Steeplechase

by Bancroft, Blair

  And now his indifference had brought them to this.

  No. He had not truly ignored her. From that day at the beach in Brighton he had been infinitely aware of his wife. Yet believing her too young and fully content to keep him at arm’s length, he had struggled to maintain his side of their infamous agreement.

  Self-justification was short-lived. Harlan Dawnay, the elegant man about town should have had no difficulty recognizing the source of Sarah’s escapades was himself. He should have understood what she was trying to tell him, but he had clung blindly to his initial vision of being married, yet living an unencumbered life.

  Idiot!

  Only now when he knew he might lose her did he understand how barren his life would be without her. He had known they were suited, had even looked upon their future life together with smug satisfaction, recognizing that somehow, with Dickon’s help, he had managed to find the right partner for life.

  Yet how arrogantly superior, how dismally inadequate, he had been when he told her so! No wonder she’d kicked over the traces, used her diabolically clever mind to turn his life upside down.

  Dickon was right. If Sarah died, he had killed her as surely as if he had throttled the life out of her.

  They reached the carriage and transferred Sarah’s inert form to lie along the seat, with Harlan still doing his best to use his body to shield her from the bumps. The journey back to town was the antithesis of their wild balloon chase, with the coachman keeping the horses to a walk the entire time. Except for an occasional anxious query or an outburst of guilt from Lord Richard, silence prevailed. Harlan never took his eyes off his wife, while Lord Richard and Adrian Chumley decided it was time to reacquaint themselves with prayers long forgotten.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Sarah opened her eyes on a wave of terror punctuated by a flash of jagged pain. What? How?

  Dead! That much she recalled. She should be dead.

  Basket. She’d been in a basket, jarred to the bone as it skipped over the ground. She recalled a rending crash. Flying through the air. An explosion of pain. Darkness.

  And now? If she were dead, surely she would not hurt so badly.

  With her eyes squeezed tight against the pain, Sarah groped about with her right hand. Bedcovers? She must open her eyes, truly she must, but any movement—even one so slight—might bring back that horrid flash of pain so much worse than the ache that filled her head, pulsing, pounding, refusing to be denied.

  Balloon. Hyde Park. The glory of flying high. And then too much wind. A stone wall. Dear God, she’d made a mull of it this time. If her injuries did not kill her, Harlan would be only too happy to finish the job.

  Gathering every ounce of courage she had left, Sarah ordered her eyes to open. A whimper escaped her, for even that small effort—or perhaps the light of the candle beside her bed—sent jagged stabs of pain through her head. Nonetheless, she blinked and looked again. Harlan? Was that Harlan, fast asleep, sprawled in a wing chair pulled up next to her bed?

  “Sarah?” he mumbled. “Sarah!” He plunged forward, hovering over her, tears clearly welling in his eyes. “You’re awake! Oh, Sal, I’m so sorry, so infinitely sorry. You must believe I never intended to hurt you. I am a callous, arrogant idiot. If you will but stay with me, I promise never to be such a fool again.”

  He would be, of course. And she would be. But inwardly Sarah smiled. “Tomorrow,” she whispered. “Tell me tomorrow.” And drifted into sleep.

  When next she opened her eyes, the sun was shining brightly. Though pain was still her constant companion, the edges were not so sharp, and Finella was sitting in the chair where Harlan had been during the night. Her maid’s reaction to seeing her awake was remarkably similar to her husband’s—teary-eyed, with words pouring from lips activated by nervous relief.

  After helping her mistress to a drink of cool water, Finella burst out, “Oh, my lady, when the doctor shook his head and told his lordship you might never wake, you should have seen his face. Quite beside himself, he was. Pulled up that chair and sat in it for a full two days, he did. It took Lord Richard, with the aid of Mr. Hughes and Mr. Morgan, to tear him away this morning. Told him he didn’t want you to wake and see him in all his dirt, for he was still wearing the clothes he had on when you was hurt, my lady, and you know what that means with a dandy like the master. I never thought I’d see the day, my lady, but he loves you to distraction, truly he does. Sick he was, through and through. We thought we’d be having the doctor in for him next.”

  Guilt, no doubt. Sarah managed a wan smile. She had a vague recollection of Harlan’s anguished words during the night, and she would not at all mind hearing them repeated. But love? That was too much to ask. How could he love someone who had been as stupid and childish as she?

  “Your mother and sister called three times, my lady, and right anxious they were. Departed each time with tears in their eyes. Lady Marchmont too and Miss Twitchell, Lord Richard and Mr. Chumley. Oh, miss—my lady, ’tis so good to have you back!” Finella burst into sobs, throwing her apron up over her face to cover the free flow of her tears.

  It was good to be back. Though she ached from head to toe, and likely would for days to come, Sarah could think clearly enough to see herself in dreadful hindsight. She had been exactly the child her husband thought her. She had been impatient, jealous, selfish, and head-strong. She had dishonored their agreement, played the petulant child with frightening intensity. She had nearly killed herself and laid a pall of guilt on her husband that might never have been lifted if she had died.

  She would be fortunate if Harlan could even bear to live with her after this. But love? Finella’s anxiety for her mistress’s well-being must have erupted into brain fever. Harlan love her? A matter always in doubt. After this latest debacle, a total impossibility.

  “Sarah?”

  Lord Davenham, his customary polished and shining self, his dark hair still glistening wet, was sliding into the wingchair. Finella had disappeared.

  “Harlan.” “Sarah.” They each spoke at once, Davenham quickly deferring to his wife.

  Sarah regarded him with anguish in her eyes. “I must tell you . . . I am an even worse idiot than you must think me. And I am most sincerely sorry. The problem is,” she added on a whisper, “I let pride overcome my common sense. I should have told you the truth, no matter how mortifying . . .”

  “Hush.” But curiosity got the better of him. “What truth, Sal?”

  She blinked, squirmed, and finally faced him, determination glittering in her eyes. “I love you. I have adored you for years, since Dickon first brought you to visit at Ainsworth Abbey. I would have agreed to any pact you named in order to be your wife.”

  “Sarah!” He gathered both her hands in his.

  “No, hear me out.” She drew a careful breath, winced, but continued bravely on. “I was truly certain I could live by our agreement. It seemed so simple. I, too, wanted to enjoy a bit more freedom. But that day in Brighton when you were so kind, when we dined en déshabillé, and I felt . . . as I did, and saw that you were not indifferent . . .” She paused, searching for the right words. “After that, I fear I was no longer comfortable with our agreement. I was so certain I was not a child. I was ready for marriage, and I hated being ignored. I knew we had an agreement, but . . . but I found I could not like it.”

  “I could not like it either.” Harlan squeezed her hands.

  Sarah, wallowing in her own guilt, looked up, startled. “Truly.”

  “Truly. All those times you likely thought I was with Ryl”—well, at least most of them—“I was out with Dickon and Adrian, trying to recapture the magic of bachelorhood. I assure you Ryl was no more happy with me than you were.”

  “Oh.”

  “And, Sarah, I gave Ryl her congé last week because I realized I had well and truly fallen in love with the naughty little minx who was my wife. And if I had not already recognized the truth, I would have known it when I saw you climb into that infernal baske
t. My heart stopped, my girl. And when I found you crumpled and bleeding beneath that blasted balloon, I felt my life had ended as well. Can you ever forgive me for what I have done to you?” His eyes, blue as the depths of a sunlit pond, pleaded for her understanding.

  “So we are both fools.” Sarah’s voice quavered as she added on a most grown-up note of indulgence, “Perhaps we are indeed most suitably matched.”

  An hour later when the doctor came to call, Lord and Lady Davenham were both asleep, his head in her lap, her fingers twined in his dark hair.

  Chesterton, three weeks later.

  A frowning Harlan, Lord Davenham, clad only in his black satin dressing gown, paused at the edge of his wife’s bed. “You are certain you are fully recovered?”

  “Completely certain, my lord,” his wife responded with only a swift peep from under silken lashes to disturb her demure posture as she sat, reclining slightly, against a pile of lace-edged pillows.

  He gave her a swift, assessing glance, then, satisfied, leaned over to blow the candle out.

  “No! That is . . . oh, dear”—Sarah made a face—“there I go again, forever putting the wrong foot forward.”

  Harlan, leaving the candle alight, edged onto the bed, much intrigued by his wife’s embarrassment. “Why, my dear? I had thought virgins . . . the truth is”—he sighed—“um . . .very likely I should avoid thinking at all.”

  His wife tossed him a saucy grin before turning rosy pink, a victim of her own boldness. “The truth is that we are two months married and I have never seen you as wives are supposed to see their husbands.”

  Lord Davenham clutched his forehead, stifling a laugh. “I fear the truth is that some husbands and wives never see each other at all. They grope about in the dark under the covers, still wearing their nightclothes. ’Tis a wonder they manage to reproduce at all.”

  Sarah’s giggle echoed round the room. “Oh, no, you must not say such things,” she choked out. “You are very naughty, sir.”

  “And most anxious to show you the full extent of my naughtiness,” he assured her.

  Sarah glowed. Delicious. Quite delicious. “I do believe we were meant for each other, my lord—Harlan. Now, if you please, remove your dressing gown.”

  So he did.

  ~ * * * ~

  Author’s Note

  As always, truth is stranger than fiction. I would not have dared make up such an outrageous tale as the deer who tried to swim to France without knowledge that it was true. The story was told by a Regency expert in Brighton to a group of authors in the fall of 2003. As soon as I heard it, I knew I had to find a way to use it in a book. Everything except the deer’s interaction with the female bathers is true, including the Coast Guard being called out to rescue the deer, who was by that time too exhausted to stand. (Or at least that was the story told to us!) Was the deer subsequently “put out to pasture”? Alas, that was not part of the tale.

  Blair Bancroft

  About the Author:

  Believing variety is the spice of life, I also write Regency historicals and suspense, as well as contemporary Romantic Suspense and Mystery (please see the list below). And I’m thrilled to note that Rebel Princess, Book 1 of my Futuristic/Paranormal series, Blue Moon Rising, has recently been published by Kindle Scout.

  The Golden Beach (GB) books are not a classic series. Some have connected characters; others, only a connected setting, a very real Florida Gulf Coast resort and retirement community whose name has been changed because the residents would like to keep its uniqueness a deep, dark secret.

  I am always delighted to hear from my readers. I can be contacted at blairbancroft@aol.com.

  My website: http://www.blairbancroft.com/.

  My blog: http://mosaicmoments.blogspot.com/

  Twitter: @blairbancroft

  Blair’s books:

  Traditional Regencies

  The Courtesan’s Letters

  The Temporary Earl

  The Harem Bride

  A Season for Love

  A Gamble on Love

  Lady Silence

  Steeplechase

  Lady of the Lock

  Mistletoe Moment (late 2016)

  The Last Surprise (late 2016)

  Other Historicals

  The Captive Heiress (Medieval)

  Airborne - The Hanover Restoration (Steampunk)

  Regency Gothics

  The Welshman’s Bride

  The Demons of Fenley Marsh

  The Mists of Moorhead Manor

  Brides of Falconfell

  The Regency Warrior Series (in order)

  The Sometime Bride

  Tarleton’s Wife

  O’Rourke’s Heiress

  Rogue’s Destiny

  Regency Darkside (18+)

  Belle

  Cecilia

  Holly

  Juliana

  Futuristic/Paranormal

  Rebel Princess (Blue Moon Rising series)

  Contemporary Mystery/Suspense

  Shadowed Paradise (GB)

  Paradise Burning (GB)

  The Art of Evil

  Florida Wild (summer 2016)

  Death by Marriage (GB)

  Orange Blossoms & Mayhem (GB)

  Limbo Man

  Contemporary Romance

  Florida Knight (GB)

  Love at Your Own Risk