by Fiona Miers
“I’ll go and start packing.”
Nine
Oliver travelled the over eight miles to London on horseback. His mother was truly scandalized but he preferred her ten-minute outburst of displeasure rather than listen to her talking in the carriage for the whole trip.
They settled into the Lincoln town house easily. Oliver took the Duke’s bedroom, his mother the Duchess’s rooms. Oliver hated that his wife wasn’t in the room adjoining his. It was as though nothing had changed in his life. While inside, Oliver saw the world with completely new eyes.
***
After a month from hell, Oliver had finally given into his mother’s blatant attempts at making him feel guilty about ‘never coming out into society as his title demanded.’ He attended a ball.
He stepped into the music filled room and glanced around the richly dressed, assembled members of the London ton. Hopefully he could dance once with Charlotte or his sister-in-law and then hide in the card room. He spotted the effervescent Lady Charlotte and moved quickly into the safety of her company, recognizing the gentlemen standing in her circle.
“Lady Charlotte,” he said, greeting her with his best courtly bow and a smile. He had few real joys nowadays, but seeing his true friends was one of them.
“John, Archie,” he nodded to his best friends standing near her.
Charlotte curtsied and the gentlemen inclined their heads with a smile.
“Oliver, I didn’t realize you had come back to town,” Charlotte held out her hand and he bent over her fingers and touched his lips to her glove.
The gentlemen shook their heads in agreement and Oliver clenched his teeth, forcing a smile to his lips. He hadn’t been looking forward to this conversation with his friends.
“I’ve been back for a little while.” A whole month, but who was counting?
“Haven’t seen you at the club,” Archie admonished quietly, his elegant eyebrows rising in question.
Oliver lifted a shoulder in a half shrug, glancing away for a moment.
“I have been busy with estate business, and have been working with my fence master quite a bit.”
Every day actually; it was the only thing keeping his body in check. It stopped him from mounting his horse and galloping straight to Scotland. Damn his pride. He wanted his wife.
“Not to mention the fact that you are newly married,” Charlotte teased with a cheeky grin and a sisterly nudge to his side. “Where is that beautiful wife of yours?” Charlotte turned her head, obviously looking for the blonde angel who belonged at his side.
Oliver steeled himself for what he had to tell Charlotte, and for the response he was going to get.
“Actually Charlotte, Sarah has gone to Scotland for the rest of the Season.” He explained as quietly and nonchalantly as possible. He glanced away again, then returned his gaze to her frowning face.
“Pardon?” Charlotte leaned forward, as though she hadn’t heard properly.
“Sarah’s in Scotland.” He was struggling to remain smiling now. His cheeks ached and there was a heaviness on his chest that he couldn’t seem to dislodge. He coughed.
“I’m sorry, Oliver, I must have not have heard you correctly.”
Oliver wasn’t enjoying the play of emotions across Charlotte’s face, they made him feel sick with guilt. She had never hid her feelings well, it was the one thing she didn’t seem to be able to do. He clenched his teeth together and tried once more.
“Sarah’s in Scotland.” He said, this time louder and with more feeling.
“What did you do?” Charlotte swung exasperated eyes heavenward and then fixed them back on his face.
“Charlotte, please,” Oliver wasn’t sure what else to say as he watched Charlotte boil dangerously close to exploding. Her face was turning red and her eyes were practically spitting fire.
“What did you do?” Charlotte lowered her voice when she noticed how many people had now turned to look at them.
She removed the scowl from her face and plastered on a calm facade, although it was obviously on the verge of cracking. The fire beneath was still burning.
“I came to London without my wife.” Oliver repeated the words he knew had to be said but he was loathe to say them. It still hurt that she had chosen Scotland over him.
“And you packed her off to a Scottish castle? Your new wife? Your Duchess?”
“She wanted to go. She wasn’t enjoying being at the estate and when I asked her whether she wanted to come back to London with me or stay there, she chose to travel to Scotland instead.”
“That is impossible. You must have done something very wrong.” Charlotte shook her head, her voice disdainful yet her face outwardly showing only pleasantness.
“I didn’t do a thing. She was welcomed by the servants and myself. When my mother and sister-in-law arrived they tried to...”
“No!” Charlotte’s voice lost the calmness she had recently acquired and she glared at him.
Oliver groaned and rolled his eyes. Really, this was too much, even for him. And he had had plenty of practice managing difficult women.
“You let your mother and that snake of a sister-in-law visit you while you were on your honeymoon?”
“They didn’t visit, they live there.” He couldn’t believe Charlotte would scoff at the idea.
“Oh Sarah, you poor, poor thing,” murmured to herself, clasping her hands in front of her ample bosom.
Charlotte that is really not fair, I didn’t do anything...”
“Exactly. You didn’t do anything to protect your beautiful, sweet, innocent wife from being set upon by the most scheming woman I have ever met.”
Oliver had forgotten that Charlotte and Honoria had debuted in the same year. They were both duke’s daughters and had obviously moved in the same circles. It seemed that Charlotte’s opinion of Honoria was similar to Sarah’s.
“You stupid, ignorant...” As Charlotte blew air out her nostrils and started to wind herself up into a full blown attack, help came from an unexpected corner.
“Lady Charlotte,” Archie stepped in front of Oliver and bowed to her.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?” The question was politely worded but his stance and tone left little to decipher.
Charlotte shut her mouth and eyed Archie with disdain.
“Of course my lord,” her eyes flashed daggers at Oliver even while Archie led her away.
“I wasn’t quite expecting that response.” Oliver muttered to John, the only one still standing near him.
“Charlotte is very fond of Sarah,” John gave him a confused look. “You didn’t really allow your mother and sister-in-law to intrude upon your honeymoon, did you?”
“Not you, too.” Oliver was ready to throw up his hands in defeat. If John wouldn’t defend him, no one would.
“No, don’t get me wrong. If Sarah wanted to go to Scotland, then that’s fine, but why did your mother and Lady Sombury leave London in the middle of the Season to visit you?” John pointed out, his eyebrows rising in a question that Oliver had never asked himself.
“They said they wanted to help, but, well, they didn’t.”
He really didn’t understand why his mother hadn’t left him and Sarah alone. He knew that she didn’t approve of Sarah as the new Duchess, but he hadn’t had the courage to ask his mother to back off, let alone to leave her home.
Her home… that just said it all.
****
Oliver buried himself for another month. When he finally resurfaced, he started attending his club, often spending the afternoons riding or talking with John, Archie or Rupert. He knew he had to attend another ball but he was loathe to do so.
At his club, he placed a fake smile on his face when explaining that his wife had taken to the country for the remainder of the season. Most of the gentlemen shrugged or gave him an understanding wink or nod. They probably thought he had discarded her, yet nothing could be further from the truth.
The one thing he couldn’t for
ce himself to do was indulge in an affair. He could hardly keep his food down when he thought of laying with another woman.
How could he ever touch another woman with the hands that had loved Sarah so well? How would he bring himself to make love to his wife again, knowing where he had put his prick when she wasn’t looking?
He knew everyone expected it. The men gave him a knowing smile when he explained that his wife had stayed on their honeymoon without him. Rupert had even gently suggested he look at finding a discreet mistress. He had been inches away from planting his fist in his friend’s jaw.
Oliver was lost. One more month of the season and he could return to his wife. He would find Sarah and beg her never to allow him to leave her again. He was counting the moments.
***
After an afternoon at his club listening to Archie complain about a ball his mother was forcing him to attend, Oliver decided he would make the effort to attend. Comrades in arms and all that.
Oliver had actually been enjoying himself amongst his peers and friends in the card room when a nasty voice broke through the cigars and whiskey.
“Look who’s here, and without his pretty wife.” The snide comment came from behind John’s back and Oliver looked up to see a large man step out from his friend’s shadow.
“Millington,” Oliver inclined his head and turned back to Archie.
Charles Millington moved around their group and took the seat opposite Oliver.
“So, how’s married life?” He asked with a leer.
“Good.”
“And where is the pretty new Duchess?” Millington looked around the room as though he would see her there.
Oliver gripped his cards tightly in his hands, his palms beginning to sweat. He hadn’t seen Millington since the night he had tried to make Sarah dance with him again and Oliver had punched him in the stomach.
“She’s travelled to Scotland for the season.”
For the first time Oliver was glad Sarah wasn’t in London. She would be horrified if she had to deal with this man again.
“What a pity,” Millington sighed dramatically.
Oliver saw the interested looks they were getting from the gentlemen in the room, but did his best to maintain the illusion that he was in control of his temper.
He smiled and picked up his whisky, swallowing the burning amber liquid with a harsh gulp.
John answered for him. “It is a pity. My sister especially wishes the Duchess had returned.”
“She’s not the only one.” Millington leered again and slapped John on the back. This time Oliver smelled the liquor on his breath and tried his best to unclench his fingers from their tight fists.
“Millington” John’s tone was a warning as he moved restlessly in his seat.
Everyone in the card room was now watching their group. Oliver’s face flushed with hot blood being the center of attention, but nothing could deflect him from the expression on Millington’s face. He looked satisfied, triumphant, and Oliver didn’t know why. He was the one that had won her, he had married her, taken her virginity and enjoyed months in her bed. Why was Millington looking so smug?
“Why do you care Millington? She’s nothing to you.” Oliver shot back, propriety be damned.
Millington laughed, the sound rough and too loud.
“But I was so hoping that she could be.” His lustful eyes told Oliver more than his words could about what he wanted from Sarah.
“That is completely uncalled for,” John surged to his feet in time with Oliver. Millington slowly followed.
“Speak plainly, Millington.” Standing now, the bastard was within arm’s reach.
“Oh, I just hoped now that she was married, Sarah would indulge herself like so many other married ladies.”
Oliver moved before he had even finished the sentence. Wrapping his hands around the other man’s throat he squeezed, remembering the way Sarah had looked that first night.
“Over my dead body.”
“Oliver, stop.” John pulled Oliver’s hands away with effort.
Oliver forced his aching hands to relax and released Millington’s throat reluctantly. He glared at the disgusting man, who was still a mottled red and turned to leave.
He heard Millington wheeze and cough, then speak “You can’t protect her night and day, do you realize that? When she’s in London next season, I will make sure she grants me an audience.”
Oliver froze. As a married woman, Sarah wasn’t as protected as virgins were. She was allowed to walk alone, ride in carriages alone and meet gentlemen in his home alone. Oliver had a vision of Sarah’s lovely body held prostrate under Millington’s, fighting him to no avail.
Oliver turned and swung, putting all his anger and pain behind his fist and hit Millington squarely in the side of the head. Pain splintered through his hand and he roared. Millington went down and didn’t get back up.
The rest of the night was a bit of a blur. A doctor was called, Oliver was rushed home and a police report was made. No one blamed Oliver and as a Duke, he was beyond reproach. Millington regained consciousness the next day, with no lasting effects. Oliver only hoped he had the chance to plant the bastard properly the next time he saw him.
****
Many miles away in Scotland, Graves, the Lincoln’s butler was indulging in a habit he rarely allowed himself, gossip. His wife, the housekeeper, was worried about their new Duchess.
“I don’t like it, Isaac, I just don’t like it.” Mrs. Graves told her husband in bed that night. “She’s clearly pregnant and miserable.”
“Do you think the Duke knows?” Graves asked his wife the question he very much wanted to know the answer to.
How could the new Duke he had known as a young man turn out to be so heartless? Her Grace was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. She was also kind to the servants, clearly well bred, elegant and thoughtful.
She was also definitely not born to be a Duchess. She had been found making her own bed, baking a cake in the kitchen and dusting the bookshelves in the library. Her actions would usually have sent the maids into a mad rush to stop her and do a better job themselves. However, they had been warned of her need to do odd jobs like the dusting through a carefully worded letter from the Duke, therefore they had let her do whatever she wanted. In response, the Duchess had been glowing with happiness.
“I don’t know. But it would be horrible if he did. That would mean he got her pregnant, shipped her here and then ran back to London to go back to bedding his whores.” Mrs. Graves answered, with a shake of her head.
Graves clucked his tongue disapprovingly at his wife’s language.
Mrs. Graves gave him that look which told him she knew exactly what young men did, and promptly turned over to go to sleep.
****
In another part of the ancient castle, namely the Duchess’s bed chamber, Sarah sat awake with a book to read.
She found it very hard to sleep most nights. Her back hurt already and she only had a small bump. She didn’t know how she would cope when she was bigger. Sarah put her book of French poetry aside and blew out the candles next to her bed.
The fire in the grate cast a small amount of light in the room, and Sarah lay down and pulled her gown up to her waist. She smiled as she ran her hands over her belly. On her back her womb seemed to distend and she could feel the protrusion of her growing babe. Sarah took so much pleasure from her growing child that she rarely thought of Oliver, only once an hour or so. Sarah smiled again as she felt the small flutter of movement deep in her belly. Oliver had given this child to her in a moment of love and passion. Yes, that love and passion had died, but this child would bring them back together.
Sarah still didn’t know why Oliver had withdrawn from her, but she knew it had everything to do with his family. As her husband and as a man, Oliver had loved her. He had laughed with her, cared for her and brought her incredible pleasure in his bed.
But as a son and the new Duke of Lincoln, he seemed lost, ang
ry, upset and frustrated. Somehow their marriage had become that too. Over the past two months Sarah had realized that she could have done more to hold their marriage together. She could have stayed by his side, she could have talked to him, she could have stood up to his family more often. Sarah resolved to do so when she went back to London, after the babe was born.
She had decided to stay in Scotland and birth her babe in the ancient castle. She was happy here. The servants treated her with respect and warmth. They smiled at her and listened to her, and didn’t get upset when she did things that normal Duchesses didn’t do.
When Sarah had arrived in Scotland she had felt like a small, wounded animal. She had spent her nights trying not to cry into her pillows and her days wandering aimlessly around the glorious castle. But after two months of good food, clean air and reflection she knew that she would manage to get her husband back.
Sarah’s mother had visited for two weeks a month before. Her mother had taken one look at her and known what was going on. Sarah smiled and remembered.
“Daughter, it appears that you need to weep, long and loudly, her mother had told her, running a loving hand down her cheek.
Sarah had said, “I shouldn’t mother, it’s not good for the baby.”
“Oh, nonsense, I spent half my pregnancies in tears over nothing and there’s nothing wrong with any of you, come here.”
And thus given permission to grieve, Sarah had cried and cried. Letting so many tears fall that she felt severely dehydrated after she was done. Her mother had held her, rocked her and had told her everything was going to be all right. To have faith in herself, her husband and God. That was when Sarah had known she would be all right.
The only thing that still bothered Sarah was the thought of Oliver going to another woman in London. It tormented her daily but she clung to the memories of their passion, hoping he would not need to replace her. She was terribly afraid he would, as most husbands in his peerage would. But then she would remember his promise to be faithful, lay her hand on her belly and try to be positive.