The Scarred Heir

by Denise Patrick

  He knew he should tell her about the switch, yet something held him back. Perhaps he truly wanted to know if she would marry him, knowing he had so little. If her avowals of unconcern were true. Regardless, he’d tell her after the wedding.

  “Shall I summon the vicar?” he asked.

  She seemed momentarily at a loss for words. Was she having second thoughts? He wouldn’t blame her if she did. Her eyes told him a completely different story. She was keeping her expression neutral, with difficulty he suspected, for her eyes sparkled and shone with what could only be labeled exhilaration.

  Should he worry that his proposal elicited such a reaction? Did she understand the nature of marital intimacy? Anticipation surged through him, and he shifted in his seat as another part of his anatomy roused. The vision his imagination conjured up made his mouth water and he picked up a biscuit, taking a bite to divert his thoughts. The lemon flavor burst on his tongue and he savored the delicate treat.

  “Do we need to have the banns read?”

  He shook his head. “I considered not getting the special license my father requested.” He hurried on as her eyes widened in surprise. “But because I didn’t have the heart to tell him we weren’t truly betrothed, I did as he asked.” He lifted a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “I thought it might be useful. Especially after speaking to Mr. Payne. And if we didn’t use it, there would be no harm really done.”

  She wet her lips and he nearly groaned as heat washed through him.

  “I see.” She poured herself another cup of tea but didn’t pick it up once she replaced the pot. He wondered if she thought him presumptuous. Then she smiled and the sun came out from behind the clouds. “Your father will enjoy being a witness.”

  His laughter was genuine. Only Sarah would be thinking of others at a time like this. He wished he could think of his brother the same way, but he couldn’t. There were too many things between them that still needed attention. At this moment, however, all he could think of was the woman seated across the tea tray from him and wonder if future afternoons would be this comfortable.

  Should he be marrying her at all? Was wanting her enough? Was that all-encompassing need for her enough? He felt something for her, but he wasn’t willing to call it love. He had no basis for deciding what love was. His parents’ marriage had been based purely on bloodlines and finances. It had been arranged when both were still in leading strings. After his conversation with his father, he wondered if Sarah had a hidden side. How would he know? Would he find out after the wedding? Being practical, at least the issue that set his mother off was not present between them. But should Sarah have twins…

  He never thought he’d marry. He was but a second son—at least that was what he’d been led to believe. With a healthy heir, there seemed to be no need. He wondered now if his new status let David off the hook. Thinking back on the conversation he’d overheard, if her uncle were to be believed, David might welcome the news that he needn’t marry and beget an heir. But would he welcome the loss of the Calderbrooke fortune? Perhaps he should look no further than that for David’s motive—if David knew of the switch.

  “I know this may not be how you envisioned your wedding. And I,” he swallowed, “I promise not to make any demands on you until we have a chance to know one another better.” He could not bring himself to promise he would never assert his conjugal rights. He supposed he would eventually need an heir. But if providing her with some time to come to know him better would soothe any fears she might have, so be it. He just hoped it didn’t kill him in the process.

  “I’m not sure I have ever had a vision for my own wedding. I suspect I just thought it would happen eventually.”

  “What? No dreams of a knight in shining armor?” he teased. “Of falling in love and being swept off your feet by a handsome rogue?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Her voice was solemn. “I always knew my parents loved each other, but my father was very practical about it. He insisted a marriage that begins with mutual respect will develop into love, so I shouldn’t expect to be in love before I marry.”

  “Instead of familiarity breeding contempt, it breeds contentment then?” It hadn’t worked with his parents, but his parents’ marriage was anything but conventional.

  She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Something like that.”

  “So when would you like this wedding to take place?”

  She thought for a moment then said, “I suppose there’s no time to waste if you are waiting for information from your solicitor. I suspect it will be a great deal easier to travel if we are husband and wife.”

  His ever-practical Sarah had saved him from seeming too eager. “Tomorrow morning, then?”

  “Perhaps not quite that soon. But the day after will probably do. I suspect Mrs. Wainwright will want some time to plan a feast.”

  He chuckled. “You’re right. It wouldn’t do to hurry her along. Especially since I don’t expect to see anything from the solicitor until the end of the week at the earliest.”

  “Very well. I think I can come up with something to wear by then,” she said as if discussing her own wedding was an everyday occurrence.

  He sent a roguish grin her way. “If you arrive naked, no one will fault me for wanting to get it over and done with as quickly as possible. We may not even have time to eat the feast Mrs. Wainwright will insist on preparing.”

  The heightened color in her face was her only reaction before she ducked her head and picked up her cup.

  He chuckled as he picked up another biscuit.

  The earl was ecstatic. Between his beaming smiles and sly looks, she hoped she wasn’t continually blushing through dinner. He said little beyond congratulations, but his hands shook when he took hers, and she noticed tears in his eyes when he pressed his cheek to hers.

  After dinner, she excused herself to confer with Annie over which of her new dresses she should wear, while Max and his father closeted themselves in the library.

  “Oh, Miss, it’s excited I am for you. You and the master make such a grand couple.”

  Sarah wasn’t sure, but she was happy. For now, that was all that mattered.

  Together she and Annie, whose bruising was slowly fading, selected an ice blue gown trimmed with dark blue ribbon, adorned with white lace around the low neckline, sleeves and hem. She knew the color would match her eyes and bring out the pale gold of her hair. She was glad not to be wearing white, and grimaced at the memory of her first season. White made her look like a ghost, and on those occasions when her aunt insisted on it, she’d always felt as if she blended into the walls. Once that first season was over, she vowed never to wear white again.

  Annie brought her a pot of tea and Sarah settled down to read for a bit before bed, hoping it would help her relax and, therefore, fall asleep. An hour later she was still sitting before the banked fire with an empty teapot, having read less than a page. She gave up, put the book down, doused the candles, and crawled between cool sheets. If her mind wouldn’t fall asleep, at least her body could rest.

  Max’s face swam behind her eyelids and she grinned in the darkness. Side by side, she wasn’t absolutely certain of her ability to tell him and David apart, but it would only take a few words of conversation and she would know who was who. She wondered, as she had before, if there were small differences after so many years. At the inn she’d noticed the laugh lines around Max’s eyes, remembering that David never laughed. His seriousness and sense of his own importance had kept him from unbending in her presence. Max had no such pretenses.

  She would not, as she’d told Mr. Payne, marry the wrong twin this time.

  Max’s mouth went dry at his first sight of Sarah two days later. The gardener had outdone himself and the conservatory had become a miniature botanical showplace. Gravel pathways were meticulously groomed, fruit trees planted in large urns had been shuffled to line the central path, and a large freesia-covered archway stood at its end. Late-morning sun shone through newly washed
windows and the smell of verdant earth, fruit and flowers mingled in the humid warmth.

  In the absence of her father, Sarah walked toward him alone. Blue flowers and ribbon were twined in her pale hair, the color echoed and deepened in her eyes. Carrying a simple posy of white flowers, her genuine smile at the sight of him caused the tightness in his chest to loosen. He thought he heard a sigh from his father, who stood beside him.

  The ceremony was brief and the softening of her lips beneath his at the end fired his imagination. He had to suppress the urge to pull her into his arms and ravish her mouth.

  As they stepped out into the corridor, he turned to her.

  “No regrets?”

  Her smile rivaled the brilliant sunlight they’d left behind. “None at all.”

  The earl and Dr. Clayborne followed them out, with the rector bringing up the rear.

  “I understand you will be heading for France,” the doctor said over the sumptuous breakfast served in the small dining room. Small was a misnomer as the table easily sat twenty when all the leaves were in.

  Max looked up in time to see Sarah give the doctor a smile.

  “Yes. We are off to find my father. I haven’t seen him in some years.”

  Max suspected he was the only person who noticed she maintained her smile with difficulty while answering the doctor’s questions about her father and his whereabouts.

  His father spoke, drawing his attention from his bride.

  “Do you think David will come home soon?” he asked. “I shouldn’t like for him to learn of today’s events from the Times, but I sent an announcement with yesterday’s post.”

  Which meant, Max knew, that if David learned of his marriage to Sarah from the announcement in the paper, he would also learn that he was no longer Lord Royden.

  “I had a note delivered as I left town. I was hoping it would bring him home out of curiosity, if nothing else.”

  “Let’s ho—”

  Max was reaching for his glass when his father began wheezing. Turning, he shot to his feet as the blood drained from his father’s face. Dr. Clayborne rushed to his father’s side.

  The earl was quickly lowered to the floor and the doctor’s bag sent for. Max hovered for a moment, before turning and sending a footman for Jenkins. Within minutes Jenkins appeared, and shortly after that, the earl was carried up to his bedchamber.

  “He only had his usual this morning,” Jenkins insisted. “Then he put some of his salve on his arm because another rash showed up this morning. He said it was because he was excited.”

  “I know I’ve looked at it before, but let me see that salve again,” the doctor requested.

  Max looked at the doctor as he checked his father’s pulse again and listened to his heartbeat. “Is this spell the same as the others?”

  “Fairly similar,” the doctor answered. “His heart sounds fine and he has no other symptoms, but it looks like an apoplexy to me.”

  Jenkins returned and handed a small round brown pottery crock to the doctor. “Here’s this one. The other is right here beside the bed.”

  Jenkins picked up another crock from the bedside table. It was a slightly lighter color, but otherwise identical to the first one. The doctor opened both then turned to the valet.

  “I don’t remember there being two containers before.”

  “He’s always had two. One is kept in his dressing room and the other right here beside the bed. Sometimes the rashes disturb his sleep and he puts the stuff on in the night.”

  “I see.”

  Max watched the doctor compare the two crocks. His own heart was pounding hard enough to be heard in the next county and he strove to pay attention to the exchange between Clayborne and Jenkins. Absently he wondered where Sarah was, but didn’t want to go look for her now.

  The doctor sniffed both containers, wrinkling his nose as he did so.

  “Something wrong, Doctor?” His voice shook slightly and he hoped no one noticed.

  “I don’t know,” was the answer. “Both salves smell the same, but this one,” he handed Max the one that Jenkins had picked up from the earl’s bedside, “looks different.” The doctor turned to Jenkins again. “Do you know if he used either one of these recently?”

  “He used the one that sits next to his bed. When I helped him get ready for bed, he said his arm was itchin’, but we didn’t see anything. That’s usually how it starts.”

  “So, you didn’t put it on for him?”

  The valet shook his head. “No, sir. He don’t put anything on until the rash itself pops up ’cause he only puts it on the rash itself.”

  “Does he usually use this one himself?” Max asked.

  “Yep. If I help him, I always use the one in the dressing room.”

  Max and the doctor looked at each other. He could read in the doctor’s eyes the same questions he was thinking. Who else knew about both the crocks—and who had tampered with this particular one?

  The early afternoon sun cast its warmth liberally over Sarah’s upturned face. The scent of flowers, trees and earth surrounded her as she sat near the fountain. Water sprayed into the air and fell into the pool beneath the statue of Poseidon. A light breeze teased her curls, saving the afternoon from becoming unbearably warm.

  Footsteps on the graveled walkway brought her out of her sun-worship. She turned and, discovering Max coming toward her, was unable to prevent the smile that spread across her face.

  “I have a confession to make,” he said as he stopped beside her, “and I haven’t determined whether you will be pleased by or annoyed at it.”

  Her smile dimmed a tiny bit, but she didn’t speculate on his news. She stood as he offered his arm and asked her to walk with him.

  “How is your father?”

  “Resting comfortably for now,” he replied. “Jenkins is sitting with him for the moment, but I will return upstairs in a bit.”

  “Does the doctor think he’ll recover?”

  “Yes, although he is still puzzled as to the cause.”

  They strolled in silence through paths planted with roses, violets, forsythia bushes and more. Once beyond the well-tended paths, they moved toward the small pavilion. Built to resemble a small Greek temple, there was little to it beyond a floor and four columns holding up a marble dome. There weren’t even any benches on which to sit.

  “David and I spent much of our youth in here, sitting on the floor plotting one escapade after another. Some were more successful than others.”

  She laughed at the picture she conjured up of two identical dark-haired boys sitting with their heads together, hatching plans. It was a picture that warmed her heart.

  “And how often did you get caught?”

  He flashed her a warm smile. “Not very often. But that doesn’t mean that our parents didn’t know that whatever happened we were the likely culprits. After all, we were the only two boys with access to some of the pranks we pulled.”

  “Such as?”

  He was silent for a while, staring out over the lake on the other side of the pavilion.

  “Our favorite pranks involved hiding somewhere in the maze then scaring unsuspecting guests. Usually the guest didn’t know which one of us they encountered.” He chuckled. “The best pranks were on those who didn’t know there were two of us in the first place.”

  A comfortable silence fell as they looked out over the calm surface of the lake. It mirrored the nearly cloudless sky.

  Sarah peeked up at him from beneath her lashes, wondering what he was thinking.

  “Do you miss the closeness you and David once shared?”

  He glanced down at her, his eyes skimming appreciatively over her ice-blue gown.

  “I suppose I do,” he replied after a moment. “But that time was relatively short. By the time we went off to school, we were beginning to grow into very different people.” He expelled a deep breath. “That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t cover for each other or switch places if one could help the other out of a jam, but Da
vid was firmly established as the heir by the time we went. It made our experiences very different.”

  “How so?”

  “Friendships.” That succinct reply told her much.

  Sarah leaned back against one of the pillars watching Max stare out over the lake. Had he ever envied David? It must have been difficult growing up as the spare when everyone seemed to cultivate the friendship and good will of the heir.

  “Did you ever resent that David was the heir because of only a few minutes difference in birth?”

  “No. Although it sometimes rankled when someone else commented on it.” He turned fully toward her. “But as to that,” he paused, then continued, “there is something I must tell you.”

  She didn’t know what to think as he told her the story about the scar on his leg, how he got it and, more importantly, what it meant—to him and to David. He couldn’t possibly have predicted her reaction as she burst into laughter. It was too ironic, too bizarre, not to be funny.

  “I-I’m sorry, Max,” she gasped, wiping the tears from her face. “But this has to,” she giggled again, “be the most unusual situation I’ve ever heard.”

  “I agree, yet I do not seem to see it in the same light you do, as I do not find it in the least amusing.”

  His tone sobered her. “I’m sorry. Truly I am, but from my point of view, it is rather incongruous.” She brought her thoughts under control to explain. “First of all, my uncle felt it necessary to blackmail your brother into marrying me, I think assuming your brother would welcome the inclusion of Statler Hall in the earldom. For myself, I distinctly remember being told I should be thankful to marry Viscount Royden because he was the heir to one of the richest earldoms in the country.” She smiled at him. “And now, to discover that what I thought was a fabrication I told to Mr. Payne was a form of the truth. It is just too strange. It sounds almost like a penny novel.”

  Max shook his head and returned her smile as he stepped toward her. “You’re right. I wasn’t thinking about how strange the entire tale must sound.”