“At this point,” Justin remarked, slipping into his own jacket, “I care not what you believe. And stop Your Gracing me. Makes me want to spill the contents in my stomach, for all the good it’s doing me at present.”
“Graphic,” Sebastian commented wryly, as Justin strode from the room.
*** *** ***
“Was that ...?” Sara perked up on the sofa in the east tea room. Stared at the open doorway. Justin? She rose to her feet.
“What was that, my dear?” Her father set down his chintz teacup. “Did you say something?”
“Lord Carrington.” She peered outside the doorway, looked left and right. Left again. She could’ve sworn she just saw Justin and Sebastian walking toward one way or the other. But they were nowhere in sight.
She stepped out into the hallway.
“He is probably going out,” Anna replied distractedly. She’d joined them--Sara, Sara’s father, and Cav--in the tea room some twenty minutes ago. The duchess still remained to be seen. “Sebastian was no doubt at his heels.”
Sara nodded. “I believe so.”
“As I said,” Anna murmured into her tea cup. “Inseparable, those two. I should’ve expected no less than Sebastian’s gluing himself to Justin’s side once we reached Mayfair. He was practically a son to my father.”
“You seem to be in amiable spirits, considering the circumstances, Lady Anna.” Cav was seated across from Anna and Sara’s father, thumbing through a pressed copy of today’s paper. He’d behaved himself for the most part, the only exception being his attempt to seat himself beside Sara, at which he was quickly rebuked by the duke and ordered to sit elsewhere. “Truly,” he said, “you seem rather ... refreshed.”
Anna smiled congenially. “I thank you, Mr. Cavanaugh. It pleases me to know my father no longer suffers. Perhaps that is the refreshment you see.”
“Indeed.”
Sara stole another glance down the hallway. No maids. No footmen. No Sebastian. And, most unfortunately, no Justin. Certainly they wouldn’t have gone out in these conditions? They could be hurt, killed.
“Come away from the doorway, my dear,” her father said. “You do no good to yourself, pining after Lord Carrington’s whereabouts as so. I am certain he shall return shortly.”
“I should go to him.” She didn’t want him to be alone, or maybe it was she who didn’t want to be without him.
“You will do no such thing.” She’d heard that particular tone in her father’s voice before. “Now, sit down, Sara.” And when she blinked at him in surprise: “Please.”
Lifting her chin, Sara walked stiffly to the sitting area and seated herself beside Anna, who offered her a weak smile of consolation.
“I do adore that color on you, Sara.” Anna brushed her hand lightly over the skirt of Sara’s pale blue muslin.
“Thank you,” Sara said feebly. “Likewise. This pink is lovely.”
“Do you think? I wasn’t sure.”
They had changed out of their soggy, rain-soaked gowns--Sara to her pale blue with tiny white flowers, and Anna to a gorgeous gown of solid, pale pink muslin--before joining Cav and the duke for tea. Naturally Lana threw a small tantrum, complained that Sara had managed to ruin not one, but two gowns that day, each of which had cost her father enough to feed a family of six for a blimmin’ year.
But Sara couldn’t find the will to counter Lana’s chastisement. She was tired; she was hungry. More than anything, she longed for Justin. It was as if a part of her was missing.
“Pink is not a color I would normally choose for myself,” Anna went on to say. “With my light hair and complexion, it tends to make me appear washed out.”
Washed Out. Exactly how Sara felt at present.
She folded her hand around Anna’s. “Perhaps we should take a turn about the room?” Because sitting on this uncomfortable sofa any longer, thinking of nothing but Justin, was liable to kill her.
“A most agreeable idea, Lady Ballivar.” Anna stood and linked her arm with Sara’s. Cav and the duke stood as well. “My limbs need loosening. The rain put quite a chill in my bones. Please, do sit, gentlemen.”
Cav and the duke murmured their acknowledgments and returned to their seats, Cav sticking his nose in his newspaper, the duke staring off into the space, slowly sipping his tea.
“Your father seems distant,” Anna said quietly as they passed a statue of the goddess Helene. “Is he all right?”
Sara looked over her shoulder. “He grieves for your father. After all these years, he still considered the Duke of Tethersal to be his dearest friend.”
“My father spoke of your father often. He would tell us, Justin and myself, that is, stories of when they were on campaign together in Brussels, and all the nights they spent waiting for Emperor Bonaparte’s armies. Spook tales, I always thought. I was never able to sleep afterward.”
“My father never spoke of it.” Why not? Sara suddenly wondered. “Perhaps the memories were too horrific.”
“Perhaps.”
They promenaded past Cav and Sara’s father, the latter giving no sign he’d even noticed them.
Cav looked over his paper, dipped his chin. “Lady Ballivar. Lady Anna.”
“Mr. Cavanaugh,” they said in unison, and continued around the room.
“I kissed Sebastian,” Anna whispered once they were out of earshot.
“What!”
“Shh!”
Sara peeked over her shoulder to see that Cav was gazing peculiarly at the two of them.
“Everything all right?” he asked.
“Fine,” Sara said at once. “Just lost my footing.”
This seemed to satisfy him, and he went back to his paper.
Anna let out a little giggle.
“You kissed Sebastian?” Sara asked, discreetly now.
“Well, actually,” Anna said, “I do believe he kissed me.”
“What happened?”
“Well ... I went into my father’s room with my mother, Justin and Sebastian. The family solicitor was there, too.”
Sara felt her brow pucker. Why would the solicitor be here so early on?
“Mother almost collapsed, but Justin caught her in time,” Anna said. “And I ... well, I had been crying for some time, you see. And yet, when I saw him, my father that is, I ...” She paused, as if trying to find the right words. “I could not cry.”
“Oh,” Sara said softly. “Shock, perhaps?”
“Even so, I was rather angry with myself. Why could I not cry? So I left the room, and Sebastian, well, he followed.” She stopped, glanced over at Cav and the duke, who paid them no mind, and continued in a whisper. “He told me I was too lovely to be so angry all the time.”
Sara held back a smile. So, it hadn’t been merely her imagination when, after Justin had chided Anna in the foyer of this very house, Sebastian had seemed distressed. Sebastian had gazed upon Anna with longing, and now it was clear why.
He was in love with her.
Well. Maybe love was a bit too strong of a word. Fond of her, perhaps. Yes. Didn’t Papa always say boys teased the girls they liked the most? And wasn’t Sebastian always fighting with Anna over the most childish matters?
Enlightened by her discovery, Sara said, “Then what happened?”
“Well,” Anna said conspiratorially, “he told me that he was sorry for my loss, that he loved my father too. And then, well ...” Her cheeks turned brilliant pink, lips curved into a smile. “It just happened.”
“And? How was it?”
“Sara!” Anna gasped, and then, lowering her voice back to a whisper, “What a thing to ask!”
“Well?”
“It was wonderful. Oh, but he does kiss finely, Sara. Very finely. Although ...”
“Although?”
“Nothing could ever come of it.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because,” Anna said, “he is a rake. A scoundrel. He could never be faithful, and I refuse to marry a man who cannot devote himself to me
fully.”
Sara didn’t want to either, but she’d already decided she’d live with Justin’s infidelities. Even though it would more than likely kill her.
They walked past Cav and the duke again, and this time, just as Cav murmured his polite acknowledgment, the duke rose to his feet.
Sara and Anna came to a halt.
“Pardon.” He raked a trembling hand through his hair. “I believe I shall go out for a while. Clear my head.”
“Are you all right, Papa?”
“Yes, of course,” he said, too quickly for Sara to believe he was, actually, all right. But she didn’t question it. “I shall return shortly.”
“Shall I accompany you, Your Grace?” asked Cav.
The duke regarded him evenly, hesitated, and said, “Yes. I believe you may.”
It couldn’t have been any clearer that Cav really had no desire to leave; he exchanged a look with Sara that, to her mind, might have been a silent plea for her to insist he stay in the room.
Sara raised a brow. “Do take good care of my father,” she said, and nearly laughed as Cav gave her a scowl becoming a four year old.
His lips thinned, eyes turned a shade of dark, murky emerald; the sea, blackening under a night sky. “As you wish, my lady. His comfort is priority.”
As the duke left the room, Cav stalking irritably behind him, Sara let out a laugh.
“You are so bad!” Anna chided, but she, too, was laughing. “Poor Mr. Cavanaugh. He wants you all to himself, you know.”
“Well, he cannot have me.”
Anna was still laughing. “You have grown attached to my brother.”
“I ...” How did she put this without sounding like a lovesick halfwit? “I find him agreeable, now we have become better acquainted.”
“You needn’t sound as if you are still forced to marry him.” Anna gave Sara’s arm an affectionate squeeze, and it was almost as though they were sisters, gliding about the room as if they’d done so a thousand times. “I know you want to marry him. I see it there, in your eyes. You love him, no?”
Sara felt her cheeks inflame. Was she so obvious? She’d tried to be discreet with the admiring glances in Justin’s direction, the stares of unadulterated longing.
“Well?” Anna persisted.
“I suppose I do, yes.”
“Oh!” Anna squeezed Sara’s arm. “I knew it! I am so happy for the two of you. Really, I am. No one could have been a better match for my brother.”
“I am pleased you think so.”
“I know so. Have you told him?”
“Heavens no!” Sara said, stopping altogether. “Why should I have done? It matters not, does it?”
“Not matter?” Anna gripped Sara’s shoulders in her hands. “Of course it matters!”
“Why?”
“Is it not obvious? He loves you too, and if you do not tell him--”
“What?” Sara whispered, aghast. Could it be true? Had Anna witnessed in Justin’s eyes the same affection she’d seen in Sara’s? “How?”
“I. Just. Know.” Anna punctuated every word with a tap of her forefinger to Sara’s nose. “He is besotted. Cannot think of anything else. He even told Lady St. Clair to leave the house party, lest he throw her out on her arse himself.”
“He said that!”
“More or less. He might have been more discreet.”
“Indeed,” Sara murmured, still trying to come to grips with the fact that Justin might love her. The only question was ... would it be enough?
“So you see,” Anna continued, “you must tell him. It would make matters so much more pleasant. If he realizes you love him in return, he’ll have the strength to move forward, all the more for us all to move forward. To get past what we knew was inevitable.”
“What about you and Sebastian?”
Anna jerked her head back in surprise. “What about me and Sebastian?”
“He kissed you,” Sara reminded her. “I do not believe Sebastian would kiss you unless he truly wanted to.”
“Pish.” Anna waived her hand, and sauntered back to the sitting area. “There is no me and Sebastian,” she said, sipping her tea. “It was only a kiss. That is all it was to me, and most definitely all it was to him. A comforting gesture for the loss of my father. Nothing more.”
Not only did Sara refuse to believe Sebastian, rakehell though he was, would kiss Anna unless he truly wanted to, but she also didn’t believe he’d do it for comfort’s sake. Anna was his best friend’s sister. Rakehell or no, Sebastian would never do anything to impair his relationship with Justin.
Unless, of course, it was worth it. And Sara was about to tell Anna just that when Cav entered the room looking rather vexed.
“Mr. Cavanaugh. I thought you were accompanying my father to ... er, wherever he was going.”
“Change of plans.”
There was a bang, sounding like a vase or perhaps a small statue hitting the floor, followed by a growling curse, and a higher-pitched voice saying, “So sorry, Your Grace. I’ll have that cleaned up right away.”
“Just get rid of it,” came the low reply.
Justin. He hadn’t left. He was still here. Oh, but he didn’t sound happy.
And then there were footsteps, several of them.
“Who do you suppose ...?” Anna began, but was cut short by Cav, who had apparently anticipated the question.
“His Grace, the Duke of Kilkenny, His Grace, the Duke of Tethersal, and His Lordship, the Marquess of Beaufort.”
“Justin,” Sara said without thought or care to the glare of disapproval Cav shot in her direction.
“I thought for sure they were going out,” Anna murmured, and when Justin entered the room, followed close by Sebastian and a befuddled looking Duke of Kilkenny: “We thought you were going out. Is something amiss?”
Though impeccably dressed in a pair of fresh and, more importantly, dry black breeches, a crisp shirt and cravat with a marvelous brocade waistcoat of azure blue, Justin seemed strained, his features taut. As if at any moment he might spew up the pheasant they’d shared earlier.
“Yes,” he said, and shoved a hand through his hair, adding disheveled to his constricted appearance. “Yes, something is amiss.”
“What’s happened?” asked Anna.
“Apparently,” Sara’s father said hesitantly, “something that requires all our presence.” At Justin’s nod, he added, “I assume Phillip’s funeral arrangements are being carried out?”
“Yes, of course,” Justin replied. “But that is not what I--” He stopped, turned to the footman standing just inside the doorway. “My mother. Fetch her, please.”
The man bowed, murmured, “Your Grace,” and exited the room.
Right, Sara thought absently. He’s the duke now. Should she have curtsied? But then he hadn’t even acknowledged her presence; hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction. A little irritating when hours earlier they had been locked in the most scandalous of positions in the middle of a beech forest.
In awkward silence, they waited, the only sound being the abrupt clearing of Sebastian’s throat when, after a fleeting moment of his eyes locking with Anna’s, she blushed and turned to take a seat on the sofa. Giving up on Justin’s acknowledgment--he was presently studying a painting of couples dancing at a ball--Sara sighed and sat beside Anna.
“What do you suppose is going on?” she whispered.
“I have no idea, but”--Anna gave a short nod in Justin’s direction--“never have I seen him like this.”
The duchess entered the room, dressed in black bombazine from head to toe, her eyes bloodshot, face pale and tear-streaked. The men bowed, murmured their greetings. Sara and Anna stood and bobbed curtsies.
“Your Grace,” the duchess murmured as Sara’s father took her hand and brushed a kiss to her knuckles. She turned to Justin, eyes brimming. “Your Grace.” And then she promptly burst into tears.
“My lady.” Sara’s father wrapped his arm around the duchess’s wai
st, and ushered her to the sitting area. “’Tis all right,” he whispered into her ear. “He is with God now. My lady, please. Please, do not cry.”
They sat down together, and the duchess buried her face into the duke’s shoulder. “Oh ... oh, Bradley,” she sobbed, her entire body shaking. “Why?”
“Shh.” He folded an arm around her trembling shoulders. “There, there, Lizzy. Do not cry, I beg you.”
Sara blinked. Never had she seen her father comfort another human being this way. It was strange, yet decidedly endearing.
“Right, then,” Justin said, garnering everyone’s attention. “Since we are all here, I have an announcement to make. Simmons and I have discussed several important factors over the past hour, all of which affect nearly every person in this room.”
“Simmons?” asked Sara.
Finally, finally Justin looked at her. But his gaze was so even, so impassive, she wished he hadn’t done. “The family solicitor,” he said, and just like that, his eyes left hers again.
Inconsiderate man. Didn’t she deserve more attention than this? Sure, she wasn’t the only one in the room, and his mother probably needed more attention than any of them, but shouldn’t he have at least said ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’ or ... or something?
“It appears as though my marriage contract to Lady Ballivar is hereby null and void.”
“What!”
Sara looked around, and suddenly realized it was she who had gasped the outburst. Her hands went clammy. A dull ache accumulated in her belly. It couldn’t be. It just ... no. It was impossible. How?
“How?” Sara sought out her father’s eyes. “How?”
Kilkenny, who still had the duchess cradled beneath his arm, did not answer. His face was grim, drawn as though he’d eaten a bad piece of fruit.
“By all means.” Justin moved closer to where they were seated. “Explain to us how this change of events has come about, Your Grace.”
Sara gazed from her father to Justin, who still wouldn’t look at her, and back again. “Father?”
“Lord Carrington,” he said, “has taken over the dukedom before the tenure of your betrothal contract has been met.”
“Meaning?” Justin prompted him. His stance was powerful: feet shoulder width apart, arms folded over his chest, head inclined.
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