Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  She met his gaze squarely. “That’s it, then. It’s all over.”

  “Yes, I hope so.” The words strangled him.

  “I haven’t been able to work—I can’t pay your fee. But I will, I assure you.”

  “Your aunt paid me. You owe me nothing.”

  “Then the accounts are closed,” Sarah said, staring at the top button of his waistcoat.

  “I suppose they are.”

  There was an awkward silence. His nerves nearly broke.

  Then with a sudden burst of energy, Sarah grabbed his forearm. “Don’t leave me here—let me come back with you to Second Sons! Tonight!”

  “Sarah, we’ve been over this—you can’t return with me. You’re a lady.”

  “Yes, but if…if you don’t want me, I can simply work with you. Just think, I can be a maid, or footman, or anything! Surely, I can assist you in your inquiries. And if you don’t want me, I’ll ask Mr. Gaunt to hire me.”

  “Sarah, Sarah…” William laughed bitterly and pulled her into his arms, resting his cheek against the top of her head to hide the pain in his face. She felt so right in his arms, so warm. The lace and feathers of her cap tickled his nose, and he chuckled and sneezed simultaneously. “I suppose you’ll just steal some poor stable boy’s clothes and run to Second Sons regardless of any advice?”

  “If you really don’t want me to…” she replied, her voice soft and sad. “If you don’t want me—if I’m not beautiful or intelligent enough—”

  “Never fear, Sarah, I want you. You’re more beautiful than you realize. I love you. But I can’t ask you to give up your position and family. Not when you’ve just found them again.”

  “I’m not giving up anything, you dolt!” she replied. She wrapped her arms around him and snuggled deeper into his embrace.

  “Yes—you are. And I can’t expect you to marry me—Mr. Archer would never allow it. Not now. Now go—get out and go back to your family, where you belong.” His heart hammered so rapidly he could hardly hear.

  She hit him on the chest with tight fists, her face white with fury. “Fine—I understand, well enough. Then get on with your beautiful life, Mr. Trenchard. I wish you well with your high ideals.”

  With that, she turned and fled from the room. He watched her pass out of sight through the doorway, as though the gates of heaven were slamming shut in the face of a damned soul.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Sarah’s heart ached as she joined the Archers. Somehow, she managed to paste a smile on her face, dance a few more waltzes, and struggle through the rest of the night. She felt numb. She couldn’t seem to concentrate on anything and felt vaguely surprised when no one seemed to notice.

  They were all oblivious to her pain and the horrendous future that stretched out in front of her. Endless years of hollow social engagements, filled with false smiles of feigned happiness.

  The next morning, Sarah felt tired and despondent. After dawdling over her bath, she was preparing to step out of the chilly water when she heard a gasp. Dripping, she swaddled herself in a voluminous towel and peered over her shoulder. Her aunt was staring at her as if her hair were on fire.

  The feeling was so intense Sarah patted her damp head just to make sure.

  “Your back!” Lady Victoria exclaimed, her face ashen. “Your back!”

  “My back?” Sarah repeated. She twisted her head around and tried to look over her shoulder. Water sloshed around her ankles. All she could see was the towel. “What’s wrong with my back? I didn’t cut myself, did I?” There was no trail of blood swirling through the soapsuds.

  She almost wished there was. Maybe she would feel something then.

  Lady Victoria stepped closer. She grasped Sarah’s shoulder with cold hands.

  “Ow!” Sarah protested with a shiver.

  Her aunt ignored her and pulled at the towel. “Moles! At the edge of your shoulder blade. Your left shoulder blade!”

  “Oh,” Sarah said, still puzzled. She’d never studied her back before, mostly because she couldn’t see it.

  “Five moles in a line following the edge of your shoulder blade, with two more to the left. The Cygnus constellation. The swan!” Lady Victoria turned abruptly to the maid. The girl stood waiting for Sarah to step out of the bathwater so she could begin the tedious process of emptying it. “You must fetch Mr. Archer at once!”

  Had her aunt taken leave of her senses?

  Sarah climbed out of the bath. She grabbed her wrapper, tugging it over her damp arms. “Why did you send for Uncle John? At least give me a moment to dress!”

  “It won’t matter. And he’ll want to see—oh, Mary!” Lady Victoria pulled Sarah into her arms and sobbed into her neck. “Oh, Mary!”

  “Lady Victoria, please!” Sarah tried to push her away, but her aunt clung to her. She sobbed and…was that laughter?

  She was wailing and laughing simultaneously as if she were seriously deranged. The recent events must have unhinged her mind. Thank goodness, she had had the foresight to send the maid for her husband. Perhaps he could talk sense into her. Or give her a good, brisk slap.

  “Lady Victoria, perhaps you ought to take a seat,” Sarah said, distracted and uncomfortable. The clammy folds of her wrapper clung to her limbs like icy ropes.

  Sarah managed to ease her aunt into a chair by the window. Lady Victoria sat with her face in her hands, mumbling the name “Mary,” interspersed with short bursts of sobs, mixed with hysterical-sounding giggles.

  Sarah watched her for a moment, seriously concerned. Her aunt was not one to break down so easily.

  “Just rest, Lady Victoria. Uncle John will be here shortly.” Sarah ran to her clothespress and plundered the contents for a chemise, petticoat, and one of her new morning dresses. She’d have to forgo the corset. She didn’t have time to struggle with it.

  Still trying to tie enough tabs to keep everything in place, Sarah jumped violently, slamming her knee into the clothespress when a knock sounded at her bedroom door.

  “Come in!” she said, glancing at her aunt. Lady Victoria was less hysterical now, although her hands still covered her face.

  “The maid said you wished to see me,” Uncle John said, strolling into the room. As soon as he caught sight of his wife, huddled in her chair, he rushed over. “Vee! Vee, dearest, what’s wrong?”

  Lady Victoria glanced at him and burst into a fresh bout of tears.

  “Good God!” Archer put his arms around her. He stared over her head at Sarah. “What happened? Get some water and sal volatile, at once! Don’t just stand there, young lady!”

  Catching sight of the maid hesitating in the doorway, Sarah turned to her. “Fetch the sal volatile! Or smelling salts, or something! And send for the doctor!”

  “Yes, Lady Sarah!” The maid rushed away, leaving the door open in her haste.

  “Vee, dear, what is it?” Uncle John asked his wife, gently squeezing her shoulders. When she didn’t respond, he rubbed her cheek with his knuckles.

  Pointing a shaking finger at Sarah, Lady Victoria said, “Mary! Mary!”

  Her husband hugged her, a curiously smug smile curving his mouth. He rested his chin on her head and glanced at Sarah. “I see. You were bathing—yes, I see now.”

  “See what? What’s wrong?” Sarah asked, confused.

  “Did Lady Vee see your back, by any chance? Perchance while you were bathing?”

  “Yes—I’m sorry, I still don’t understand. What’s wrong with my back?” A sick, churning feeling seeped through Sarah. She sat down abruptly on the edge of her bed, staring at her aunt and uncle.

  The world slowly spun and crumbled around her.

  “Presumably, nothing,” Uncle John said. “It is simply that our child, Mary, had a line of moles on her back, remarkably similar in form to the Cygnus constellation.”

  “Your child? Mary?”

  “Yes. I’ve been thinking for some time now that the mark on your forehead might be indicative of more serious harm. You don’t reme
mber, do you? You didn’t know who you were after the fire?”

  “I—I remembered Lord Longmoor thrusting that box into my hands and kissing me. He called me Sarah! I—I couldn’t remember precisely, but why would he call me that if it wasn’t my name? And then I saw the paper in the box. He must have been my father. And I had a locket with the name ‘Sarah’ inscribed. I must be Sarah!”

  “No. He loved you—your entire family loved you very much—but you weren’t Sarah then, and you aren’t Sarah now. You are our daughter, Mary.”

  “But the locket—”

  “You traded with your cousin, Sarah,” Lady Victoria said. “Don’t you remember? You had her locket, and she had yours.”

  “No—I don’t remember.” The jumble in her head spun one more time and settled in a series of fractured images.

  She’d remembered the two other children she had played with at Elderwood. They had been so timid—she had always been the one who had to go to the kitchen to steal the cake and milk for them at night. They were afraid of the dark. And she remembered their shadowy faces, but until this moment, she simply had never been sure which one of those children she had been.

  But now, she realized in a rush why the Archers made her so uncomfortable with their kindness and offers of love. She had been desperately afraid she was wrong about them—about everything. If she loved them, she would only suffer the pain of losing them one more time.

  She couldn’t bear it. Not again.

  She caught Lady Victoria’s gaze. The love in her eyes made Sarah—Mary—burst into tears of confused, wary joy. As if in answer, Lady Victoria broke down into a fresh bout of crying. Even Uncle John surreptitiously wiped his own eyes with the handkerchief he had pulled out for his wife.

  “You knew?” Sarah—Mary—asked her father, swallowing and hiccupping as she strove for control.

  “I suspected. Getting the proof, however, would have been…indelicate.”

  “Before or after you tried to kill me with the water jug?” she asked.

  He hummed, his brown eyes dancing. “Let’s say I had my suspicions when I saw you. When I saw your eyes, to be precise. And then there was the fact you had escaped and successfully hidden your identity for over thirteen years. With truly remarkable ingenuity, I might add. To me, that was proof enough that you were an Archer. Sarah and Samuel were never so bold.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “It was possible—not likely—but possible, that I was wrong, and that you really were Sarah Sanderson. It seemed advisable to wait.”

  Sarah chuckled and wiped her eyes before rising to give her parents a hug. She felt lightheaded with bubbling, frothy emotions, as if she had drunk an entire bottle of champagne. Lady Victoria clung to her. And even her father’s crushing embrace lasted long enough for her to laugh and weep again.

  “Oh, this is so wonderful,” she said at last, when her father released her.

  Her father eyed her searchingly. “But? I sense something that is not so wonderful, after all.”

  “Oh, no—I’m grateful and delighted to find you are my parents.”

  “But?” Even Lady Victoria was now studying her.

  “I—I’m desperately unhappy. Oh, not with you. The thing is—I love Mr. Trenchard!”

  “I don’t see anything so terrible in that. I assume he loves you, as well?” her father asked. “He certainly made a pest of himself during the investigation.”

  “I—I think he does, but he refuses to marry me.”

  “He does, does he?” A martial light entered her father’s gray eyes.

  “Oh, not because of my past—I assure you. He says marriage to him would only ruin me. Socially. But I don’t care!”

  “Well, yes,” her mother said in a slow voice. “There is that, I’m afraid. He does have a point. And it’s rather noble of him to remind you of it.”

  “But I don’t care—as if I’m not ruined already!” she replied bitterly.

  “Mary!” her parents said in unison.

  “I am—there’s no sense trying to deny it. A lady doesn’t work as a bricklayer.”

  “You are the cousin of a duke, my dear. You simply can’t be ruined,” her father said. “Besides, you spent the last thirteen years in a boarding school in Switzerland, if I’m not mistaken.” His eyes twinkled. “However, your Mr. Trenchard is a fine one to be worrying about ruination. As a member of the middle class, he ought to be more concerned about his own reputation.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously. She could sense the wheels turning in her father’s mind. Unfortunately, she wasn’t sure that was altogether a good thing.

  “They’re very, well, moral,” he explained. “And very susceptible to accusations of depravity and bad behavior—which makes them depressingly easy to convince.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Sarah said, eyeing her mother, who was now trying desperately to stifle a laugh.

  “Oh, John, you wouldn’t!” Lady Victoria said.

  “I don’t see why not. If Mary wants to marry him, then marry him she shall.”

  “But I explained—he said he won’t do it!” Sarah—Mary—repeated.

  “Oh, I rather think he will,” her father said smugly. “After tonight.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Her father smiled in his knowing way, producing a now familiar sinking feeling in her stomach. “Come along, daughter. You mustn’t be faint of heart—not now.”

  Her fingers twisted together nervously, but she went on gamely. “I’m not a coward—I’m just not sure what you’re suggesting.”

  “Tonight, you shall pay him a visit. Sometime after midnight, I should think.” Her father eyed her. “Is there a convenient tree, perhaps? A way to get into his bedroom?”

  “Not a tree,” she said. Then she remembered Sotheby’s well-hidden soft side and the way he had let her in after she’d been shot. He would let in Mr. Sanderson. “But I know I can find a way inside. Though I don’t know what good it will do.”

  Lady Victoria smothered a giggle with one hand and slapped her husband’s forearm with the other. “You old goat,” she murmured. “You are terrible—and incorrigible.”

  He grinned and patted her hand. “Bring one of those lacy chemises—plenty of ribbons. And lace.” He had the grace to flush.

  “You’re not suggesting—” Sarah’s vivid imagination brought William’s face—and his broad, bare chest—to mind. Her body tingled.

  “Just be in his room—preferably in his bed—by, um, shall we say 1:00 a.m. Sharp?”

  “He’ll die of mortification,” she replied, savoring the notion.

  “Not before he marries you, my dear. He can’t refuse to save you from ruin, now can he? Not after he’s been so solicitous of your reputation.” He rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “So, don’t forget. At precisely one, I shall come through the doorway flourishing my pistols—or better yet a cutlass—and demanding justice. We shall get the necessary licenses immediately. And I shall bring the vicar of Longmoor with me, just to be sure.”

  “You’re both dreadful,” Lady Victoria said.

  Her father smiled and flung an arm around Sarah’s shoulder. “We’re both Archers.”

  “Then poor Mr. Trenchard has my deepest sympathy,” Lady Victoria said. “Because he hasn’t a chance.”

  “But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Mr. Archer replied. “He did say he loved you, Mary, didn’t he?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, her heart dancing light and free.

  The notion of walking in on William while he was curled up, fast asleep in bed, at the misty hour of midnight was too romantic to ignore. She could just imagine his face, surrounded by tousled blond curls, when he woke up to find her next to him. And his expression when he saw her father standing in the doorway with a brace of pistols cocked and the vicar behind him.

  It was irresistible.

  “I’m so glad that I’m your daughter,” she said, embracing her parents. “And you’
re right. William doesn’t have a chance. He never did. He just didn’t realize it. But he will tonight, won’t he?”

  “Oh, yes,” her father agreed. “We’ll see to that.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  “What the—what are you doing here?” William asked, waking suddenly to find Sarah slipping under the crook of his arm. He sat up and glanced around in confusion. “In my bed!”

  “I missed you,” she said. She snuggled against him and pulled his arm over her shoulder. His hand instinctively curved over her warm, soft breast. There seemed to be nothing between her satiny skin and his palm except a ridiculously thin confection of lace and satin ribbons.

  It was a dream. It had to be.

  The bed was filled with the soft scent of rose and Sarah. He bent his head and brushed his lips against her silky, blonde-streaked hair.

  “Oh, Sarah,” he murmured, his arms tightening around her. He knew he should push her away, but he couldn’t find the strength to do so. Not again. And if this was a dream, he wanted it to last forever. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “You haven’t.” Her voice bubbled with laughter. “I’m not Sarah. I’m Mary. Mary Archer.”

  “What?” He pulled back and grabbed her by the shoulders. “You’re Mary Archer?” Then he laughed and pulled her against him, breathing in the rich fragrance of her hair. “I should have known—you always had the look of the Archers.”

  “So, there’s nothing for you to worry about. I’m not a lady, after all.”

  “Maybe not.” His heart pounded as he gently raised her face to his. He studied her lovely features, grateful to hold her in his arms one more time. “But you’ll always be a lady to me.”

  Then just as he pressed his lips against her eager mouth, he heard the distant chime of the clock in his office. 1:00 a.m.

  The door slammed open. It hit the wall with such force that the jug of water on his washstand fell over with a crash.

  “Ahoy!” Mr. Archer’s voice yelled from the doorway. In deep, Shakespearian tones he said, “Take thy hands off my daughter, ye knave!”

  William had no time to recover before a tall, silver-haired man followed. He crowded into his bedroom behind Mr. Archer. “Oh, dear,” he said, casting a meek, embarrassed glance down at the carpet.