by Betina Krahn
He put in a few dramatic flourishes: clasping his chest and lifting his chin to a ridiculous height. From outside the doors came the strains of violins in accompaniment. He had recruited Cece and Julian? She laughed even harder.
By the time Clementine “hit her foot against a splinter” and “fell into the foaming brine,” she was weak with laughter and had to lean on the pillows for support.
But the real climax was something not even Arthur could have predicted. When Clementine’s ruby lips were “blowing bubbles, soft and fine” a terrible howl arose outside the window. Arthur stopped singing and rushed to see what was happening. On the darkened lawn below the window sat Nero, Nellie, Lance, and Gwenny . . . their muzzles pointed skyward as they howled in concert with his singing.
Refusing to be bested, Arthur stalked back to his spot in the moonlight and continued to sing . . . about how he missed his Clementine. And the dogs took up howling again. This time he continued to the end, where he “kissed her little sister,” then “I forgot my Clementine.”
From outside the door, voices joined him and the howling dogs in a final chorus . . . that soon dissolved into hysterical laughter.
Sarah was weak as she slid from the bed and rushed to him with open arms.
“You crazy, wonderful man!” She hugged him wildly, kissed him deeply, and succeeded in drawing him into her mirth. Soon they were lying on the bed, trying to quit laughing and having a devil of a time doing it. They finally drew deep breaths and settled together, arms entwined and legs tangled together.
He gave one last chuckle. “So did you like your gift?”
“It was magnificent.” She smiled. “But you know what this means.”
“Not really.” He had no idea what was in her head. She never failed to surprise him. “What does it mean?”
“If we have a little girl, we have to name her Clementine.”
His head fell back on the pillow.
“Oh, God.”
Epilogue
Ascot, five years later
The sky was a rare, pristine blue, the temperature was balmy, and the grounds were manicured to perfection . . . it was a gorgeous day for the Gold Cup at Royal Ascot. Everyone who was anyone was in attendance and decked out in finery unique in the social season. Gentlemen wore their best gray or black morning clothes and top hats, and ladies wore light summer dresses in a rainbow of colors and hats that strained the skill and imagination of the best milliners on the Continent. A year’s wages was the starting price of many of the fanciful silk chiffon and feather-trimmed creations on display.
Even among such rarified company, the Duke and Duchess of Meridian caused conversation to cease for a moment as they and their friends, the Tannehills, passed by. He was tall and tanned and she was curvy and delicate. She wore a pale blue dress and a hat that was elegant, but with a hint of whimsy that matched the light in her eyes. Few would have guessed that she had given birth to their second child, a daughter they had named Cassandra, mere months before.
Old rumors stirred. He had disappeared for a while, captured by pirates . . . he saved a chieftain’s son . . . he had been lost in the desert for days . . . and most amusing to the duke himself, he had been shipwrecked on an exotic island and found a great treasure. What else could explain the resurgence of his estate and the stables that were gradually becoming the talk of the racing world?
He had indeed found a treasure, he was wont to say. She filled his arms and his heart and never failed to surprise him with her goodness and uncanny insight into horses and people. Both were drawn to her in ways that he would never fully understand, only appreciate. Thus it was no surprise when a couple . . . a pasty middle-aged-looking fellow and his overdressed, overfed wife . . . nudged and elbowed their way through the crowd to make their acquaintance.
“Kelling,” the man said, offering the duke his name and hand in a total breach of etiquette. “I’ve been told you’re quite the horseman. Have a stable on the rise.” The whiff of strong liquor that reached them explained at least some of his behavior. “Do you have a filly in this cup?”
“Meridian,” Arthur said, as he took the man’s hand and tipped his hat to the woman standing half a step behind her husband, eyeing him over her husband’s shoulder with insulting thoroughness. “And no, I do not. Betancourt horses are bred for the National Hunt.”
Just then, Sarah turned from speaking with her sister to find herself facing a man she knew but was shocked to barely recognize. Terrence Tyrell, Earl of Kelling, had once been the desire of her girlish heart. Looking at him now—his sallow skin, dark-circled eyes behind a pair of spectacles, and paunchy middle—she had to wonder why.
He greeted her with more propriety than he had shown Arthur, waiting until she extended her hand to reach for it.
“Have we met before?” he said, slow to recognize her. “No, surely I would recall meeting such a . . .” He stopped as recognition dawned. “Oh. Well. It was lovely to . . . um . . . meet you,” he babbled. “Heard so much about you.” He turned and ran into his wife as she stepped forward, squinting at Sarah.
“We know each otha?” she said in heavily accented English, extending a limp hand that Sarah judiciously ignored. “Ima sure you meet me somewhere. Canna recall it. But then, one meets so manny, manny people. Ohhh . . . I have a hat just like that.” Her lidded eyes were full of unpleasantness.
“We have to be going.” Terrence gave his countess a nudge that was perilously close to being a shove. But he couldn’t resist one last glance at Sarah. “So good to see you . . . doing well.”
As he trundled his wife off into the crowd, Sarah looked up at Arthur and found his eyes had that steely glint that betrayed strong emotion.
Reynard leaned over her shoulder to mutter, “I would have told you what happened to him, but I suspected it would be more satisfying for you to see for yourself someday.”
She glanced up at Reynard’s sympathetic smile and turned to her sister Frankie, whose loving and supportive expression made her grateful all over again for being born a Bumgarten.
As she took Arthur’s arm and they continued down the stands to find their seats, she looked up at him.
“You do know who that was?” she asked.
“I do.” His arm tightened under her hand, but he gave her that deliciously devious smile she loved. “I swore to flatten him if we ever came face-to-face. I hope you’re not too disappointed.”
She laughed and gave his arm a loving stroke. “Not really. In fact, I admire your restraint.”
“Well, he was wearing spectacles, after all, and I got a good look at his wife.” He chuckled. “I expect he’s been punished enough.”
AUTHOR’S NOTE
There you have it. The third and final installment of my Sin and Sensibility series. I confess, it was hard letting these characters head off into their happily-ever-after without me to chronicle their further exploits. But they deserve some fun and—I think you’ll agree—some privacy.
Sarah and Arthur are among my favorite characters ever. Their growing love and its impact on their families and community are an example of how love can spiral outward from two people and make the world a better place. That’s my firm belief and my hope for the world.
Though this book doesn’t center around one specific historical happening, it still required a good bit of research. . . some of which you may find interesting, too.
Thermometers and stethoscopes? In a story set in the 1890s? Yep, they had ’em. I do admit that some of the stethoscopes looked different from current day models, but they were coming into common use in Sarah’s day and provided information so necessary that it makes me wonder why they weren’t invented sooner.
Sarah did indeed treat man and beast, though some of her knowledge came from books. One piece that did not, was the use of “bluestone” to treat infections in horses’ hooves. It was the early version of copper sulfate, which is still used today by big animal vets to treat infections in horse and cow hooves. Thanks, Dr.
Pol, for starting me on that train of research.
Honey on a wound, however, was known as a home cure for generations before Sarah tried it. And the germ theory was indeed becoming the predominant theory of illness in England and across the world. However, word of it was slow getting out to many places and the necessity of hand-washing was considered a bit too fastidious and unproven for some time after Sarah’s adoption of it.
And while we’re on the subject of historical medical practice, you may be shocked to learn (as I was) that oxygen was known as the agent of respiration from 1800 onward. By the mid-nineteenth century, oxygen treatments were being given to select patients in larger medical centers. By Sarah’s day near the turn of the century, it was used as therapy for a variety of lung complaints . . . including smoke inhalation. I confess, I was desperate to help Sarah survive, and when I learned the equipment was available in her day, I had to see she got that help.
As for the legal mess Arthur started when he charged off to see the world—Sir William was right in saying that a hereditary title could only be passed to another through the death of the title holder, and seven years absent/missing has long been the standard waiting time before declaring someone dead. This was a sticky wicket for me and I was grateful to Sir William for making it clear.
So much for the American dollar princesses and their happily-ever-afters.
I must add that HEAs, as they’re known among romance readers, are not limited to gorgeous young women with buckets of money. Mothers and mothers-in-law—especially those who have paid their dues—deserve some love, too. I’d like to think that after Sarah’s wedding, her mother, Elizabeth, kept company with Sir William, who was a widower. He became much loved by the family and—who knows?—there might have been yet another Bumgarten wedding. You can decide.
Thanks so much for joining me on this journey. I’d love to hear from you! Stop by BetinaKrahn.com for a look at what’s happening now and what’s yet to come! Drop a comment or a picture to be added to my list.
Grace and Peace,
Betina
Don’t miss Betina Krahn’s
splendid new historical romance,
coming in early 2021 . . .
HERO WANTED
Meet Lauren Alcott . . .
Bright, opinionated, and impetuous daughter of a London baron of commerce. She secretly harbors a deep romantic streak that has been fed by popular novels. As the heir to the wealthy East Anglia Trading Company she has refused to cooperate with her father’s plan to marry her to the scion of a rival company . . . until she finally sees the prospective groom.
His impressive looks, education, and manners have her dreaming of a romance with a hero to match the one in her favorite book, Sir Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe.
Meet Rafe Townsend . . .
Tall, handsome, and wickedly clever, he planned to avoid the thrall of matrimony until he can’t do anything else.
But his father has cunningly trapped him into an engagement meant to give his mother the grandchildren she craves and to give West Britannia Trading Company a foot into controlling the rival East Anglia Company.
His would-be bride’s lovely face and comely form make him think there may be pleasurable compensations in matrimony.
Put These Two Together . . .
On a Sunday afternoon outing, Lauren is aghast that Rafe refuses to help rescue two women whose boat has overturned on the river. It is the last straw for her. She divests herself of outer clothing and dives in to rescue the drowning women herself.
He is shocked by her behavior, and astounded by her denouncement of his “cowardice.”
When she abruptly ends their engagement, he thinks himself well rid of a tempestuous and unpredictable female . . . until he reads the Times two days later.
It seems there was a reporter on the river that day who witnessed Lauren’s rescue of the two women and decided it would make a juicy story.
When her father is besieged by reporters insisting on details about why his daughter’s engagement has been broken, he realizes Lauren is in trouble. Her behavior is considered laudable by some and scandalous by others.
Her reputation hangs in the balance. And Rafe has been labeled as “less than a hero.”
There is only one option.
Lauren and Rafe must temporarily put aside their differences and appear in public together to put down all the rumors.
What could possibly go wrong?
Betina Krahn
photo credit: Robert Rountree