Honestly, Ophelia! What is wrong with you?” Veronica furtively pinched her arm as she murmured, “You will not ask him about them! Do you hear me? You will not ask!”

  Ophelia yanked away, and they might have broken out in a full-on quarrel, but suddenly, the butler stepped in and announced, “May I present Nathan Blake, Lord Selby?”

  Every head whipped toward the door, craning so violently she was amazed people didn’t topple over. They were all aware of the protracted dispute between Lord Selby and Sebastian, and they’d be thrilled to observe any encounter.

  He marched in as if he owned the residence, and her initial thought was that perhaps Sebastian had secretly mended their feud, that he’d invited Lord Selby so the guests would be surprised. At the prospect, her tummy tickled with glee.

  If that was the case, the articles in the newspaper about her engagement would be splendid. But on further appraisal, she doubted he’d been invited. He wasn’t dressed for a fancy party, but was attired in his riding clothes—leather trousers, scuffed boots, a wool coat—as if he’d just galloped in from the country.