by Wendy Vella
“Yes, sir,” he replied majestically, offering nothing else.
William leaned against the doorjamb, his eyes closed. His eyelids felt gritty. A smile tried to curve his mouth, but exhaustion drained it away.
“Sir?” the butler asked. “Would you care to enter?”
“What?” William replied, rubbing his jaw. The rasp of his unshaven whiskers sounded abnormally loud. “Oh, yes.” He stumbled inside and stood staring at the lamp gracing a table in the center of the hallway.
“If you would follow me, sir, I believe they are at breakfast.”
“I shouldn’t intrude.” He straightened.
“It presents no difficulty. I believe you are expected.” He led the way to the dining room, where he firmly escorted William to a seat at Lady Victoria’s right hand.
William glanced around, noting that Mr. Archer was missing. Sarah sat on her aunt’s left. He paused in the act of sitting and focused his attention on her, feeling a sense of unfamiliarity. She was Sarah, and she wasn’t.
A lacy cap hid most of her blond-streaked hair. And from the amount of exposed bosom showing, she appeared to be clad in a very modish gown of the palest green. She looked very beautiful in the soft early morning light.
“Mr. Trenchard, how good to see you,” Lady Victoria greeted him.
“Lady Victoria.” He nodded at her. He caught Sarah’s gaze. “Miss Sanderson.”
A warm flush rose over her cheeks. Noting his gaze, she self-consciously rested a hand at the base of her bare neck. His body tightened.
“Mr. Trenchard,” she said, her flush deepening prettily.
He cast a sardonic smile in her direction, enjoying her evident discomfort.
Her pale face and the dark hollows around her eyes increased her fragile, uncertain air. If she hadn’t run off, she could have had a decent night’s sleep.
He clenched his jaw against the tug of sympathy.
“I’m afraid my husband is indisposed,” Lady Victoria said as the butler scooped fluffy yellow scrambled eggs onto their plates.
“Indisposed?” William repeated.
“He was shot!” Sarah leaned forward, almost hitting the butler as he refilled her plate.
The footman, seeing this, stood back a moment before offering a plate of kippers.
“Shot? Is he injured badly?” William half stood, staring at Sarah. “Are you hurt?”
She cast a quick glance at Lady Victoria before answering, “No, I’m quite well.”
“My husband says he was only grazed. The ball went through a muscle in his upper shoulder. He is tired, but should not suffer any lasting harm.” Lady Victoria allowed the butler to refill her cup of coffee before saying, “If you would like to speak to him, we can see if he is awake when we conclude our meal.”
“Thank you.” William ploughed through the food on his plate.
After a few moments, he noticed that for once, Sarah only pushed her eggs around her plate. Was she finally realizing the seriousness of her position, or was she worried about her uncle?
“It wasn’t your fault,” he said abruptly while the footman cleared away his plate in preparation to serve a sliver of fruit in a crystal bowl.
“Of course not,” Lady Victoria agreed, although her eyes were grave.
Sarah glanced at him. He fancied there was a small flicker of gratitude in her gaze. Nonetheless, she said, “If I hadn’t gone—”
“Yes. However you were only doing what you thought best, my dear,” her aunt interrupted. “You did not expect my husband to come after you.”
“I should have, though.” Sarah turned to look at William. “But why did you? Why couldn’t you just let me go?”
“Because you’re paying me to keep you out of danger,” he answered smoothly.
“I would have been safe,” she objected, tired strain showing on her white face. “You should be looking for the man responsible for Major Pickering’s murder.”
“The Isle of Wight—is that where you intended to hide?” William laughed harshly. “If I figured out where you were headed, don’t you think a clever murderer might?”
“You sound precisely like Mr. Archer,” Sarah replied, her tone redolent with bitterness. “I hadn’t realized I was so predictable.”
“Uncle John, dear,” Lady Victoria corrected her gently. She reached over and squeezed Sarah’s hand. “I know it is difficult after all these years, but please try. We are your family.”
Sarah’s mouth compressed into a straight line. William had the notion that she was holding back what she wanted to say. However, she did turn her hand to clasp her aunt’s fingers and press them with tentative affection.
Showing a great deal of grace, Lady Victoria changed the topic of conversation to other less emotional subjects. When they finally concluded their meal, William followed the two women upstairs to Archer’s bedchamber.
“John, dear, are you awake?” Lady Victoria asked in a soft voice as they stood in the doorway.
“Yes! What the blazes is it now?” he replied in a peevish tone.
William entered behind Lady Victoria. Archer was propped up against a vast pile of pillows. Heavy curtains of navy and gold brocade draped the large bed.
“You’re quite the hero, Archer,” William said, rubbing the back of his neck. He rotated his shoulders, trying to ease the stiffness. His recent meal filled his stomach comfortably, but the food was also making him sluggish.
Archer shifted uncomfortably and frowned, although William thought he detected a gleam of satisfaction in Archer’s brown eyes.
“A very tired one—if I am a hero. Which I doubt,” Archer said gruffly. “Stop swarming about the door. Come in or stay out, one or the other. So, what did you discover?”
The two women advanced, skirting William to stand closer to Archer’s bed. Sarah awkwardly smoothed her skirts as she studied her uncle with an uncertain look on her face.
“Only that your niece has been playing matchmaker,” William said, belatedly guessing the extent of Sarah’s plans. “She seems to suffer from the delusion that convincing Miss Hawkins and Mr. Bingham to elope to Gretna Green is more important than her life.”
“I do not,” Sarah said.
“No matter,” Archer said, waving a hand. “We did get our opponents to show one more card.”
“That bullet in your shoulder?”
“It may disappoint you to know there is no bullet in my shoulder. It went clean through.” Archer’s eyes strayed to his niece when she made a soft, sad noise.
“Did you recognize him?” William asked.
“Sadly, no,” Archer said.
When Sarah caught William’s gaze, she shook her head and shrugged.
“Then there is no advantage for us,” William said.
“Tell me, Mr. Trenchard, did you return to the tavern after going to Hawkins’s house?” Archer asked instead of responding to his statement.
“Yes,” William replied shortly, cursing his slowness.
“Did you notice any carriages in the courtyard?” Archer asked.
William moved closer to the door. “There were any number of conveyances.”
“Did you notice a green one with a crest?” Archer asked.
“There were none by that description. Why?”
“I suppose we can hardly blame you, then, if it was gone by the time you returned.”
So that was it. Archer had seen the murderer’s coach and recognized it.
“What did you see?”
“The Duke of Rother’s carriage. We managed to slip away—I thought before they saw us—but apparently not. Someone subsequently followed us on horseback.”
“I see. So the duke is responsible?” That would certainly make matters much more complex and difficult.
Archer nodded. “It is certainly a possibility.”
“Other than this coincidence, do you have any basis for your conclusions?”
“Your invoices.”
“Certainly, he may be implicated,” William acknowledged
, his mind flashing over what he knew. “However, you’re as aware as I that invoices are not proof. And he is a duke. Definite proof is required.”
“Have you made inquiries into his finances?” Archer shifted restlessly beneath his covers. One thin hand plucked at the edge of the coverlet.
“I—” William stopped with a tired sigh. He hadn’t had time. “What do you know about his financial matters?”
“In 1803, and again in 1804, there were rumors that the duke was having difficulties meeting his bills. Lady Vee’s brother, in fact, hired several of the duke’s servants who left his service when he neglected to pay them as much, or as frequently, as agreed. Then, I think in 1805, or certainly by 1806, these difficulties seemed to diminish. Then disappear entirely. I find those circumstances extraordinarily compelling.”
“Interesting, though hardly conclusive. And we lack proof that he was involved in the murder of Major Pickering.”
“Do you agree that Sarah’s papers seem to be the impetus for the murders?” Archer asked.
“Perhaps. Although no one has attempted to kill me, and I’ve been flashing the papers left and right.”
Archer smiled. “Maybe because you appear so woefully ignorant of their importance.”
“Indeed,” William replied dryly, a slight smile warping his mouth. The long ride had provided him plenty of time to consider ways to flush the murderer out into the open. He wasn’t completely witless.
Without intending to, his eyes focused on Sarah, lingering on the long, slender curve of her neck.
“Therefore, we must use them to set a trap,” Archer said before William could continue. “Draw him out. Force him to admit the truth.”
“That would certainly help. However, I’d like the opportunity to strengthen our position with a few more inquiries.”
“If it makes you feel more assured, I see no objection,” Archer said magnanimously.
“What do you mean, draw him out?” Sarah asked, obviously unable to remain silent. Her thin body quivered with tension. And once again, William was struck by the strong familial resemblances. Sarah belonged with these two. She was at home, although she failed to realize it.
When she looked at him, he responded with a warm smile. Her tired eyes lit up in response.
“The papers may draw him out,” William suggested.
Archer nodded. “And Sarah can offer to meet him privately. To give them to him. If he’s as desperate as he seems, he will rise to the bait.”
“Blackmail? You’re suggesting we try to blackmail a duke?” Sarah asked, her tone incredulous.
William smiled and shook his head. “No. Not blackmail. A simple offer to hand over the documents. Preferably during a suitably public event.”
“A ball,” Archer said, his eyes glowing with anticipation. “To introduce our niece to Society.” He gestured to Sarah. “That should do very nicely.”
“No!” Sarah replied emphatically. “No balls. No!”
“But Sarah, dear,” Lady Victoria said. “You—”
“No!” Sarah cut her off. “The entire notion is preposterous. I won’t do it.”
“Why? Do be reasonable,” Lady Victoria said. “You are the daughter of a marquess. You will have to be presented eventually.” She laid a soothing hand on Sarah’s arm. “You are just exhausted. In the morning, you will see the sense of it.”
“No! You can’t expect to pass off a common laborer, a bricklayer, as a lady of quality!” Sarah argued.
Her aunt refused to give up so easily. “Well, of course not. I have some wonderful creams, however, that will quite remove that slight touch of sun from your nose and cheeks. In a few weeks, you will be transformed, I assure you. You will see.”
“Have you all gone mad? I can’t dance. I have no accomplishments and no conversation. I can hardly go about the ballroom extolling on the virtues of English over rat trap bonds. I’m not a lady, and I doubt I ever will be!” Sarah’s gray eyes begged William to help her. He took an involuntary step in her direction before he caught himself.
“Sarah, stop this nonsense immediately,” her aunt said bracingly. “You are an absolutely wonderful girl. Is she not, Mr. Trenchard?”
“Wonderful,” William agreed, shrugging when Sarah frowned at him.
Then she stared at Lady Victoria and her uncle as if in angry disbelief. However, despite her protests, she did indeed look like a lady in her new clothes. And she would soon discover that she belonged here.
Overnight, she had slipped away from him to assume her rightful position.
“You believe everyone will accept me because I’m the daughter of a marquess,” she said in a dispirited voice. “You think they’ll have no choice.”
“You’re wrong, Sarah,” William said, longing to put an arm around her. “They’ll accept you because you’re a determined and resourceful woman. You’ve had to be to survive as you have. Just remember that. It’s all you need to make them love you.”
And with a painful sense of loss, William realized that the transformation of Samuel Sanderson into Sarah Sanderson, and finally, into Lady Sarah, had truly begun. He was losing his best, if most annoying, friend. Half of his heart.
My love. He hadn’t expected love to tear at him like a badger at his throat.
“There you are,” Archer said. “Now let me get some sleep. We can plan how to approach this delicate matter during the next few days. There’s no rush now that we have our girl safely in our hands. And Mr. Trenchard has time to make whatever inquiries he sees fit.”
“Thank you.” William nodded. A few more ends to tidy up and he would never see Sarah, or the Archers, again.
The future looked unbearably bleak, but he had made his choice.
“And if you’ve any charges that need payment, Lady Vee can give you something on account,” Archer said, settling back amongst his pillows.
“I’ll pay him,” Sarah objected. “It’s my debt.”
There it was. He was a paid servant and could not forget it.
“Nonsense. Mr. Trenchard has already gone to considerable expense on our behalf. And you are part of our family now, Sarah.” Lady Victoria smiled and held out her hand to the girl. “Lady Sarah, I should say.”
Sarah took her hand and suffered her embrace, although her eyes strayed to William. She looked confused and sad.
“I don’t see how this is possible—” Sarah gave one last, soft protest.
“A nunnery. In Switzerland,” William replied savagely. “You were sent away after the tragedy. Now, you’re ready for your presentation. It’s all very easy.”
“There you are,” Archer agreed, although his sharp gaze made William uncomfortable.
Mercifully, Lady Victoria took charge of them after her husband closed his eyes in dismissal and ended the depressing conversation. She sent Sarah to her room and took William down to the library. There, she pulled a box out of the desk and began counting out bank notes.
“You must regret ever hearing the name of Archer,” she said with a smile. “And you still don’t trust my husband, do you? Even now?”
“Lady Victoria—”
She cut him off with a laugh and a fluttering hand. “He does not make it easy. However, you can trust him to care of Sarah.” A catch in her throat made her stop and swallow. “We had not expected—had not hoped that anyone—that she had survived that terrible night.” She leaned forward and grabbed his hand. “We are so grateful to you—you have no notion of what it means to have her here. To have Lady Sarah back after all these years.”
“It was my pleasure,” he replied with a slight bow.
She pushed a stack of bank notes forward. “I am so sorry, this is dreadfully awkward, but we hold you in our hearts as a dear friend. Never doubt that.”
Jaw clenched, William nodded and picked up the money, folding it and tucking it into his pocket without counting it. “Would you please tell me what happened that night? Sarah--that is, Lady Sarah—can’t remember. It might be important.”
“I don’t see what I can tell you. I am sorry.” Lady Victoria’s thin face paled.
“Please—what happened?”
“We were not there during the fire.”
“Where were you?”
She covered her face with her hands, hunching over the desk. “We should have been there. Our daughter, Mary, was staying at Elderwood with her cousins. I thought it was the best place for her—with Sarah and Samuel. They had a wonderful governess, you see. And the children were so happy together, and she was so lonely by herself at home. Truly, it seemed best for her to stay there.” She rubbed her face and stared at him, her gray eyes rimmed with red. Her gaze was so much like Sarah’s that William reached out and took her hand, rubbing the fragile, cold fingers between his palms.
“What happened the night of the fire?” he persisted.
“That is just it, is it not? If we had been there, perhaps we could have saved Mary…and my brother. And his children.”
“Where were you?”
She gripped his hand and gave a shaky laugh. “I—I have never forgiven myself for that. It was a wager. A silly wager that we could steal the pewter candlesticks from the local squire’s dining room.” She laughed, although the sound was torn by gasping tremors of tears.
No wonder they had never said where they had been that night. It also explained Lord Dacy’s comment about Lady Victoria’s attempts to quell her husband’s gambling. She had developed a habit of slowing him down by having young relatives escort him. Her grief over the events surrounding their wager apparently drove her nearly mad with the need to prevent him from doing anything so foolish again.
Studying Lady Victoria, William felt a rush of pity. She was still sick with anguish over that night over thirteen years ago.
“If we had been there, we could have saved them. What a dreadful way to die. I cannot bear to think of it.” Her voice shook.
He squeezed her hand and gave it a little encouraging shake. “If you’d been there, you’d have died, too. And Lady Sarah would have no one.”
“No. John would have—”
“You’re wrong. You would have been inside with the others. You would have been trapped, just like they were. There’s nothing you could have done.”