A tiny sound escaped her, like the gasp after a death blow. Then she went still and silent. Graham kept his gaze straight ahead, refusing to believe in the tears that flowed unceasingly down the exquisite planes of her face.
He remained there, grimly mouthing his vows, until it was over. The cleric blinked at him hesitantly. “Is there a ring, Your Grace?”
His mother’s ring. Graham’s hand went to his waistcoat. He could feel the ring there—the ring he’d so eagerly looked forward to placing on Sophie’s hand, making her his forever and always. It was the perfect “Sophie” ring, simple and elegant and unpretentious—except that Sophie didn’t actually exist.
The damned thing even fit the lying, thieving creature, for pity’s sake!
He dropped his hand as if the ring had burned him. “No,” he stated firmly. “I do not have a ring for this woman.”
The cleric hesitated. “Then . . . you may kiss the bride.”
Kiss the bride. The words took a long moment to sink into Graham’s brain. Then volcanic fury erupted through his icy shock and loss. Yes, by God, he would kiss the bride!
There, before God and two hundred witnesses, he pulled his adversary roughly into his arms. Thrusting his fingers deep into her silken pile of hair, he tipped her head back and brought his hard mouth down on her soft one. For a long, passionate moment, he bestowed upon that beautiful stranger all his rage and pain and thwarted, lost, betrayed love—
And kissed her good-bye.
Then he released her, spun on his heel and strode out of the church without a word.
He had to get away from her, away from those eyes, from that hauntingly elegant face, away from the magnetism that drew him, had always drawn him, had made him feel more alive than he’d ever felt before, had made him believe for the first time that there might be more to people than only sin and selfishness.
You wanted her to be real. You wanted to believe that she was good and true because she was the only person you’ve ever known who didn’t think you were a bloody poor waste of air.
Who was worse—the liar, or the fool who chose to believe the lies, despite all evidence to the contrary?
His future in ruins, he had no plans but that of getting drunk and staying drunk.
Wolfe, sitting in the back, was doubled over in silently hysterical laughter. Tears of relief streamed down his face.
Stickley gazed at him in horror, but Wolfe only grinned at the partner he so despised.
“I’ve been sober for far too long,” he wheezed when he found the breath. “I think I’m going to have a little drinkie to celebrate the nuptials of the Duke and Duchess of Edencourt.” He let out his breath on a long happy sigh.
No more worries, no more schemes. No plan at all, but that of getting drunk and staying drunk for days!
Chapter Thirty
Sadie slipped out the back of the church, her exit covered by the general hubbub and excitement. Since the St. Mary Abbots church was located solidly in the center of Kensington, it wasn’t a terribly long walk to Mayfair and Brook House.
It only felt like a hundred miles.
As she approached the great house, it occured to her that they might not let her in. After all, she had no claim to relationship and had perhaps criminally defrauded them all in some way.
Yet everything she owned was in that house. She must chance that no one had yet heard the news.
She didn’t have to knock. The door opened onto the sternly handsome face of Fortescue. “Your Grace.”
What was left of Sadie’s shattered heart slithered to her knees. Bad news certainly traveled like lightning.
Yet Fortescue opened the door wide and bowed her through. “Will you be staying long, Your Grace?”
She lifted her chin. There was no judgment in the butler’s eyes. She wondered why. “I only came to gather my things.”
He nodded. “Your dressmaker has already been here. He left word that you are to keep what you were given and that he wishes you well.”
Sadie blinked. She’d not expected such kindness from Lementeur, for him she had defrauded worst of all, except for Graham. Then she remembered his words.
“A poor Cockney lad who dreamed only of beautiful fabrics and fine lace.”
Well, perhaps Lementeur, the Liar, who slipped seamlessly into Society on talent alone, knew a bit about playing a part.
Fortescue was gazing at her evenly. There was nothing at all in his smooth face, but somewhere in the back of his eyes she saw . . . empathy? “Fortescue, what am I to do now?”
His lids dropped slightly, shuttering that glint of fellow-feeling. “I’m sure I’m the last person one should ask, Your Grace.”
Should she go to Eden House and play at being its lady? Should she live with Graham in hateful silence for the rest of her life?
Well, it wasn’t likely he’d be willing to live with her, was it? Perhaps there was an empty house, a small one, somewhere on the estate where she could live, a duchess in exile.
A princess in a tower after all.
The first step must be to go upstairs and pack. The next step she would think about when that task was done. Surely if she kept putting one foot in front of the other, she’d walk through all this somehow.
Oh, Graham. Why did you do it? Why did you make me your duchess? Now I carry all of Edencourt on my conscience as well!
Then to her horror, Sadie saw Deirdre and Phoebe arrive at the rear of the entrance hall. She shot a panicked glance at the still open front door.
The knocker was back in place.
“Their ladyships came home in response to my first messsage,” Fortescue informed her in a low voice. “They were very worried about you.”
They didn’t look worried now. Phoebe, who was sweet-faced and as kind as she was pretty, was blinking at her as if she’d never seen her before.
Deirdre, stunning, golden-haired beauty, was frankly glaring, her arms folded and her eyes narrowed.
Sadie debated running for her life, but since she hadn’t anywhere in particular she needed to be for the rest of that life, she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other until she stood before them both.
Phoebe, who although she was good-natured should never be mistaken for a fool, frowned at her. “Sophie is dead, is that correct?”
Sadie didn’t even bother trying not to laugh bitterly. “I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re asking. I was brought to Acton nearly a year after the influenza struck. I never even met her.” She tilted her head. “You did, however. When you were about five years old. Mrs. Blake talked about it. Do you remember Sophie?”
Phoebe shook her head regretfully. “No, I don’t.”
Sadie shrugged. “By all accounts, she was a very nice girl. Everyone used to talk about how quiet she was, but knowing Mrs. Blake, that might have simply been because she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.”
Deirdre made a derisive noise. “Is that how you talk about your benefactress?”
Sadie gazed at the woman she’d learned so much from. Deirdre had resisted Tessa’s vicious oppression for many years, to emerge whole and victorious in the end. “She was never my mother, Dee. She was my warden.”
Wary sympathy flashed in those sapphire eyes, but stubborn Deirdre wasn’t one to give up that easily. “You lied to us,” she accused. “You lied to Meggie.”
Sadie took that blow directly to the heart, just as she deserved to. “I know. I’m sorry. I would not hurt Meggie for anything—”
“You already have!”
“—but since I didn’t know she would take part when I began this, I had no way to prevent it once begun.”
Phoebe leaned to Deirdre. “She has a point.”
Deirdre shook her head. “She doesn’t deserve a point!”
Sadie sighed. “Dee, Phoebe, I’m sorry. What can I do except to apologize?”
Phoebe tilted her head. “I think I’d like to hear the whole story. Dee, tell your magnificent butler to serve us some tea and c
akes, will you? I’m absolutely famished and S—the duchess looks as though she’s about to faint.”
Deirdre grimaced. “She always looks like that.” But she waved her fingers at Fortescue anyway. “Put us somewhere quiet, Fort. I have a feeling this will take a while.”
It didn’t, not really. After all, her life had very little to recommend it.
“I was orphaned at the age of seven. I don’t remember my parents at all. I know their names and where they had lived, but it is only information from a piece of paper. I don’t know why that is, but all I remember is the orphanage.”
Phoebe leaned forward sympathetically. “Was it very bad?”
Sadie shrugged. “I had nothing to compare it to. It was very cold in the winter, but we slept two by two. We didn’t go hungry, but the food was very plain. Every day we worked to maintain the orphanage, cleaning and gardening and washing, but it wasn’t brutal work. We weren’t beaten especially, but neither were we educated. I could already read very well, I think, for I used to borrow books from the staff and read whenever I could.”
She gazed at the fire, her thoughts streaming back years. “The worst of it was always the knowledge that we weren’t wanted. Now and then people would come to choose a child for their own. The youngest and prettiest went first.” She tilted the corner of her mouth at Deirdre. “You’d have been gone in a flash.”
Deirdre’s face took on an arrested expression, as if seeing her own status clearly for the first time. “I’m an orphan, too.”
Phoebe smiled slightly. “There but for the grace of God go you,” she misquoted.
Deirdre looked grumpy. “Blast. How am I supposed to sustain my righteous anger now?”
Phoebe patted her hand. “You’ll survive.” She turned to Sadie. “Go on.”
“There isn’t a great deal to tell, I’m afraid. One day, Mrs. Blake’s housekeeper came to take me away. I was very excited. I thought I was going to have a new mother. Instead, she used me as an unpaid servant, a pair of feet to fetch whatever she needed, whenever she needed it. For years I truly tried to please her. Then I stopped attempting the impossible. I began to dream of ways to leave. Four months ago, Tessa sent Sophie’s portion through the post.”
“Which you stole.” Phoebe’s tone didn’t accuse. She merely sought confirmation of fact.
Sadie nodded. “Which I stole. And spent to come here to London and play the part of Sophie Blake.”
Deirdre nodded. “I like it. A clean, simple plan. Those are the best.”
Phoebe turned to look at her. “Deirdre!”
Deirdre shrugged. “What? I told you I couldn’t hold on to a good mad.”
“It was a simple plan,” agreed Sadie. “Especially since I had no intention of vying for a duke. All I did was take money from a girl who didn’t need it anymore. It was only a ticket to London and perhaps some new life other than unpaid servitude to a woman who could care less if I lived or died. Theft, yes, but since I still have most of it, I’d be happy to give it back to Tessa.”
Deirdre waved a hand. “Don’t bother. It wasn’t hers. It was parceled out by Stickley and Wolfe as per the will.”
“Right. Of course.” Sadie smoothed the skirts of the pink silk she’d chosen to be her wedding gown. “I journeyed to Primrose Street to live with you all there.”
“And you met Graham.” Phoebe’s wise, sky-blue eyes met hers in sympathy. “And fell in love.”
Unexpectedly, Sadie’s hot, dry eyes filled. She pressed both hands to her face, forcing the tears back. There was no use crying as if she hadn’t done all of this to herself with her eyes wide open.
“I wanted to win the inheritance for Graham,” she said dully. “So that I could have him and he could save his people. I never thought to even try before then. It simply wasn’t for me.”
She lifted her face and gazed at them without the slightest pretense. “I’m not sorry I lied. I’m sorry I hurt you, but my alternative was to rot in servitude for the rest of my life, not even able to save a few pennies, always fearing that I was about to be thrown out without pension or references. It was better to risk all than to continue thus.”
“I should say so!” Deirdre declared stoutly. “I’d like to give that Mrs. Blake a piece of my mind right now!”
“And we had no idea that Edencourt was so badly off, did we, Dee?” Phoebe shook her head. “Those poor people.”
“I don’t think Graham realized it either, until he got his hands on the estate records. He blames himself so, thinking that every coin he tossed away on shallow entertainments stole the bread out of some child’s mouth.”
“Well . . . but it did,” Phoebe said slowly. “And now he must live with what he’s done. And so must you.”
Sadie straightened. “I know that. Graham had one chance to change everything and I stole it from him.”
Deirdre laughed out loud. “Sadie, are you under the impression that Graham Cavendish is some sort of innocent victim?” She shook her head. “Any guilt he might be feeling, he’s certainly earned the right to it.”
Phoebe nodded. “I’m assuming that you weren’t alone in that bed last night.”
“What?” Sadie blinked. “How did you—”
Phoebe smiled. “I was guessing, but it looks like I was spot on.” She glanced at Deirdre. “You owe me a bonnet and two reticules.”
Deirdre stuck out her hand absently. Phoebe shook it with satisfaction. Sadie crinkled her brow. “You’re betting on Graham?”
“On you, actually,” Deirdre said. “I told Phoebe you’d have him by the time the Season ended. She wagered you’d never take that long!”
Sadie looked at Phoebe. “Thank you . . . I think.”
Phoebe stood. “Sadie, go upstairs and go to bed.” She held up a hand when Sadie started to protest. “Don’t be an idiot. You may not be our cousin, but you saved Deirdre’s life and you’ve been a good friend to me. We aren’t going to toss you out on the street over a little matter of twenty thousand pounds.”
“Twenty-eight thousand pounds,” Deirdre corrected. “At last count. Those solicitors must be feeding that account the good oats.”
Stunned, Sadie let herself be directed up to her old room. A tray with more steaming tea awaited her and, yes, a steaming bath as well.
It wasn’t over yet. Fortescue brought a summons from the Marquis, as soon as she had freshened up.
Her wedding day had lasted a year at least. Exhausted and drained, she bathed in silence, drank the tea and changed into the simplest Lementeur frock she had.
SADIE HAD NOT been looking forward to facing the powerful and influential Marquis of Brookhaven or his fiercely protective half-brother Lord Raphael. Lying to the women loved by men such as these had surely been one of her more foolish mistakes.
She raised her chin and entered the marquis’s study in a swinging stride that was nothing like Sophie’s shamble or Sofia’s saunter. “Good afternoon, my lords.”
Calder was seated behind his giant desk. He did not rise, but only gazed at her for a long moment. “She’s still here,” he said to his brother, who stood next to him with a scowl on his face and his arms folded.
Rafe nodded. “I can see that. What I don’t see is why your butler ever let her in your house.”
Calder quirked a brow. “I’ve been meaning to have a word with Fortescue about that.”
“Be there somethin’ I can do for ye, my lord?”
Sadie didn’t jump when Fortescue appeared at her elbow, apparently called to materialize from the ether by the very murmuring of his name. Sadie was quite used to the butler’s penchant for eavesdropping—and she had noted him lingering in the hall before she’d entered the study.
What she hadn’t expected was to hear the dignified and somber fellow speak to his master with a pitch-perfect Irish accent. She didn’t turn to look at him, thank heaven, or she would have missed Calder’s priceless reaction.
The mighty marquis gazed at his loyal manservant as if the man had ins
anely burst into song. Lord Raphael slid the fingers of one hand over his lips as he watched his brother, but his twinkling brown eyes betrayed his laughter. He and Sadie exchanged a reluctantly amused glance as Calder sputtered.
“B—er, really . . . what?”
Fortescue only gazed at the marquis with cool expectation. In response, Calder seemed to feel as though he were required not to notice anything amiss. If his reaction was laughable, his throat-clearing, panicked attempt to do just that was nigh unto hysterical. “Er, yes, well . . .” He gazed desperately over Fortescue’s right shoulder. “That will be all, Fortescue.”
Sadie gave up and laughed out loud. What difference did it make when the marquis was surely about to have her tossed from the house, duchess or no?
Rafe openly snickered as Fortescue left the study with his dignity unmarred. “That point went to the butler, I believe, Calder.”
Calder wiped his hand over his face. “Is he Irish? I didn’t know.”
Sadie gazed at him in speculation. “Does that matter to you, my lord?”
Calder blinked. “Eh? Oh, no, not as such. It was simply so . . . bizarre. It was as though my horse erupted into French curses.” He shook his head. “I wonder what else I don’t know about the man?”
If Sadie was not mistaken, what Calder didn’t know was that his faithful household manager was about to take himself off after a certain fleeing housemaid. Still, it wasn’t her business to say. She had her own worries at the moment.
She folded her arms and gazed at the two men before her. It suddenly occurred to her that she outranked them both. Poor she might be and currently unsure of precisely what lay in store for her, but she was legally and most securely the Duchess of Edencourt. With that thought in mind, she tilted her head and smiled more brightly than she felt. The two men blinked as if blinded by a bright light. Why did people keep doing that?
“I have just left the marchioness and her ladyship,” she said congenially. “They seem quite happy with the both of you.”
Calder and Rafe shook off their bedazzlement.
“I should hope so,” muttered Rafe.
Calder looked at her speculatively. “You look very different, Miss Blake.”
Celeste Bradley - [Heiress Brides 03] Page 22