by Holt, Cheryl
“You shouldn’t have.”
The footman was lowering the step, preparing to open the door, and Sarah reached for the latch, wanting to be inside, to get it over with so she’d quit debating. Once the vows were spoken, there would be no going back, and her nerves would calm.
She rose to climb out, but Caroline clasped her wrist and yanked her to her seat.
“Don’t do it, Sarah,”Caroline pleaded.
“Sheldon is waiting for me.”
“So let him wait. Let’s leave. Let’s just take off.”
“To where?”
“To wherever you like. We’ll rush to Dover and book passage on the first ship we encounter that’s sailing right away. We’ll travel to Spain or Italy and rent a villa in the sun. We’ll find an old midwife to tend you, and we’ll lounge on the beach while you grow fat and happy. We’ll forget all this trouble. We’ll refuse the sensible marriage and the pragmatic choice; we’ll beat the odds.”
For a moment, Sarah closed her eyes and wallowed in the vision Caroline had painted.
She could practically see the spot they’d select, tucked on a hillside overlooking the ocean. They’d have a shaded porch and hammocks strung between the palm trees in the yard. Like a pair of native girls, they’d bronze their skin and go barefoot. They’d loaf and eat and dicker over baby names.
It was a pretty picture, and she supposed there were women in the world who could behave so outrageously. Caroline probably could, but Sarah couldn’t.
She was who she was: Bernard Teasdale’s daughter. She’d been raised on a quiet rural estate and had never committed any wild or bizarre acts until John Sinclair had crossed her path.
The past few months had given her a hint of the adventure that lurked on the horizon. But there was a reason a female remained at home, guarded her reputation, and obeyed moral strictures.
Temptations abounded, but they only brought shame and ruin.
Sarah would spend the rest of her life picking up the pieces from her pointless dance with pleasure and excitement. She was doing the best she could, making the choices she assumed were the correct ones. A braver female might have walked another road. Caroline might have flitted off to Spain. But Sarah was going into the church to wed Sheldon.
The ceremony was a new beginning for her where she would leave scandal and dishonor behind. From here on out, she would be an exemplary person, would perform good deeds, would be helpful and kind. Surely there was some redemption to be had.
“I can’t go to Spain,”she said.
“You can go. I’ll stay with you every second.”
Sarah patted Caroline’s hand. “It’s a fool’s dream, Caro. This is reality. Let’s head inside.”
“But…but…” Caroline gnawed on her cheek.
“What?”
“Couldn’t you delay a few more days?”
“To what end?”
“I have to tell you something. Promise you won’t be angry.”
“Well, that depends on what you’re about to say.”
“Raven went to France.”
At the mention of France, Sarah’s heart raced, and she scowled. “You told me he was in London.”
“No, he’s in France.”
“What for?”
“To inform Jean Pierre that you’re increasing and marrying Sheldon.”
A wave of hope swept through Sarah, but it was swiftly followed by a wave of exasperation.
“What exactly is it that he expects John Sinclair might do?”
“We thought…that is…it might make a difference if he knew there was a babe. He might return and wed you himself.”
“You thought a babe might make a difference to John Sinclair?”
“Yes.” Caroline glanced away. “It was worth a try, don’t you think?”
“No, I don’t think.”
“What if you marry Sheldon today, and Jean Pierre rides up in a week or two? What then?”
“Then I’ll already have a husband, that being Sheldon—my neighbor who agreed to assist me in my time of great difficulty.”
“Jean Pierre might come, Sarah,”Caroline pressed. “It could happen.”
“He is his father’s son in everyway. He won’t come, and I can’t believe you’d hurt me by suggesting it. Now I’m late, and this discussion is ridiculous.”
Sarah banged on the door, and the footman pulled it open. He guided her down, and she spun to wait for Caroline, but Caroline didn’t move.
“I can’t attend, Sarah.”
“Please?”
“I can’t watch. It seems so wrong.”
“Do it for me. Do it because I’ve always been your friend, and now, I need you to be mine.”
Caroline moaned in misery and nestled against the squab. Sarah tarried in the muddy drive, feeling like the last person on earth, with no family or place or future. Behind her, she could hear the organist playing a quiet hymn.
She sighed and muttered, “Fine. Be that way. I’ll go through it on my own.”
She whipped away and went in. The vicar’s wife was anxiously hovering in the vestibule as if she’d worried Sarah might jilt Sheldon. There was no one else to greet her, though. Not her parents who were deceased. Not Hedley who should have been present to escort her down the aisle.
At that moment, she was so forlorn that she’d have welcomed Mildred, but Sheldon had taken Mildred to London. She’d cursed and fumed and refused, but he’d taken her anyway and left her there in the new house she hadn’t wanted.
“Are you all set, dear?”the vicar’s wife asked.
“Yes.”
“You look lovely.”
Sarah knew it was a lie. She looked wan and exhausted and distraught, and there’d been no time to have a new gown sewn. Still, she appreciated the sentiment, and she forced a smile.
“Thank you.”
“I’ll tell my husband you’re ready.” She shoved a bouquet of wilted flowers at Sarah. “He’ll step out with Sheldon, then the organist will begin the entry march. Come in when the music blares.”
“I will.”
Then she was gone, and Sarah was alone again.
The woman hurried down the aisle and slipped in a side door by the altar. The church was full, and people peered back at her. They grinned encouragingly, but Sarah pretended not to notice as the vicar and Sheldon emerged and stood together. Sheldon stared and glowered.
The door opened behind her, and she peeked over to see Caroline hasten in. Tears of gratitude flooded Sarah’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,”Caroline whispered as she rushed in.
“It’s all right.”
“Of course I’ll stand with you, and it will be over before you know it.”
“Yes, it will.”
The organ rang out, the loud chords urging her to proceed, but the altar seemed miles away, as if it was a mirage and she could never reach it. For a frantic instant, she was terribly dizzy, as if she might swoon, but Caroline squeezed her hand.
“I’ll go first,”Caroline said, “and you can follow me. Or would you like me to walk you down?”
“No, I’m fine. I’ll follow you.”
Caroline started off, and Sarah had a minute to reflect on all she’d lost, all she was giving away, all she was gaining. She’d lost the love of her life and was giving away her home. She was gaining a father for her child, security and companionship and her reputation protected and restored.
Was it an even trade?
It had to be, and she wouldn’t consider that it wasn’t.
She wondered what Raven had said to John Sinclair, what John had said in reply.
Did it matter? No, it did not.
In the lonely months and years ahead, would he ever think fondly of her? Would he ever regret his decision to abandon her? Would he ever be sorry?
No, he would not.
He’d left her at a roadside coaching inn and rode away. There was no other fact she ever needed to understand about the man.
Caroline slid into the sea
t reserved for her in the front pew. She glanced back, her calm expression pushing Sarah to take the first step. After the first one, it wasn’t that difficult. Before she realized it, she was next to Sheldon.
The vicar nodded solemnly and recited the familiar words. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of God…”
She tried to focus, but her mind kept wandering to her wedding night. She’d deliberately ignored the whole idea of lying down with Sheldon, of removing her clothes and permitting him to touch her as John Sinclair had touched her, but the prospect finally crashed down on her. She couldn’t breathe, and a swoon became more and more likely.
Do you take this man as your lawfully wedded husband? Yes. Will you love honor and obey? Yes. In sickness and in health, ‘til death do you part? Yes.
“If there be a man present,”the vicar intoned, “who knows any reason these two should not be joined together in holy matrimony, let him speak now or forever hold his peace.”
Suddenly, the door slammed open at the rear of the church, a cold blast of wind racing in, making her shiver. There was muttering and stamping of feet that interrupted the ceremony.
Who had so rudely arrived? Couldn’t they see that a wedding was in progress?
Sarah and Sheldon peered back. The guests were looking, too. Whispers commenced, and they grew and grew until the congregants were overtly exclaiming.
Several men were in the vestibule, but it was dimly lit, and she couldn’t identify them. They were dripping wet, shaking rain off their hats and cloaks.
“Excuse me”—the vicar blandly addressed the group—“but would you please take your seats? We’re about finished.”
“You had better not be,”a man retorted. “Not after I’ve traveled all this way to stop her.”
He sauntered in, and Sarah blinked and blinked as Sheldon blanched with shock. It seemed as if John Sinclair was smiling at her, but that couldn’t be right.
John Sinclair didn’t care about her. John Sinclair was in France.
He was attired much as he’d been when they’d originally met: flowing white shirt, tan trousers, black boots. Since it was nearly winter, he’d added a wool coat over top. He was armed with his usual pistol and sword, and he brazenly marched in with the weapons strapped to his belt.
He spoke to the vicar. “Sir, what was the question you just posed?”
“I asked if anyone objected to this union.”
“I am John Sinclair, and I object.”
The response brought gasps and mumblings of I’ve never heard the likes! Not in all my days!
The vicar’s query was rhetorical, an ancient formality that was still included in the vows, but no one ever protested. No one demanded a ceremony be halted. It simply wasn’t done.
“You object?”the vicar wheezed. “On what grounds?”
“On the grounds that she’s mine, and Mr. Fishburn can’t have her.”
Appearing dashing and aggrieved, John stomped toward her. His entourage followed. Raven came in, then—to Sarah’s enormous surprise—Tristan Harcourt entered, too. He was accompanied by another man of similar size and features, and Sarah could only surmise that it was James Harcourt, the Earl of Westwood.
There were excited cries from people in the pews: It’s the pirate! It’s The French Terror!
John ignored them and approached until he was directly in front of Sheldon. His brash advance yanked Sheldon out of his stupor.
“I can’t have her,”Sheldon scoffed. “You’re a fine one to talk, you bounder.”
“I am a bounder,”John proclaimed. “I admit it.”
“You have no place here. Be gone, or I’ll have my guests throw you out.” Sheldon turned to the vicar and said, “Keep going. This scoundrel has no right to interrupt.”
The vicar stammered, “Ah…I’ve never actually had an objection before. Once a protest is voiced, I don’t believe I can continue.”
“Oh, for pity’s sake,”Sheldon grumbled. “I am the largest landowner in the neighborhood. My donations pay your salary and buy the candles for this decrepit building. I’m ordering you to continue.”
Yet the vicar didn’t proceed. He was flipping through his prayer book, searching for instructions on how to handle the situation.
Sarah began to tremble, emotions pummeling her: fury, elation, dismay, shame, gladness. She’d never been happier in her entire life. She’d never been more angry.
How dare he show up! How dare he barge in and ruin everything! Hadn’t he caused enough trouble?
She’d found a way to save herself, yet for the tiniest second, she considered hurling herself into his arms and weeping with joy. Was she mad?
She’d cast her lot with him once before, and she wouldn’t succumb to such lunacy ever again.
“Get out,”she scolded. “I’m busy, and I don’t have time for your nonsense.”
“Ah, chérie,”he murmured, “I wish I could oblige you, but don’t you remember? I never listen to women.”
He wedged himself between her and Sheldon, clearly demonstrating that a separation was occurring.
“Now see here,”Sheldon blustered, “I don’t know what you think is—”
“Don’t you? I think I’m stopping your wedding.”
“And I am refusing to step aside. The contracts have been signed, the dowry accepted. You have no right to interfere.”
“You can’t have Bramble Bay,”John insisted. “I gave it to her so she’d always be safe. She’s not turning it over to you. I don’t care what you promised her. She’s not doing it.”
“Bramble Bay is mine,”Sheldon huffed.
“Over my dead body,”John seethed.
He gestured to Raven, and Raven pulled Sheldon away.
“Sorry, Mr. Fishburn,”Raven said, “but your presence is no longer required.”
“Unhand me, you fiend!”Sheldon commanded, but of course, Raven ignored him.
They started away, Sheldon vociferously complaining, but he couldn’t halt Raven’s steady progress toward the door. Everyone watched—agog—as they reached the vestibule, and Raven pushed him outside. A phalanx of John’s sailors was guarding the entrance, a determined wall to prevent him from rushing back in.
Raven returned to the front, and Sheldon was shouting, demanding to be readmitted, but they all pretended no ruckus was transpiring.
Raven drew Caroline to her feet.
“You stand with Sarah,”he told his wife, “and I’ll stand with John.”
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
Caroline moved next to Sarah and Raven next to John. The Harcourt brothers eased in and stood behind them. Sarah felt hemmed in, trapped so she couldn’t escape.
John linked their fingers and grinned up at the vicar. “Hurry up, preacher. My wedding banquet is waiting at the house. The food’s getting cold.”
Sarah was reeling, events speeding by much too rapidly. She didn’t know what was best, but she wouldn’t be bullied into marrying John Sinclair. It didn’t matter what the Harcourt brothers wanted, didn’t matter what Caroline and Raven had plotted out. It wasn’t any of their business.
Since she’d met John the previous spring, she’d been bombarded by one catastrophe after another. She’d been bankrupted and kidnapped and seduced and abandoned. He’d proved himself disloyal, deceitful, and dangerous. He couldn’t be trusted, couldn’t be relied on, and at the first hint of trouble, he was out the door without a peek behind him to see what type of chaos he’d left in his wake.
They all believed she should wed him? Were they insane? She’d already suffered too much of love’s peril and had barely survived.
“Stop it, John.” She yanked away and scuttled out of his grasp. “I don’t care what you’ve planned. After how you treated me, I’m not about to marry you.”
He didn’t bother to glance at her, but kept his focus locked on the vicar. “Go ahead, preacher. My friend, Mr. Hook, can answer for her.”
The vicar was flummoxed, and he slammed his prayer book
shut. “I really must have a few minutes to sort through the technicalities.”
“It has to be now,”John said.
“Sir, the lady doesn’t wish to marry you.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“You pompous ass,”Sarah seethed.
The vicar was stammering again. “I…I…have a Special License that authorizes me to wed her to Mr. Fishburn.”
James Harcourt, Lord Westwood, said, “And I have one that authorizes you to marry her to John Sinclair. I insist you comply immediately.”
Lord Westwood approached and handed the license to the vicar.
“Do you know who I am?”Westwood asked him.
“No, but I assume you view yourself to be a gentleman of some renown.”
“You’re correct. I am James Harcourt, Earl of Westwood. I am a peer of the realm, and I am ordering you to marry them. We won’t leave until this bounder—as Mr. Fishburn fittingly called him—is leg shackled and can’t flee her marital noose.”
“See?” John gazed at Sarah. “They’re quite adamant, and you hate to have me fight with my family. They won’t be satisfied until you say yes. We have to proceed.”
“We do not,”she snapped.
The vicar scowled at her and inquired, “Would you like to wed Mr. Sinclair? It seems that you’re opposed.”
“I am mortally opposed,”she declared.
The vicar sighed and advised Lord Westwood, “Then I can’t possibly continue. This isn’t the Middle Ages. I can’t force her against her will.” There was a loud rapping at the door, Sheldon’s bellow drifting in. “And there’s the situation with Mr. Fishburn. I must postpone any ceremony so I can seek guidance from my bishop as to how this should be resolved.”
Lord Westwood shook his head. “You’re not listening to me, Vicar. We’re not leaving until this Sinclair scoundrel is married.”
Tristan Harcourt added, “If we have to remain here for the next ten years, we will.”
John glared at Sarah, his exasperation clear. He never brooked insubordination, and his poor ego had to be crying out with dismay.
“Let me handle this,”he said to his brothers.
He walked over to her, and she felt like a rabbit watching the hawk swoop down. She’d never been able to resist him, had never been able to stay strong or behave as she should. When she was around him, her common sense flew out the window, and she couldn’t make good decisions. If he was kind and sweet and charming, how might she act? The prospect was too frightening to ponder.