“Only wives who enjoy—” His teasing smile faded. “What did you say?”
“I said, breeding wives are supposed to—”
He seized her in a hug. “Sarah! Are you sure?”
She nodded, feeling suddenly shy. “Yes, I’m quite certain now. I hope you’re pleased.”
“Pleased? ’Tis wonderful news! Mama will be thrilled.” His excitement ended abruptly. “But should you travel at such a time? Should you not remain and rest?”
Sarah laughed. “Nicholas, I’m breeding, not dying. ’Tis no reason I cannot travel or pursue any of my usual activities. Surely I will rest better in the country. So,” she added soberly, “’tis no reason for you to accompany me.”
Surely he understood her innuendo. Sarah held her breath, waiting for him to realize the truth of it, to cheerfully acquiesce and send her away.
“Sarah,” he said quietly at last, “have I so offended you that you no longer wish my company?”
“No, Nicholas, ’tis not that at all! You prefer London. I’d not have you drag yourself away out of kindness and a sense of duty.”
“’Tis not kindness or duty. Unless you truly find my escort repugnant, I wish to accompany you. So as not to burden the staff at Wellingford, we can stay at Stoneacres. Do say you’ll let me come, Sarah.”
“L-let you—!” She sputtered. “As if you needed my permission to visit your own estate. You truly wish to accompany me?” she asked, completely baffled.
Nicholas kissed her. “I truly do. But I’ve had to so coerce and cajole you into accepting my escort I’m certain you’ve not really forgiven me.”
He was right—but she must make herself. “You’re wrong, Nicholas,” she said firmly. “I have forgiven you.”
“Prove it, then,” he murmured, and bent to trace his lips down the column of her neck.
“This isn’t—necessary—any longer.” She gasped, trying to stay coherent despite the flood of tingling warmth his kiss evoked. “You’ve already—done—your duty.”
“Have I?” he whispered, his fingers at the laces of her nightrail. “Then let us take our pleasure.”
A few days later they arrived at Stoneacres, the small estate Nicholas had inherited from his grandmother. True to his word, Nicholas accompanied her—not only accompanied her, but was at every stage so thoughtful and attentive that her remaining anger dissolved.
’Twas most difficult, she thought as Nicholas handed her carefully out of the carriage, to maintain a prudent distance from her handsome husband when he persisted in being so undeniably charming—and so irresistibly near.
Nicholas’s cousin and manager, Hugh Baxter, along with the complete staff, came out to welcome them.
The neatness and comfort of the snug manor house impressed Sarah. Indeed, she was somewhat surprised to find the furnishings in the first style of elegance and the master’s suite, which Mr. Baxter insisted on giving over to them, equipped with every modern convenience.
But upon closer inspection of that gentleman when they met again for tea, she was less surprised. Mr. Baxter was quite the dandy, she realized. His waistcoat of heavily embroidered gold silk, and the elaborate arrangement of his neckcloth and carefully pomaded locks, would have pleased the most meticulous Bond Street beau.
“Stoneacres looks to be most prosperous, sir.”
Mr. Baxter shrugged. “I suppose. I’m not much interested in farming, myself, but my man Grimsby is a good agent. Most of my friends reside in London, and I bolt off to the metropolis as oft as I can.”
Nicholas raised an eyebrow. “Do you, cousin? A wonder I’ve not chanced to meet you.”
“Well, Nicky, I can hardly claim to move in such exalted circles as yours,” Mr. Baxter replied with a boyish grin. “And I tend to favor—” he winked at Sarah “—more, ah, bachelor entertainments.”
Sarah’s smile thinned. Why did she feel his every word and gesture were calculated?
“Ah, here’s the butler. Feeling you would both be fatigued, I took the liberty of ordering a simple meal. Briggs, take Lady Englemere’s cup, man, and don’t be so slow about it. My lord and lady?” He gestured toward the door.
If he meant to impress them with the alacrity with which he was obeyed, on Sarah his curtness had the opposite effect. He was beginning to strike her as an idle, self-centered man with little thought beyond his own comfort.
The hostile look she chanced to glimpse crossing Briggs’s face underlined that opinion. To her surprise, though, his aggrieved glance encompassed Nicholas as well.
Not that the butler reinforced her suspicion by any word or action. Briggs’s manner was deferential, as it should be toward his actual, if absentee, overlord, and his service impeccable. But after ten years of settling household disputes, Sarah’s instincts were well honed, and the impression of discord lingered.
She shrugged. If there were problems at Stoneacres, doubtless Nicholas would discover and correct them during their stay. In the meantime, tomorrow morning they would go on to Wellingford. No disquiet could dampen her excitement at seeing again, very soon, her beloved home and family.
Nicholas continued to embellish his role of doting husband. Overruling her desire to ride, he ordered a light carriage for the journey, reminding her they’d need to carry more than saddlebags, and that she tired more quickly now.
Despite her resolve, she found her caution melting in the warmth of his solicitude. But as they approached Wellingford land, the joy of seeing familiar terrain displaced all other thoughts. Finally the carriage turned at the weathered gateposts and bowled down the long drive.
Sarah held her breath as the facade came into view. The sun shining upon the expanse of mullioned windows in the central stone block seemed to flash a welcome. The carriage halted at the entry, and before the footman could even lower the stairs, her sisters, along with most of the staff, poured out to meet them.
Meredyth herded everyone into the parlor, commanded Mrs. Cummings to bring tea, banished the dogs and directed her milling sisters to their places. After refreshments, Meredyth dismissed the children to the schoolroom, warning she’d inspect their lessons later.
“Shall you mind sharing Papa’s chamber?” Meredyth darted a glance at Nicholas, her face flushed. “Mrs. Cummings says the linens in the mistress’s chamber are past mending. Unless you’d like your old room with me, Sarah.”
“Your papa’s chamber will do nicely,” Nicholas answered for them. “No disrespect, Miss Meredyth, but I much prefer Sarah share my room.” He winked at Meredyth.
Blushing, she smiled back. “As you wish. I’ll inform Mrs. Cummings. Make yourselves at home, of course, and if there is anything you need, please let me know.”
Sarah’s initial euphoria had dimmed. As logical as it was that Meredyth had assumed her duties with the staff and children, it still caused her a pang to be displaced. Her disquiet deepened as they proceeded to her mother’s chamber.
Suddenly she saw Wellingford as Nicholas must: the paucity of servants, the closed-up rooms and threadbare hangings, the blank walls where once paintings hung.
Lady Emily lay propped against her pillows, eyes fever-bright and startlingly blue in the pale oval of her face. It seemed to cost her great effort to raise the fine-boned hand for Nicholas’s kiss, and her shoulders, when Sarah hugged her, were impossibly thin.
They stayed but a few moments, and even that taxed her. Leaving the sickroom, Sarah hastened down the hallway to a small landing. Through eyes blinded by tears she gazed out over the rose garden below.
“She has failed since the wedding,” Nicholas observed.
“She is dying,” Sarah said flatly. “The medicine she takes, though it costs dear, only d-dulls the pain.” Her voice trembling, she said fiercely, “I would have married the devil himself to make her last days easy ones.”
“I hope I’m not a devil,” Nicholas said, drawing her into his arms. “But do promise me one thing, Sarah.”
Trying to master the tears, she looked up
.
“Anything that is needed at Wellingford—the governess your sister evidently hasn’t yet recalled, medicine for your mama, gowns for your sisters, anything—you’ll let me see to it? ’Tis not favors you ask, sweeting. Your family is mine now. I cannot profess to love them as you do, but I wish just as fervently that they be well cared for.”
Over the lump in her throat, Sarah nodded. Then impulsively, she hugged him hard. London and Chloe Ingram be damned. Whatever the reason he came, Nicholas was with her now, and she was going to treasure every moment.
Several hours later, Nicholas accompanied Sarah on a drive. She seemed to glow with purpose, Nicholas thought, as she made knowledgeable comments about sprouting crops he could not even identify, and cast an expert eye on the condition of barns, fences and hedgerows. Each time they encountered a laborer about his task, she paused to compliment work and exchange greetings, never failing to ask by name after family and kin.
As the sun was setting, Sarah stopped the carriage atop a rise. Below them lay Wellingford Hall, its sparkling windows and burnished brick set like a jewel in verdant terraced gardens. A fine wood stretched to the horizon, and in the fields crops grew near well-kept cottages.
“How grand it will be, when Wellingford is restored.” She turned shining eyes to him. “Which will occur all the sooner, thanks to you, Nicholas.”
“You love this place, don’t you?”
“Yes. Growing up, I always thought of it as mine. Papa treated me rather like a boy, taking me fishing and hunting, letting me tag along after the steward.” Her smile faded. “Until Colton was born, anyway.”
“His manner changed then?”
“It wasn’t just Colton’s birth.” She frowned. “As I got older, I…noticed things I’d not seen before. Fewer crops being planted, needed repairs delayed. And each time Papa made a London visit, some precious object—a Restoration wardrobe, a family portrait—would vanish.”
She shook her head, her face pensive. “I wasn’t very wise at thirteen. After learning one of our best fields was to lie fallow, I took Papa to task for not being a good steward of the land and for gambling away our wealth.
“’Twas no more than I deserved when he snapped back at me.” She sighed. “Managing Wellingford was not, and never would be, my concern, he said. Colton would have it all. Papa was willing the land I loved with every fiber of my being to a babe still squalling in the nursery.”
She turned her gaze to the far distance. “Wellingford isn’t entailed, and I had thought surely I would be given some part of it. I was—shocked.” Her voice faded. “’Twas the second worst day of my life.”
“What was the worst?” he asked, curious.
Sarah started, as if just realizing she’d made that admission aloud. She remained silent so long he thought she wouldn’t answer. Then she whispered, “The day Sinjin told me we could never wed.”
Before he could gather his rattled thoughts, she gave him a cryptic smile. “So you see, I seem to have a long history of loving what can never be mine.”
The words left his lips before he could imagine whence they came. “I’m yours. Love me.”
She looked at him searchingly. Then she took his hand and rested it on the slight swell of her abdomen. “I suppose, in a way, you are.”
He stepped behind her and drew her close. With a sigh, she relaxed into him. Together they stood silently watching as the sun, trailing its gold and crimson cloak behind it, set before Wellingford.
Back at Stoneacres two days later, Sarah lingered over morning tea. Nicholas had ridden to consult with the local magistrate and would be gone several hours. Perhaps she’d take that time to review the Stoneacres books. On the drive back from Wellingford, Nicholas had teasingly reminded her he was ready to begin those lessons in estate management she’d promised him.
Seeking out Mr. Briggs, Sarah ascertained that Mr. Baxter was in the study. However, the butler added in a colorless voice, ’twas his master’s unfailing custom to retire there after breakfast and nap under his London paper until luncheon.
A cautious peek inside the door confirmed Briggs’s information. Her husband’s cousin reclined against the gold-striped settee, his stockinged feet on a cushion, his snoring breath fluttering the edges of the newspaper perched on his lavishly embroidered waistcoat.
She hesitated, then continued on to the estate office. Everything at Stoneacres, including its ledgers, belonged to Nicholas anyway. She could in good conscience inspect them without Mr. Baxter’s permission.
An hour’s perusal left her troubled. According to the entries, the furnishings of the manor house had been refurbished three times in as many years, including the purchase of an expensive new cookstove. In addition, a hefty sum had been entered each season under unspecified “Estate Improvements.”
Acting on instinct, she called for a gig and set off for a quick inspection of the closest farms.
She returned an hour later, her vague disquiet transformed to towering rage, and went directly to the kitchen. In a puzzled voice, Mrs. Briggs confirmed the serviceable but by no means modern cookstove was the same one she’d been using for “donnamany years.”
Swiftly she proceeded to the estate office. After demanding Briggs turn over all the keys, she locked it. No one, she instructed the butler, particularly not the estate agent or its manager, was to enter that office until after Nicholas had inspected it.
“My husband is a fair and kind man,” Sarah told Briggs as they awaited the footmen summoned to guard the office’s door and window. “He will not tolerate the abuses Mr. Baxter permitted. He will put things right, I promise.”
Briggs bowed, his stern face relaxing. “Indeed, I hope so, your ladyship. And may I say how powerful glad we are to have you at Stoneacres.”
Once the footmen arrived, Sarah straightened her shoulders and headed for the study. She had a few words for the dandified Mr. Baxter.
Sarah entered and cleared her throat loudly. Mr. Baxter snorted awake, fumbled the journal from his face and sat up. “Ah, Lady Englemere. Luncheon, is it?”
Sarah looked at the costly waistcoat straining over his rounded stomach, the expensive lace trimming the lavish cravat that framed his plump cheeks, and felt a wave of revulsion. “Not quite, Mr. Baxter. But I have some food for thought for you.”
He looked blank, then gave her a genial smile. “Ah, yes. Have you seen this morning’s London journal? The most amusing criminal conduct case—”
“Mr. Baxter, the criminal behavior I wish to discuss has occurred much closer to Stoneacres. I understand the tenants have had their rents raised three times these last seven years.”
Mr. Baxter nodded condescendingly. “Ah, I collect you’ve been conversing with the laborers. A rather worthless lot, I fear. Indeed, I’d hoped to raise taxes once more, but the wretches protested they couldn’t pay another groat.”
“Mr. Baxter, the people are starving.”
“Lady Englemere, you must know how such low persons exaggerate. Surely you’ve seen much worse in London.”
“This is not London, Mr. Baxter. This is one of my husband’s estates, and you have the care of it. In my opinion, you have grossly abused my husband’s trust, and so I shall tell him.”
Baxter was speechless for a moment, and then his eyes narrowed. “What was it my friend Lord John Weston told me? That you consider yourself something of an agriculturist?” His false-jovial smile turned nasty. “Ah, yes—the ‘Farmer Bride.’ Let me inform you, your ladyship—” he spat out the title with disdain “—Nicky has, very properly, always considered farm management beneath him. As I am a gentleman, I must caution you—though your behavior toward me hardly deserves the courtesy—not to embarrass yourself bringing to Nicky’s attention matters in which he has no interest. All he cares for, I assure you, is the money Stoneacres adds to his coffers.”
“And to yours? Tell me, Mr. Baxter, although the rental receipts trebled over the years, how is it that the amount forwarded to my husband�
�s account has remained constant? Yes, I’ve inspected the ledgers, so pray do not insult my intelligence by telling me ’twas invested back in cookstoves or farms.”
For an instant, fury—and then fear—transformed his face. Quickly he mastered himself and uttered a strained laugh. “I’ve always heard ladies who are increasing suffer absurd fancies. ’Tis true, I see.”
“The ledger entries are not fancy, Mr. Baxter.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. One hand went to the lace at his throat, as if he were finding his neckcloth suddenly too tight. He straightened and curved his lips in a sneer. “Lord John was right—you are sharp-tongued. Nicky must have wanted an heir badly to have married you, for he generally prefers his ladies beautiful and sweet—like his current love, Chloe Ingram. He invited her to your presentation ball, did he not?”
Despite herself, she winced. His nasty smile deepened. “Oh, yes, Lord John sends me all the London news. Can you imagine how they laughed after you went up to bed and Nicky came back to dance with Chloe?”
She ignored the pain lancing through her. “We were speaking of Stoneacres and your management, Mr. Baxter.”
His eyes gleamed and he leaned closer. “Take my advice, little lady. Nicky never tarries long in the country. Annoy him with matters like this, and when he returns to London he’s like to leave you here—permanently.”
Sarah forced herself to gaze at him calmly. “You waste your time making idle threats. You would do better to prepare an explanation—if you can—for Lord Englemere. Something that might prevent his laying criminal charges.”
Baxter’s eyes shifted uneasily, but he remained uncowed. “I am his cousin! Nicky would never serve me so.” He took a rapid step toward the door.
And stopped short as Sarah held up a key. “The office is locked, Mr. Baxter, and the windows guarded. No one will touch those ledgers until after Nicholas sees them. I believe they will speak for themselves.”
The Wedding Gamble Page 20